Her Majesty Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of her other realms and territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, and Defender of the Faith, flopped into a finely appointed chaise lounge and kicked off her ivory heels.
"Phillip? Phillip? One is absolutely fucked. One has been one one's bloody feet all day and now one needs some attention."
"Bloody hell woman!" Prince Phillip answered exasperated, "I gave you attention this morning. And last night. There is only so much one man can do for the crown."
"Fine then you bugger off to the ambassador's dinner on your own, one can't be bothered anymore."
"Honestly, I would prefer it! At least on one's own, one's arse might remain unmolested!" Prince Philip stormed from the gold leafed room in a huff.
The Queen sighed. It was 1966, the middle of the swinging 60's, she had just turned 40 and every other person in London, or so it seemed, was shagging and enjoying themselves.
But the battle of Shropshire wasn't won with a single charge she thought to herself.
She rang the small bell on the Edwardian side table, and in no time at all, a tall, thin young man, with a startling straight posture appeared at her side.
"Granville, one needs one's special time."
"As you wish ma'am. Will we require the use of the cabinet today ma'am?" Granville answered stiffly.
He referred to the Queen's collection of antique toys and marital aids.
"No, Granville, one just requires your special attention."
"As you wish ma'am," he answered primly, as he dropped to his knees before her.
She kicked one leg over his head then the other the opposite way, now resting either side of the butler. She hooked her long, flowing skirts up and tucked them under her royal behind. She revealed to Granville her uncovered, unashamed, hairy growler.
"I pronounce you sir Granville of cunnilingus." She giggled at her well worn joke, as she dabbed one leg, first on one shoulder, then the other, the same as if she had her sword, and was pronouncing a new knight of the realm.
"Proceed sir Granville," she declared, adjusting her hips to provide best access.
Granville put a hand on each of her inner thighs and pushed her legs apart. He dipped his head forward and ran his tongue from the bottom of her royal slit, upwards, parting her labia, as he swept upward in one greedy lick, all the way up to the soft pink button of her clitoris.
He repeated the motion, two, three times until her majesty put her hand on the back of his head, forcing his focus on her swollen clit.
