No one noticed the unmarked Rolls-Royce leave the side entrance of Buckingham Palace; it was an everyday event.
Behind the blacked out windows, the young, blonde Princess of Wales sat in apparent serenity. It was the pose she wanted her driver and Scotland Yard guard to see; any hint of nerves and they would have cancelled the trip. No chances were being taken, not after what had happened eighteen months ago.
She wondered what they would think if they knew how her insides were churning; how the anticipation was making her pussy bubble with sticky cream? What would they say if they knew that their darling Princess; their media queen, was really a cock-craving, cum-guzzling bitch with an definite passion for black cock and rough sex?
Her watch said eleven-fifteen; another thirty minutes, she thought, then she would be free; free from their watchful eyes, free from their protection, free to indulge in her newly discovered passions and perversions.
Thank God for Mandy, she thought. What would I do without her? She checked her watch again. Her Scotland Yard guard noted her impatience but paid it no mind; security was his game and he was damn sure nothing like what had happened was going to occur while he had the watch.
The Princess extracted a compact from her purse and checked her makeup. She saw the brightness in her eyes, the suppressed lust, and she wondered if what Mandy had arranged had been done so without arousing Scotland Yard's curiosity? It had to be, her demanding body screamed. It just had to be.
Mandy had received the call only an hour ago; the Princess would be pleased to visit her college roommate; security would have searched the flat, and the surrounding area and staked out the adjacent homes for any suspicious characters. What they didn't know is that Mandy was already aware that she was going to have a visitor. Her 'friends' were in the attached building, and the moment security walked out of the flat, they would casually walk across the eight inch window ledge - four stories up - to Mandy's flat and hide in the closet. Later, after she departed, they would sneak back the same way. No one would be the wiser.
The 'arrangement' consisted of two big, black American Marines, Mandy had said; Embassy Guards. Hugely hung; one who had never touched a white woman before. What would their reaction be to fucking the next Queen of England? Appreciation, she hoped. She squeezed her thighs together as a secret shiver ran up her spine, causing her juicy cunt to dribble. She took a deep breath, thankful that she'd remembered to wear a Kotex pad. Her cunt got so sopping when she thought of big cocks, she'd most definitely would stain her suit and the seat, too.
The big Rolls circled Picidilly Square, passing the cavernous underground garage of St. Mark's Hospital. The Princess stared at it as they passed. That's where it all happened, where it all began; the most terrifying, most thrilling forty-eight hours of her life. Idly, she wondered how they had managed to cover it up? After all, the kidnapping of the Princess of Wales was major headline news, but not a word had been printed, and according to Scotland Yard, only a small, select few actually knew what had happened. Of course it was all deniable; the terrorists were all dead, killed by an action team from the SAS; the Special Air Service.
Sadly, she remembered them; the terror they had provoked in her, and the fantastic pleasures they had ultimately given her body with their giant African cocks; huge and thick as a tree limb, the bulbous pink and purple heads dripping with thick, rich, white cum-juice. She licked her lips and recalled their blackness; remembering how the contrast of color; their black against her white, had dazzled and turned her on so completely, so passionately, that nothing else mattered except to have their massive pricks in every opening of her delicate body.
Her stomach tightened and her eyes clamped shut as images of their long, snake-like, pink tongues flashed in her mind; sliding deep in her pussy, down her throat, up her ass.
She squirmed and squeezed the armrest with a power no-one would have believed she possessed and re-crossed her shapely legs, pressing her thighs together, cutting off the oozing flow of cunt-cream from her incredibly hot pussy.
What a terrible waste, she thought. Poor Jumo, and Mentu, and her sweet surprise, Kunta. The magnificent Chaka. All dead. Their big, beautiful Kaffir cocks lost to her forever. They were all gone, but they had forever changed her life.
She rested her head and let her mind wander backwards in time. It had been a day very much like today, she thought; spring-like, but still overcast; the sky uncertain of its ultimate direction. Arrangements for her annual physical at St. Mark's had been made and she arrived promptly on time; a doctor - black - was waiting to greet her. Her driver and guard were the first out of the car, and as they opened her door, she watched in horror as the doctor pulled a gun and shot both men. They were dead before they hit the ground.
Her mind registered that the gun was silent and she remembered screaming, or trying to; she wasn't sure, things became very jumbled then. Men in ski-masks grabbed her and roughly pushed her back into the car. She was thrown down, her face pressed hard to the floor; a gun to her head.
She remembered the terror that ran through her body; a cold, vileness that she could smell and taste. She remembered her shame as her bladder threatened to desert her.
Strong hands pinned her down and harsh garlic breath assailed her nose as a voice from hell told her to keep quiet and be still. Or else! Her hands and feet were tied painfully tight and she was gagged on an evil smelling piece of cloth. Another covered her eyes, blacking out almost every trace of light.
The darkness intensified her terror as the car zig-zagged through the streets, then up a ramp where it screeched to a halt. She didn't know it at the time; they had driven the car into a large lorry - a moving van - and calmly drove away, eventually finding their way to a deserted warehouse on the London docks.
They handled her with disregard; half dragging, half carrying her up a flight of metal stairs. She was pushed from behind and fell heavily on a smelly mattress, the air rushing painfully from her lungs. Her wrists and ankles screamed as the ropes cut into her soft skin. Thick fingers fumbled with her blindfold.
"Be careful what you see, Princess. We don't want to have to kill you." The voice was deep, resonant, and the words made all the more chilling by casual manner of delivery. She blinked her eyes, trying to adjust to the harsh light that shined directly into her face. Four men surrounded her; big men. Black men. She knew that from their bare hands and the slits in their ski-masks baring their flat noses and big lips.
The biggest man, the one with the chilling voice, knelt beside her. His eyes traveled the length of her body lingering on her exposed camisole - her jacket had been pulled open - and the large expanse of uncovered thigh made visible by her disheveled skirt. He was smiling. Slowly, he reached out and tugged her skirt down below her stocking tops. Bile welled up in her throat and she felt her body flush with shame and embarrassment as he touched her. Her mind reeled at the indignities she would suffer at their hands, and in a fit of mental defiance she vowed not to give them a instant of reaction. Whatever happened, she would remain like stone; an unmoving, unfeeling, inert object. Do your damndest, her mind screamed at them; you'd do better jerking off.
The big man seem to read her mind. "You will not be molested, Your highness. It would be counter-productive to our goals," he said quietly. "Your accommodations," he waved his hand around the loft, "may not be what you're use to but under the circumstances I'm sure you understand.
"Your release, I'm sure, will be swift and you will have the benefit of knowing that this small detour will enrich the freedom fighters of our country."
Her screams of rebuke were muffled by the gag in her mouth. Outraged, she struggled against her binds, unaware that her thrashing about widened the gap of her jacket and rode her skirt up over her nylon tops, baring naked flesh. This time, the big man made no attempt to cover her up.
"Yes, I know," he said, not unkindly, "It's hell for the Princess Royal to be treated thusly; a pawn in the game of international struggle, but so be it. Please do try to make your time with us as tolerable as possible."
He stood up and pulled her roughly to her feet. Her feet stumbled and he caught her in his strong arms. Her body pressed tightly against his. Involuntarily, she gasped and her eyes widened in amazement as his cock pushed hard against her stomach. It was huge!
Looking deeply into her eyes he forced the crimson to her cheeks and this time it had nothing to do with shame or embarrassment. Disconcerted, she turned away, unable to look at his dark, passionate eyes.
"Take off the ropes," he said to one of the others, "and then remove her clothes."
She screamed behind the gag and angrily threw her body at him; lashing out with her foot. Nimbly, he stepped aside.
"I love a woman with spirit," he said, "I do not relish this, but it's a necessary security measure. The Princess of Wales can not run away if she has no clothes on, now, can she?"
Two men grabbed her, still kicking and screaming and pulled her away from their leader. In her mind, that's how she identified him - their Leader; a big, powerfully built man, radiating a maleness that was almost tangible. He also has a great big cock, a horrible little voice told her. She started to kick and scream even more.
