His Mased Mistress

London, August 1789:

A mild night descended upon the square as the carriages rounded the block and deposited the well-dressed members of the court at the front of Westminster. Three sisters of marriageable age wearing bustles of varying blue shades moved quickly toward the west wing of the palace. As they passed through the crowded room filled with party-goers, they gossiped, using their fans to cover their wicked speech.

"I heard that this was a masquerade production; the first of its kind and they brought in a whore." The woman with the deepest blue petticoat and red painted lips simpered, demurely covering her face with a lacey fan that matched her dress. She batted her lashes at one of the gentleman, leaning against a marble column, and sighed as his eyes widened, his mouth visibly parched as he saw the cream of tasteful cleavage. He shuffled uncomfortably as his pants grew tight. It felt good to be in power, she mused as she sauntered into the palace ballroom and passed the guards without a second glance.

"Announcing Lady Kensington," the doorman boomed as she descended the hand-chiseled marble steps, extending a long, confident glance at the Prince Regent who moved to the edge of the staircase and offered his hand to her.

The room hushed as the Prince Regent, a man of strong physique and presence, smoothly escorted Lady Kensington to the front of the room and helped her to sit in the lavish theater box. The rest of the court soon followed, carefully considering the momentary exchange between the lady and the prince who despite being distantly related were previously thought unmatchable due to the political climate of the disputing houses.

"I thought you'd never come," she whispered behind her fan to George as soon as the candles were extinguished and the crowd had resumed banter. His hand brushed hers in comfort.

"You doubted me." His voice, smooth like the imported scotch he handed her, washed over her body and caused an embarrassed flush in her cheeks. For a moment, she appeared rebuked, lowering her eyes to the floor in mortification. As the crowd hushed and the curtain rose, she cautiously raised her hazel eyes to his.

His dark blue eyes met hers in amusement and he ran a hand through his dark gold hair. She had watched him make that move since their teenage years, a sign of sexy confidence that had caused many too young a maiden to swoon and wish that his fancy had been caught. He owned everything and nothing all at once in his position. He could call the finest materials forth with a snap of his fingers, but he was bound by the family, his state and its politics, by courtly artifice and the aftermath of war. Those were the realizations that caused her small shoulders to shudder.

George watched her steel herself, considering her small frame next to him. She looked delicate and fierce, a beautiful balance of legs and ample breast. Her face was sharp and symmetric with hazel eyes that betrayed both the sharp calculation of political power games and the open, loving woman with whom he was familiar. He knew her embracement of the title that his father had bestowed upon her family's house: Kensington. He also knew the game she was trying to play as she dressed subtly better than her sisters, embodying the beautiful eldest maiden and enchanting his men at court. 21, not yet a spinster, and she never would be. She'd marry within a year and whichever man would be lucky to have her under him, he considered, as he imagined those painted red lips moving up and down his cock.

"Charlotte, I—

He never finished his sentence. The curtain rose and his words caught in his throat. His coherent case of why Charlotte should deign to be his mistress vanished as he gasped. Standing on the stage in royal purple with long, flowing sandy hair was the most delicate, beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Her beauty surpassed that of his companion and his cock strained against the bonds of decency as his eyes traced the long legs, admiring the hourglass shape of her hips, and landing on her exposed cleavage. She was dressed in Renaissance Italian with a neckline that plunged far beneath what was acceptable at court. Her body arrested him and he sat frozen, staring at the bountiful bosom that threatened to consume him, before he snapped his gaze forcibly to her face and found instead—a mask. Emerald eyes haunted him, staring out through a celestial moon decorated in winter white paint and speckled with diamonds that detracted from her human qualities, giving her an ephemeral glow.

"So that's the whore I take it." Charlotte murmured. "No one expected her to be so beautiful. Thank God, she's a fallen woman. I bet the ladies are worried about their husbands now."

Charlotte raised her fan dismissively and hissed at the stage, joining a chorus of other courtly ladies' hisses. Best to stop the production before the whore had a chance to captivate the gentlemen and threaten their marriages and dalliances. Their hisses went unacknowledged by the theater.

"The woman's a faerie," He managed, ignoring his companion's slight. "She's a goddess."

"She's a whore, George. She's a commoner. She's nothing. She's nobody."

"She's mine." Blue eyes met emerald and he smiled at the fair creature. "I must have her."

He watched the production of A Winter's Tale with a religiosity befitting the clergy and church. He needed to know her and own her. Charlotte felt his growing need and desire. It was palpable as she watched his gaze follow the slut like a horny stallion follows a mare in season. She sighed, angrily this time. The bastard. She'd show him, she mused, as she gathered her accessories.

"I'm not feeling well." He barely noticed as she excused herself from the room. She watched the sympathetic court eye her as she departed in defeat.

George followed the actress after the production to the greeting parlor of the theater. She still wore her mask as the court approached her and each was announced. He was smartly last in the line.

"Presenting—

"Florizel," He silenced his guard with a look.

She laughed a charming, pleasant sound that filled the room, understanding his joke.

The actress, he mused, could be the yin to his yang, the fallen to his decorum, and the damsel to the warrior. A high-class stage whore would make a fine mistress. They exchanged a knowing look as she appraised him, appreciating his broad shoulders, strong chin, and sexy frame. His eyes affected her in a similar manner that hers did his. As they held each other's gaze, he nodded toward the columns and returned the smile that she gave him.

He wanted her passionately, roughly, now. His cock hardened as her hand subtly brushed his and held for a brief moment. Her fingers quickly traced his royal seal, running the length of his palm before sliding back to her side. Her mask hid the hunger he knew her face expressed. He schooled his own expression before nodding once more toward the columns. She rolled her eyes, playfully.

After the company departed, they met at the edge of the palace columns, which opened to the gardens. Thick hedges lined the paths and he gestured her to follow him. Once sequestered in the center of the labyrinth of bushes, he stared at his prize. She looked fantastic in the moonlight, the glow of the moon adding to the wonder of her mask. His cock pulsed, standing at attention, as her hand moved closer to his pants.

"Florizel," She knew his position, his rank, and his money and so she left the illusion in place. This is your chance, she scolded herself. You can be a favorite.

She slowly undid his pants, freeing his cock and stroking it. He moaned, closing her eyes and cupping her face. She lifted the mask, slightly, so it no longer obscured her mouth, which like Charlotte's was painted deep red. Her mouth moved up and down on his cock as he worked to lift her skirts. She mumbled around his cock her surprise as his hand found her labia and then her clitoris. He traced her womanhood lazily, encircling her clitoris and rubbing her folds, causing bursts of pleasure to explode throughout her body. As she sucked harder, he picked up the intensity, causing them to feed off one another. Her mind rode on the crest of ecstasy as she sucked and stroked his cock until he grunted and used his other hand to push her forward until he felt the back of her throat. She gasped and gagged around him, trying desperately to relieve the pressure. Her struggle was futile as he only pushed her further down upon him, forcing her to take him deeper and deeper. As he bottomed out in the back of her throat, he flicked her pearl, causing her to fall over the edge, tumbling in incoherent pleasure. He felt her screams of ecstasy and it sent him tumbling after her into the abyss as he spurted his seed deep into her.

He withdrew and helped her compose her attire. As he tightened the laces on her corset, he reached from behind and ran his fingers down her, cupping her right breast within her dress and squeezing it. She melted into his touch as the pain melded unexpectedly with pleasure. Her lips found his and her hands found his hair as he rhythmically squeezed her breasts.

Footsteps sounded on the path behind them, causing both to straighten and jump apart. A couple moved toward the bushes diagonal from them and disappeared. The actress turned away from the prince, taking a small step toward the palace as groans and grunts erupted from within the hedges on the other side of the path. George clasped her arm, spinning her toward him with residual desire and desperation.

"I need to know your name."

"You need know only the mask." She said succinctly, pulling from him and briskly walking down the moonlit path. "If you covet me, you will find me again."

"I will find you, my whore." George vowed as he straightened his vestments and smirked, knowing he had just found a mistress worthy of his attention.