Id Rather Be Fucking The Princess

Another function, another boring evening being nice to people. Smiling, shaking hands, asking intelligent questions, looking good. Such is the lot of the modern day Princess. Being a member of the royal family has its good side, but attending the Household Cavalry Garter Procession is not one of them.

Princess Clara was what is known as a 'minor royal.' That is, not a very important one. A long long way from the throne. But the Queen insists that all royals in receipt of public money do 'their bit' as she puts it, so Princess Clara found herself on duty at the annual Household Cavalry Garter Procession at Windsor Castle on a sunny day in June. As is often the case at these sorts of things, there would be a long procession of people dressed in funny clothes, an official ceremony at which the Queen would do something odd to important people, like tap them on the shoulder with a sword or pin something large and colourful to their clothes, there would be guns firing, and there would be an official dinner. Clara understood the importance of these traditional ceremonies to the people of Great Britain, and appreciated her rather privileged position within that society, but there was little in the day's events to really engage the interest of a 20 year old, especially one so full of life as her.

"I'd rather be fucking," she thought to herself as she watched a line of Beefeaters pass by. They did look splendid in their uniforms, you'd have to acknowledge that. And Clara did have a soft spot for a uniform. Or rather the men inside the uniforms. She had just ended a relationship with an officer from the Household Cavalry. These are the men who wear the rather silly helmets with long plumes and who ride about the streets of London having their photos taken by tourists. But underneath the uniform, as Clara discovered one hot summer night in the regiment's stables, were serious soldiers with seriously soldierly bodies. Taught, firm, strong, used to physical exertion, Clara's officer also had a thick, hard cock which she had adored for a nearly a year. It was her first serious relationship and her first real experience of sex, and she had fucked herself to exhaustion on many occasions. His wife had finally put her foot down and he had been moved away to Scotland. Clara was very upset at first but then realised that there were a lot more men in uniform around her all the time, so she perked up and started smiling again.

Today Clara sat in the VIP stand which had been set up near the entrance to St George's Chapel, where the service would be held. She was wearing the same dress as she was wearing that unforgettable day over a year ago. She made it look different with a new belt and hat, and a different handbag. The senior royals rarely wore the same clothes twice, it just wasn't done, but the lesser mortals had to make do and be inventive because their allowances did not stretch to an extensive wardrobe. And Daddy's business interests had been struggling ever since the banking crisis of 2008. No, needs must and Clara was feeling fine about her appearance. The Queen had even smiled at her outside the Throne Room earlier in the day. But, Clara smiled to herself as more Beefeaters passed by, the Queen didn't know what Clara was wearing underneath.

Which was precisely nothing. She was naked except for her dress. No bra, no knickers, no stockings, no slip or petticoat, nothing. And she was even more naked than naked...that morning she had shaved off all her hair, except that growing on her head. Shaved underarms, shaved pussy. So there she sat watching the big male soldiers marching past, revelling in the knowledge that she was stunningly naked from her chin down to her toes, and no-one knew!

I wonder, she thought, what the Queen is wearing underneath? Gossip in Clara's circles was that Her Majesty was a bit of a saucy minx, she had a wicked and slightly perverted sense of humour, so it would not be entirely unexpected if she rather fancied a line of racy underwear. This thought set Clara giggling, she had to hide her mirth behind her hand in case some paparazzi with a long lens caught her acting inappropriately at this solemn occasion.

But she couldn't help herself. Into her mind's eye came a vision of the Queen in black stockings and a suspender belt, standing over a naked Prince Phillip, her fully bushed royal cunt dripping into his servile and open mouth. He would be paying homage to his mistress and Queen by wanking himself as she whipped him with a long bendy cane. They had four children so they must have fucked a lot when they were younger. What was it like fucking a Queen? Was there a Royal Fucking Protocol? Was she royally bashful in the bedroom or playfully experimental? Did she find a release from the tightly controlled royal public demeanour in long, wild nights of royal abandonment and debauchery? It was well documented that her ancestors did the latter, but in these modern days when the monarchy had to pay heed to public opinion and most things were dictated by social media and the latest opinion polls, did the Queen conform and behave herself in the bedroom?

Clara stopped smiling. She had to focus on the parade in front of her, and salute the Household Cavalry who were walking past. Her imagination had a habit of running away with her, and she had discovered that her thoughts very readily caused physical reactions in her body. She couldn't afford to stand up to find a damp patch on the back of her dress. Having no knickers was fun and naughty, but it meant there was no safety net for an excited and wet pussy. She must stop thinking sexy thoughts!

The Household Cavalry walked past. This was the only occasion they went by foot, every other time they were mounted.

Mounted. Lovely word. Clara felt a tingling down her spine. She'd like to be mounted right now. Thoughts came back to her of her lovely Cavalry man and his big, hard cock, thrusting into her, hard, strong, urgent, deeper and deeper, she'd enjoyed the physical sensation but even more the thought that she, a Princess, was being impaled by a soldier of the Queen's own regiment. Delicious!

"Clara!" said a voice from somewhere. In her dream?

"Clara!" said the voice again. It was little more than a whisper, and it came from below her feet.

"Clara!" it said again, insistent this time. It was a male voice, but it was trying to be quiet.

"Down here. Underneath. Nice view!" said the voice, clearly laughing this time.

Clara turned sideways in a casual sort of way, so as not to attract attention. There was a person to her right - a vicar or clergyman judging by his dress - but an empty seat to her left. She glanced down between the chairs to the wooden platform they were on. In between the planks she could see a face, a face with a big grin on it. The face was instantly recognisable, and Clara's heart skipped a beat. John! Her Cavalry man. Her lover, banished to the wilds of Scotland. What was he doing here?

"What are you doing here?" she whispered down to him.

"My duty. To Queen and country. It's my regiment," he said.

Clara looked to the front, and smiled at the passing regiment. They were walking slowly, all dressed in their full dress uniforms, which included knee-length black leather boots with shiny metal spurs sticking out the back of the heel. Clara felt a stirring between her legs. She remembered the sensation of kissing boots like those, on her knees on the floor of the stables, naked except for a leather tie round her neck. He was so masterful, she just melted.

"Clara!" said the voice again. "Can I see you afterwards?"

They met at the back of the grandstand. John was in his civvies, but with a chest full of service medals. He was handsome and striking. And he had a wonderful smile.

"Enjoying the day?" he asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

Clara thought for a moment. Then she spoke, in a whisper.

"I'd rather be fucking," she said. John's smile grew even wider.

"Me too," he said, touching her arm. "Shall we?"

Clara shook her head.

"I can't. I have to be at the dinner."

"Me too," said John. "But it doesn't start for an hour. Plenty of time to fuck you silly."

Clara smiled. "Where?" she said.

"Usual place," said John.

"The stables? Won't there be people there?"

"Not a soul about," he said. "I've just come from there. They're all in the parade. Except the horses of course, they're all there."

"I don't want to fuck a horse," said Clara.

"No," smiled John. "Nor do I."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"I've missed you," said John. Clara touched his hand.

"I've got no underwear on. None at all."

John laughed. "Nothing for me to take off then."

The stables were indeed empty of people. Clara loved the smell of horses, it was an enticing smell that brought back of all sorts of childhood memories, and a reminder of the more recent activities with the man now walking a pace in front of her. He was beautiful. Tall, strong, with a real man's body, and always the perfect gentleman. Well, not always...

He dragged her into an empty stable.

"Knees," he commanded. Clara smiled inside. Oh how she had missed this!

She sank to her knees. She knew what was coming next and she desperately, desperately desperately wanted it. She looked up from her lowly position, straight into the smiling eyes of her man. He nodded. She brought her hands to his belt, which she undid, staring him in the eyes. She didn't need to look at what she was doing, she could do it with her eyes shut. Or in a blindfold. In fact she often did.

Next came the trouser buttons. She loved the army, they still used buttons! They undo with such a satisfying release, once the button gets halfway through the button hole suddenly it pops out and the trousers are undone. She found she often sighed at that moment.

Then the slow unzipping of the fly, slowly slowly to reveal the glorious bulge. In a man of taste the glorious bulge will be contained, quite tightly, so that the next stage, the almost unbearable next stage, will be all the more spectacular!

Clara ran her hand along the glorious bulge of her man, contained as it was in the heavy blue cotton of army issue underpants. Even in civvies John still wore half his uniform! He had a magnificent bulge, large and so hard. She held it in her hand. She could feel it throbbing. Wonderful, wonderful. For some reason she suddenly had an image of the Queen in this position, holding onto Prince Phillip's cock. She giggled.

This was probably not a wise thing to do, because she felt John's hand move slowly into her hair. He curled his fist and with a handful of hair he jerked her head backwards.

"Something funny?" he said.

Clara was taken by surprise. She didn't know what to say. So she decided to tell the truth.

"Do you think the Queen does this?" she said.

"What?" said John, a look of real questioning in his face.

"Do you think the Queen sucks Phillip's cock?" she said. "Or did?"

John released Clara's hair. "That I don't know, but what I do know is that no-one's cock is being sucked at this moment in time, and that has to be put right." And he pulled down the front of his underwear and his magnificent and erect cock sprang out.

Clara gasped. She stared. She just stared, open mouthed, at the magnificent, the glorious, the stupendous sight before her. A full, wide, long, straight, throbbing penis, just a few inches from her face. And below it, partly hidden in short curly hair, were John's balls, which she knew she could get into her mouth, one at a time.

"Oh John," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Oh John." And without further ado she sat forward, opened her mouth a little wider, and took John's cock into her mouth. She took him in slowly, covering him with saliva and using her tongue to massage the underside of his shaft. He moaned and put his hand back into her hair. He didn't pull this time, just slowly moved his hand as if he were giving her a massage. She took him in as far as she could without gagging, then slowly let him out again, all the while gently sucking and licking with her tongue. She kept the saliva flowing, and hoped that he felt her mouth as warm and wet and soft and inviting. When she had his cock just at the edge of her mouth, she moved forward and plunged it back in again. Such indescribable pleasure!

"Oh God I hope so, for her sake!" John breathed out as Clara increased the intensity of her sucking and the frequency of the ins and outs.

Clara pulled John's cock right out of her mouth. "What?" She said.

"Don't stop!" he said. "Please."

"Then what did you mean?" said Clara, opening her mouth and sinking John's cock into it once more. He moaned again as he tried to talk.

"The Queen," he said. "And...oooh, yes...the Queen and Phillip. What you said. Ah, god...!" Clara was now licking John's balls, and in turn taking them into her mouth. She sucked on these very hard as she knew John liked it. Then she returned her attention to his cock, and licked from his balls, up the underside, to the head, around the head, and then she took him in again and sucked him all the way in. She loved it, she just loved his cock and she loved feeling it in her mouth. It was the sexiest thing of all.

Then John did a very unsexy thing. He looked at his watch.

"Clara, Clara stop!" And he gently pushed her back so his cock slipped out of her mouth.

"What?" she said, panting heavily. She had a dreamy expression on her face.

"Time's getting on. The dinner."

It took Clara a moment to focus. While she was thinking her hand found its way to John's cock, and she squeezed it gently.

"The dinner, yes, the dinner," she said. "Do we have to go?"

"Of course we do! You're on the top table with Her Majesty!" said John.

"No no, I mean now, do we have to go now?"

John reached down and took her hands, and pulled her upright. He smiled.

"No, not yet. I haven't fucked you yet."

"Quite right," said Clara. And with that she reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and in one movement, pulled it over her head. She threw it onto the hay bale behind her, and stood, stark naked, with her hands over her head, smiling at John.

"By Royal Command, Captain, you are ordered to fuck the Princess Clara, right here right now. If you fail to do so you will be sent to the Tower and therein held at her Majesty's pleasure." She giggled. "Saucy minx."

John laughed then took Clara by the waist. She knew what to do next, they had done it many times before and it was her favourite. If they got it right. It was a risky move on John's behalf because if it went wrong he could be injured for life, but they had never failed so far.

John took Clara by the waist and lifted her up in the air. She reached down and took hold of his cock. Then John lowered Clara slowly but quickly too and in the fraction of a second they had before Clara was too low she guided John's cock into her pussy, and then she let go. She wrapped her legs around John's waist. John let her drop and sit, impaled, on his lap. She cried with joy as she felt his cock thrust itself right into her pussy, and he moaned aloud. She growled at him.

"Fuuuuck me!" she said. She could feel him inside her, deep inside, he was big and he stretched her but what a sensation! She felt completely full.

"Bastard!" she whispered. "How could you go to Scotland?" And she lifted herself and began sliding up and down, his cock pumping in and out, hard and strong and throbbing.

"Had no choice," he gasped as he felt the heat and the moisture from the dripping wet cunt he was now fucking. "You're so fucking wet!" he gasped.

"Been horny all day," she whispered to his ear. She licked his ear and tried to push her tongue into it. He squirmed then took a step backwards, holding her in his hands and pulling her down onto him. He managed to turn, and then he pushed her with a thump against the stable wall. She cried out.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, pushing into her now that she was stuck against the wall.

"Yes," she said, with a pretend pout on her face.

"Good," he said, and he fucked her ever harder.

Clara knew that John would be able to fuck standing up all day. He was strong and she was light, he would hardly even feel her weight. She ran her hands down his muscly back, she could feel his shoulder blades and the incredibly tight muscle running down his spine. It was like a ridge of a mountain range. She pushed down on him harder, feeling his cock thrust into her. She could feel her pussy with every thrust, it was sending incredible waves of sensation up though her body. God she loved fucking with this man!

"Do you think they do?" said John.

"Who?" said Clara, sitting back to look into John's eyes.

"The Royals," he said, and he leant forward to kiss her. They ate each other's mouth and tongues, at the same time as the fucking went on. Whenever they came up for breath one of them spoke.

"Of course," said Clara. Kiss.

"But they have separate bedrooms," said John. He sucked at Clara's tongue, and pushed his cock deep into Clara's pussy.

"So?" she said. "Haven't you heard of doors?" She ground her pubic area against his, which caused both of them to gasp and laugh.

"Do you think she wears sexy knickers to these events?" said Clara. "Oh fuck me, you bastard! Fuck me!"

John leaned back so he could watch his cock penetrating her. He smiled.

"I think," he said, as he drew his cock out almost to the end then plunged it back in again, "that she carries her knickers in her handbag."

"That's why she holds it so tightly!" said Clara, now with a serious look on her face as she too watched John's cock entering and leaving her and entering again. This is what being fucked means!

"Or," said John, "or, he is wearing her knickers!" exploded John in laughter. He pulled Clara close and buried his face into her shoulder. She began laughing too, and soon they were both clinging to each other laughing and fucking and fucking and laughing, John as steady as a rock on his feet with Clara leaning back against the wall, impaled on his cock.

Moments later Clara exploded in orgasm. She screamed behind the hand John managed to put over her mouth, and he held her as she spasmed and spasmed and squeezed hard on his cock with her pussy muscles. Halfway through her orgasm he came too, and he thrust as hard as he could into her and let go. She sensed his urgency and then relaxed as she felt his ejaculations hit the back of her pussy and fill her with his cum. She loved the feeling of his ejaculation, the way his cock pulsed and somehow became harder and more swollen before quite quickly deflating, although in the case of this man, not deflating very much. She had never ejected his cock in what is conventionally known as the flaccid condition. Nothing about John was ever flaccid.

Clara's orgasm faded and she suddenly felt very sleepy. She looked John in the eyes and smiled at him. Then things went a little misty. Then she heard a voice calling her name.

"Clara! Clara!" It wasn't John, this was a female voice. She opened her eyes.

"Clara. Come on. You have to go." It was Louise, her...well, in previous eras she would have been called her Lady-in-Waiting, but now she was employed as her PA, although they had grown quite close and were as much friends as anything else.

Clara looked around. She was one of the last people left on the seats, and there were a few people wandering around on the street in front.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"You've got to be seated in ten minutes. The Queen enters at 7 on the dot."

Clara became instantly awake, and aware of her situation. Queen, Household Cavalry, dinner, top table, no knickers. Wet pussy. Oh dear.

"Louise?" said Clara. Louise turned and looked at Clara. Louise was a few years older than Clara and was blonde, but other than that she and Clara were quite similar in appearance and build.