The Peacemaker

by Schuyler Thorpe

  Most girls I knew growing up would’ve been swooning over him in a heartbeat like they did with the Jonas Brothers awhile back—a very popular boy band that I had every music CD to. (And still had a crush on the lead singer.)

  I cautiously opened the door and found him standing there just inside the small entranceway—as calm as you please.

  That startled me—since I had the door unlocked and there was no need for him to be here in the first place.

  “You can, ah…go in if you like, your Highness.”

  “Thank you.” The young man replied, turning the knob and entering a very spacious living area.

  This place used to be my father’s and then my grandfather’s workshop when he was designing and building planes on his own time—during the last great war of course.

  The conversion to an apartment took some time and a great amount of hard work which—I had to say—took me and my dad a few months to do.

  Lining the wall next to the door was a vast collection of pictures taken of the hanger in the last 60 years and some older ones which went back another twenty—when it used to be one of the first automobile plants for the Green Mountain State.

  The sink and long island counter was on the other side of the sunken maple floor—with a giant round rug at the center; covered by a vast array of fine family furniture from both the massive Ethan Allan plant and a smaller furniture outlet located in the greater Newport area.

  Both produced some really fine pieces and I wanted my home to reflect my Vermont-style upbringing.

  Plus, I wanted something of my family history to be shown and preserved for future generations.

  My mom’s old wicker chair still stood in the corner with the faded brown teddy bear she had growing up. Alongside that was a nightstand from my great-grandmother, Annie Henrietta Lorraine-Anderson. (Try saying that one three times fast! I always had my tongue twisted in knots whenever my grandmother asked me to say her name. She died when I was two—so I only got to know her through family get togethers and old photos from the last 100 years.)

  “Take a seat, your Highness.” I told the visiting prince. “It may not look like much, but it’s been home to me for as long as I can remember.”

  The prince nodded and sat gingerly down on one of the embroidered loveseats which was entirely built out of pine and decorated with some of the nicest floral patterns I had ever seen.

  “A nice place you have here, Ms. Anderson.” He called after me—after I ducked out into my own bedroom and cinched the beaded curtain shut.

  I really wished he would call me Kina. But I couldn’t damn him for his outright hospitality and impeccable manners—despite my best attempts to corrupt him a little.

  “Thank you.” I said out loud—throwing off my robe and prancing around the room naked in an attempt to get some clean clothes and make myself look the least bit presentable.

  But the Bad and Naughty thoughts kept entering my head and I suddenly found myself wishing I could do the same in front of him for a few minutes or so.

  I stood up and looked myself into the vanity mirror before banging my head softly on top of the dresser.

  Damn my ten-year drought! I thought to myself in pure heartache and personal misery. I hadn’t thought about sex in a good long while—since I broke up with that scum bag ex-boyfriend of mine, Todd Schrödinger.

  Since that disaster on an epic scale, I was never able to jump back into a normal relationship with men again.

  It was only recently that I started becoming a little flirtatious with the opposite sex now and then. And I thought that was a good sign in itself.

  It could mean that I was finally putting the past behind me and starting the long process of dating again.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my nicely framed face, soft cheeks, full lips and a sloped nose covered in its own forest of freckles.

  A few age spots here and there had started to make their wayward appearance on my thin neck, but outside of that, I thought my soft brown eyes, dark eyelashes, and my lush, brown, hair was my best features for scoring a man and keeping him this time around.

  “So why are you trying to tangle with a prince from England?” I asked the soulful reflection in the mirror. “Are you fucking stupid—or are you asking for a shit load of trouble from the English monarchy?”

  But the inner part of me, the part of me that was a real wild child—didn’t see that at all.

  He’s cute And he’s single! So what if he’s 18?!?

  I snorted and shook my head.

  “In some countries, 18 is jail bait, girlfriend. Robbing the cradle-18...”

  You don’t have anything to lose by not trying…

  “How about his gorgeous escort?” I thought to ask softly.

  He’s a dish. And mysterious. But he can be an inconsiderate ass hat sometimes.

  I couldn’t argue with myself over that.

  Mr. Jones was pleasant to look at and interact with—even if my imagination did paint him as some kind of movie villain—and he was polite as always.

  “Did we forget that he paid us a princely sum?”

  Did we also forget the few times when some guy tried to worm his way into your pants by trying to buy you off towards the end?

  “I made sure that they never forgot who they were messing with.” I said with a Cheshire grin on my face—recalling the last time one of the guys tried that with me and why my father busted a gut that night after I regaled him the incident of that night—just after I had turned 18 no less.

  “My baby girl…” he managed with some effort. My mom was no less amazed by what I had done and it gave any future suitors a second’s hesitation before they realized that I wasn’t some little hot number which could be suckered into “giving it up” at the drop of a hat.

  But that was a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes…if you count the fact that I’m now 36. I thought. I was pretty trim and athletic—considering the kind of job I was doing, with just a little flab in the front to show for age.

  No one really expects one to be a supermodel all their lives—right?

  I stood up—the mirror reflecting my naked personality and both medium-sized breasts—and opened the first drawer to fish out a pair of black-lace panties which I thought would look inviting on my otherwise alabaster skin. (I never tanned quite right, no matter what I did as a teen growing up. I’m just surprised that I never got skin cancer with all the crap I was doing to myself.)

  I kicked myself mentally as I slid the panties up and around my hips.

  Hell—o!!! Earth to Kina! No enticing the prince! He’s off limits!

  Still…

  Why did the song, “Hot for Teacher” come to mind then?

  I growled out something fierce to myself and promised I would behave nicely around the prince when I got dressed.

  After donning on a pair of tight green pants and an athletic shirt with the words-logo, DARTMOUTH COLLEGE stamped on the front, I slipped on a pair of red flip-flops and headed out to greet my prince.

  I balled my hands into fists, promising to excise that damned Eddie Van Halen song out of my mind one way or another.

  CHAPTER SIX.

  8:06 PM.

  I came out—expecting the prince to be sitting patiently—but instead, I discovered that he had crashed on the sectional loveseat staked out on the edge of the sunken floor—next to my dad’s old magazine stand.

  He had his shoes off of course and a small pillow tucked underneath his head for support.

  I bit down gently on my lower lip—thinking how cute and sweet this scene looked, while another part of me—the carnal side—wanted to kiss and ravish him.

  Down girl! I thought to myself. But the temptation to play with the Devil—rather than being the angel—was a little more than I could take at this moment.

  I approached him quietly and bent over to grab a small afghan blanket to cover him with.

  Snapping it open, I laid it out—letting it fall over his rail-thin body—before
settling down on its own.

  I stepped back for a second to see if he had awoken, but I saw that—by his adorable face—he was indeed more tired than I thought.

  The trip down must’ve drained him more than usual, I reflected—thinking back to the days when I was young and exhausted from many of my dad’s endless trips back and forth when he ran the air service all by himself. (Sometimes with my mom’s help.)

  I bent down to brush a stray strand from his eyes and thought: Hell…it worked in the storybooks—and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

  “Sweet dreams, my little prince.” Your Highness. I quickly added as a silent afterthought.

  I waited for a second to see what would become of my little impulsive move, but he never once stirred, opened his eyes, or even asked me to bring him a glass of milk.

  Nuts. I thought to myself—no change.

  What? Was I expecting him to change back into a frog?

  That thought made me laugh inside as I walked over to turn out the lights.

  “Sleep well.” I said quietly, then stepped back inside my own quiet domain.

  Moments later, the lights in my room also died out.

  ***

  Ten miles from Vergennes.

  Conrad wasn’t used to having his orders challenged. He even said so on the phone.

  “Look, you little bitch,” he said with venomous English. “We all agreed this would be the perfect setup to drag our respective countries into war for both honor, glory, and some fucking money. Now…I’m carrying out my end of the plan, you had better do yours. Or would you like to see your family—dead?”

  The voice at the other end was shocked into perfect silence as the other party tried to either weasel her way out of this fine mess, or she was trying to change the conditions of the plan.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.” The voice relented finally. “But I don’t have to like it.”

  Conrad settled back in his seat—thinking about all the extra millions upon millions his parent company in the Middle East would be making once hostilities started to break out.

  And it would be blamed on one poor courier pilot from this backwater little state.

  “Just remember to tell your pilots to harass only—not destroy. Got it?”

  A note of acceptance was heard on the other end.

  “Don’t worry, Captain Mitchell,” Conrad said soothingly. “Nothing will ever connect you with tomorrow’s little flight. I’ll make sure of that.”

  The captain on the other end grunted a bit, but that was all Conrad was going to allow from her.

  “Goodnight, my dear.” The man said abruptly—as the driver in front rapped on the window in front of him.

  “Yes?” He asked in a pleasant tone.

  “Where to now, sir?”

  “Back to the airport. I have some prearranged transportation there, waiting for me.”

  The driver nodded. “Very good sir. And the prince?”

  Conrad thought a little on this one. But whatever passed through his mind went out the window.

  Compassion would no longer rule his destiny. From now on, it would be money. The lap of personal luxury which had been denied to him for as long as he could remember.

  Not even the pittance that the Queen bestowed upon him to be the prince’s attaché and bodyguard couldn’t make up for years of pent up frustration and denial.

  “He’s in good hands, Carter. Don’t you worry. His Highness will be seeing you before you even know it.”

  The lie came so easily enough that even Conrad himself was starting to believe it.

  Gone was King and Country. Now it was just plain ol’ Conrad Jones—heir to about 300 million in potential war profits and a nice, cushy estate from a well-to-do Saudi prince in the kingdom of the Middle East no less.

  From then on, the former life he led would no longer exist and a new one would begin.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” he murmured—drink in hand.

  He raised it to his own future success and smiled.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  It had been awhile since I had a hot and rather erotic wet dream involving anyone as of late.

  But I guess with all that was going on with first Conrad Jones and now the prince—?

  I found myself moaning softly in my sleep, my fingers absently playing with the inner folds of my wet pussy and making sure that I was being taken care of very well indeed.

  I don’t recall what was being done in my sleep, in my tortured wet dreams, but all I could get a fix on was a couple of well toned bodies moving back and forth in tandem with their nice, hard cocks wiggling back and forth for me to touch, lick, and pleasure on my own time.

  Then some soft and inviting hands would be parting me just so and I would get the most glorious fuck of my life!

  Even my ex couldn’t please me like this as I whispered and called out someone’s name, or two.

  It didn’t matter to me. My brain was on fucking overload from all the erotic imagery, the flashes of carnal lust and wild sex, and the most…euphoric sensation I had ever felt—as a part of me sailed upwards on a cloud of blissful contentment, but never let me down.

  Not once.

  Tears were running down my face—I was certain of that. I could taste the saltiness on my checks as my head thrashed back and forth for a couple more seconds as my dream body tensed and then inexplicably relaxed all on its own.

  I remember seeing myself drenched in sweat, my chest and face covered in cum—while my pussy lay throbbing and beating out its own tune from being invaded, stretched, and thoroughly pummeled to complete satisfaction.

  I remember seeing my hands twitch spasmodically and my toes curling on their own, but that was about it.

  The drum-bass pounding of my heart could be heard right through the entire escapade as I lay there—wrapped with clouds of cool, comforting, silk, and then the feel of my sheets wrapped tightly around one leg and my left wrist—as I stretched involuntarily and moaned quietly into the mattress.

  A puddle of cold drool collecting at the corner of my mouth.

  I shifted and stirred a little, feeling totally hot and sticky all over, but completely relaxed, spent, and satisfied all at the same time.

  Fleeting memories of some soft hands enveloping me, followed by a soft tongue licking one of my perky nipples before being bitten down ever so softly.

  I moaned—silently urging on my dream partner to continue pleasuring me and never stopping.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I did see his blond curls and I closed my eyes and imagined that it was he whom was with me—bestowing upon me a precious gift of sex and total love which no other man had ever given me.

  “Yesss…” I heard myself saying. “Right there…my prince. Don’t stop, you naughty little boy...”

  Everything was hazy as I felt my dream lover’s hands on my tits, squeezing and mauling them with his hands and mouth; raining kisses on my tortured, heated skin—giving way to light and tender kisses on my lips and my mouth.

  I opened it and sucked his tongue in with eager gratification as we both shared a ravishing kiss.

  Then—when I looked up—I saw a perfectly hairless chest followed by a very nice and thick cock pulsing in beat with my own heated passions.

  I raised him up a little so that I could take him into my mouth—sucking him into the back of my throat and giving him the best blowjob I could recall ever bestowing.

  I don’t remember much—if it was real or it was just a part of the experience—but I felt him spasm into the back of my mouth; dumping a generous amount down my parched throat.

  “Mmmph!” I suddenly choked—feeling it stream down into my belly—or was it something else?—and a coughing fit ensued afterwards.

  Everything crashed against me like the Cape Cod tide during rough seas and my dream world pitched itself up and down so badly that I lost hold of my gifted lover and the dream experience that had my mind, body, and soul in such tight knots.

  I continued
to cough as I suddenly came to and realized that I had somehow inhaled a loose feather from one of my throw pillows.

  Another series of wracking coughs brought it back up to the surface and I pulled it out from the back of my throat.

  Turning on the nightstand light, I got a good look at my tormentor and saw that it was at least seven inches long and had a nice, white, downy color to it.

  All covered in phlegm, drool, and a shit load of saliva.

  “Gross!” I hissed to myself, throwing the thing into the wastebasket perched next to my bed and then flung myself back onto my now sweat-covered bed.

  Everything was rapidly cooling and making a real mess of my bedtime experience.

  The sheets were in a tangled mess, and my two favorite pillows couldn’t be seen anywhere. I turned myself over and looked on the other side—seeing that they were both there.

  Innocent as they could be.

  “Dammit!” I cursed a little louder than usual. “Thanks a lot.”

  My dreams, my dream lovers—all had floated above my head and evaporated into the ceiling like a pair of ghostly apparitions; laughing at me the entire way to oblivion.

  Balling my fists, I silently screamed to the world in general:

  I WANT SEX!!!

  Gods…was I going out of my mind!

  But there was little that I could do about it. I was alone in bed, with a hot number sleeping next to me on the loveseat out in the living room.

  I thumped myself on the head a little.

  No, no, no…! Bad Kina! Bad!…

  Then I rolled myself right into a wet spot of my own design—my left breast getting a good dose of the chilling mess which I had left behind during the night.

  During the night…? I thought to myself—checking the clock.

  The digital face read close to three in the morning—a lot longer than I had first thought.

  “I went to bed around…” I mumbled, ticking off my fingers in the process—buck-ass naked to the world in general. “8 or 9...?”

  I sighed and got up for a second to strip off the soiled sheets and the two blankets—leaving a bare mattress behind.

  Going into the closet, I ducked inside to grab a fresh set of linens and came back out.