The Royal Scepter_A Royal Baby Romance

by Cherise West

  Except for me and my filthy words, maybe. And she’ll get plenty of that.

  “Hello, what can I do for— Prince Estefan!” the designer, Ms. Featherly, a cheery old woman wrapped in a white silk gown, blinks in surprise on seeing me. “What… what can I do for you, your highness? It’s an honor to have you in my shop.”

  “I’m certain it is, Ms. Featherly,” I nod to her, “but I come with business today. Specifically, to model a few of your choice fashions on the dear Princess Erica, here,” I gesture to the princess, who blushes.

  “Something a little modest, maybe, though I don’t know if you have anything of the sort,” the princess sasses.

  “Only the most beautiful and ostentatious fashions in my shop,” Ms. Featherly responds. I smirk.

  “Then let’s see them,” I announce. “In a private fitting room, please.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Ms. Featherly moves with haste through a side door; we follow her, finding our way to a large pentagonal room surrounded on every side with mirrors, a little platform trimmed in gold and jewels at the center, to show hot Erica off to me in every single direction.

  “Princess Erica,” Ms. Featherly asks, “what kingdom are you from, hmm? Perhaps I could fetch fashions of your homeland.”

  “Oh, f-from Tyrel,” Erica answers.

  “From Tyrel? A princess from…” Ms. Featherly taps her chin; I narrow my gaze, curious what the old bat has in mind. “I didn’t know of any young Princess Ericas from Tyrel. Have I done anything for you before?” Ms. Featherly asks skeptically. I know Featherly to be well-acquainted with royalty from across the land, but what is she trying to imply?

  “I… I don’t think so,” Erica responds.

  “That gown… blue gossamer, it looks strikingly like…” Ms. Featherly continues to ponder. I can see Erica blushing, growing uncomfortable.

  “Ms. Featherly,” I ask, speeding the process along, “could you fetch the onyx-maroon style? I think it’d look amazing on the princess,” I rumble. She blinks.

  “Oh, oh, ce-certainly, I apologize your highnesses,” she bows to both myself and the princess, before hurrying herself out of the dressing room. When she’s left, I pull the door shut behind her, circling the mirrored room like the starved wolf I am, watching my lewd little prey blush.

  “I don’t know what Ms. Featherly thought, questioning a beautiful thing like you,” I ask, the pressing topic throbbing in my mind. “A Princess so full-bodied and beautiful and so… fertile.”

  “Fertile,” she repeats; I’m upon her in a second, sweeping her off her little platform and into my arms, her blue gossamer gown shimmering in the lamplight.

  “A princess must always think about a few things, shouldn’t she?” I tease; our lips ghost against one another, dangerously close.

  “And what should I be thinking about?…” she taunts, her breath sweet and her tongue lashing across her lips, eyelids fluttering in seductive desire.

  “About your marriage, to a strapping prince…” I say, holding her up with my strong arms, letting my words roll along her skin like a hot, honeyed syrup. “…and about bearing the prince a strong, and smart, heir. I wonder,” I growl, “if your sexy little body could do that… if it’s deserving of feeling my steamy-hot seed pressing against the womb, Princess Erica. There’re a lot of princesses… but not all of them are different, like you are.”

  “Is that what you want? To stuff me with your baby?” she breathes out, her voice smoky. “To cum inside of my hot, wanting pussy while you torment my body with pleasure and pain and I croon out your name while you give me your heir?…”

  “Is that what you want? Or does bratty Erica need to be put in her place first?” I taunt, looking at each of the mirrors around us, seeing her quiver under the touch of my hot breath from every single angle, and feeling harder and hotter with each one.

  “God,” she sighs against my lip, “you want to put me in my place, do you? And stuff me hot and full with your babies? You’ll need to try harder than that,” she taunts, her hips rolling against me. Fuck, I can’t keep control. I want to press her flat to the ground right now and fuck her until our screams are so loud we shatter every one of these mirrors. Our lips meet, and she moans; our tongues slip together and dance hotly, the messy slurp of devouring desire filling the air when I nibble her lip and she whimpers and kisses my cheeks, my lips dipping along her neck.

  “Hey! Hey!” I hear a voice call through the door. Fuck. Is it really her?

  “Who’s that?” Princess Erica murmurs, as the intruder continues to bang on the door to the dressing room. I stand us both up, the moment utterly ruined, and march towards the door, pulling it open.

  “I’m sorry, Prince Estefan, I tried to stop her, but she’s a princess,” Ms. Featherly apologizes, holding a half-assembled royal gown in her hands. Of course, it had to be her. Tall and posh, with her long black hair and complete bitch-face, my ex - Princess Louella, the crown-princess of the neighboring kingdom of Aluvon, barges through in her perfectly-tailored red gown, her silvered tiara on her head, and ranting anger in her voice.

  “What the hell are you doing?! Who is this?!” she demands, glaring at Erica.

  “Who are you?” Erica retorts with snark in her tone. I smirk. Good girl.

  “This is Louella, Queen Bitch of Rude Castle,” I intone. Louella’s expression twists in anger, her heels clacking while she approaches me.

  “I’m Princess Louella of Aluvon, and this jerk used to fuck me,” she shouts. “Then he dumped me. For what— you?! Some shabby bitch in a gossamer blue gown - gossamer blue, in spring, hah,” Louella scoffs haughtily.

  “It looks better on me than any color would on you,” Erica bites back.

  “Louella is an ex of mine,” I emphasize.

  “You dumped me for some commoner trash?!” Louella exclaims, gesturing to Erica. “You know you can’t marry or bear any royal heirs with some commoner.”

  “Erica is a princess from Tyrel,” I sigh. “Did you follow us here, Louella? Or did you have that royal pain-in-the-ass vizier of yours tail my carriage instead?”

  “A princess? From Tyrel? I know the entire Tyrelian royal family, and this girl looks nothing like any of them,” Louella protests.

  “Yes, I forgot, you’re Queen Bitch, keeper of royal birth records,” I scoff. “Princess Erica, from Tyrel.”

  “Vienni’s youngest sister,” Erica adds from behind me.

  “I’ve never heard of a Princess Erica in my life,” Louella scoffs. Worry fills my stomach, though I ignore it. Could it be true? She made it into the princess’s ball. I give a glance over my shoulder at Erica, who appears determined.

  “Maybe you should just open them up, then. Or maybe all the makeup you wear on your head to keep yourself from looking like a Swamp Monstrosity makes it much harder for you to hear and to think, so you never figured our Vienni had a younger sister,” Erica quips. I smirk, wanting to clap. Now that was some delicious sass.

  “You’re falling for this commoner’s stupid game? Come, Estefan, you and I have a lot to discuss about our relationship, and the joining of our kingdoms after your father passes,” Louella insists. My stomach gurgles, anger throbbing in my veins.

  “You’re just waiting around, begging for my dad to die, so you can try to pounce on the throne as fast as possible, aren’t you? That’s why you have that bastard vizier following me around all of Velune. We’re over, Louella,” I shout, causing Ms. Featherly to flinch. “You’ll never bear my royal heir, or wear the crown of Velune. Go back to where you came from.”

  “You can pretend all you want, but you dare court this commoner-wench, and the entire court will be up in scandal. You’ll never be king, Estefan,” Louella threatens. “The vizierate will never have it!”

  “Don’t you have some royal bitching to do back at your castle?” Erica exclaims, saying the sentence I had stewing in the back of my head.

  “How dare you talk to me that way!” Louella struts to Erica, pulling
her hand back to unleash a wallop of a slap. Erica twists from the force of the strike and I dash forward, catching the tumbling princess in my arms before she falls painfully to the floor.

  “No violence in my shop!” Ms. Featherly shouts. “Princess or no, Louella, no striking other women in the store!”

  “Get out of here,” I snarl, my voice dangerous and protecting. No one strikes my hot, fertile young princess like that; woman or man or anyone else. Louella crosses her arms, giving a haughty hmph before marching off angrily out the door. I look to Princess Erica, who - not perturbed, not wistful or whiny - is instead intent, just the kind of strength that I love to see in a princess. She’s truly deserving of the title.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ms. Featherly apologizes a thousand times.

  “It’s not your fault, Ms. Featherly. Please, bring in the nice dress for Erica to try.” She hurries back into the corridor, and my eyes return to Erica. I feel the worry knotting in my stomach. As much as I want her, as much as my hard body feels the fucking need for her, I start to doubt. Do I send a message to Vienni to ask her about a younger sister?

  I don’t care. At this point - princess, commoner, or otherwise - I want her so bad I’d throw the entire kingdom away for her. But I have to think about my responsibility. My dad lays dying, my mother crying; I’ll inherit the kingdom soon. And I need a fertile body to bear my royal heir.

  “I’ll be fine, let me stand up,” Erica pleads.

  “Erica, I have to court a princess. Marrying outside of royalty would doom the both of us - and all of Velune, lest it fall into the hands of one of my power-hungry, greedy viziers. Or worse, a woman like Louella,” I say, gravely. “Are you a princess?” She hesitates.

  “Yes,” she answers firmly, her body shivering. I close my eyes. Our lips meet again with a passion inflamed, before I hear footsteps at the door again.

  “Let’s get you a dress,” I say, lifting her to her feet. “One fit for a princess.”

  Erica

  My quivering, naked body lays bent, prostrate and submissive beneath the power of my sexy, hot prince. I feel his breath dripping like boiling water from his lips while he teases me with the ultimate pleasure, the one I've never truly known before, not with a man whose body glistens in sweat, mind-meltingly gorgeous, the way his is.

  He grips my hips with the kind of strong confidence only a man like Estefan has, fueled by his billion-gold piece fortune, his years of experience; that aged, seething charm that practically drowns me in my rolling, seeping dampness with how hot he makes me. I feel his shaft – hard, hard as a fucking rock, pumping and squeezing like nothing I've ever felt before. He slides his shaft between my tightened thighs, feeling my fleshy curves pleasure his dick, its length teasing against my wet cunt each time he fucks my thighs. I quake, squeaking with girly little gasps each time I feel him thrust and use my body, my tight and swaying, shapely legs giving him filthy satisfaction when I feel his strong pelvis pump against my round, heart-shaped ass. I jiggle, my curves ripple every time he teases me – harder and harder the teasing works me, and with his cock roiling like steam against my curves I can barely even stand.

  My sexy prince hasn't even penetrated those tight folds.. he hasn't even teased my hole or fucked my pussy raw, but just the dirty knowledge of this pleasure we're sharing, and how good his cock feels against my skin – just that feels like enough to make me collapse. I tighten my legs up, holding them as close as I can together, giving him a sweet, blushing little channel of thigh-flesh to fuck hard, like it was my drenched, tight hole. My fingers practically tear the leather upholstery of the chair apart with how hard I grasp on to the softly-shimmering fabric. He's squeezing my ass hard as I’ve ever felt and now our bodies bathe in the succulent shadows of his dark, grand manor – the only light keeping us aware of one another’s flexing, flinching shapes is the roaring flame of his royal fireplace, bouncing along the shadows cloaking both of our bodies.

  “I like to tease my little girl..” Isaac growls into my ear, his body doubling over against mine, nibbling at my earlobe and turning my skin red with soft bites and kisses all along my neck. “I like to tease my brat, just like this, until she's ready to pop.. and then.. only then, when I know she's so fucking hot, so fucking ready for my cock,” he sneers into my skin, “only then, that's when I give her what she really wants.. that's when I take her tight pussy for the first time,” he plays with me with those words, dangling me on a tense string, his hips working my flesh roughly, thrusting that reddened fuckrod into my quaking, wet, messy thighs. My sweet juices rain like a spring storm against the insides of my fleshy legs, coating his gleaming, obsidian-hard cockshaft with layer after layer of soaking-damp warmth. I already feel like I can't take it, but my prince won't let me go that easily.

  “I'm.. please, master… give your little Erica what she needs,” I plead weakly. The pressure builds like a bomb ready to erupt in my chest, but the ticker's still clicking away.. he doesn't give me any time to catch my breath, his hard, carved pelvis pounding against my ass until the skin on my rear burns a chafed, beat-up red; he grasps my hips and pulls back on them, swiveling his pelvis against my thighs just to push his girth against my soaking labia and my flushed, beady clit. His palms bury themselves into my curves until they burn. I feel a tingling surging in every little finger and every little toe and I lift myself onto the front of my feet, gasping down waves and waves of drenching, hot breath.

  “How does this feel, hmm?..” he teases, thrusts fast and unrelenting. I can't hold back my gasps anymore and my lips part and I let out the most lewd, strained sound my body's ever made in all my life. It feels like something so wild and untamed when I feel the words slip from my lips. I can't even believe I'm saying this; I feel like when my hot prince teases my body, I'm just completely possessed.

  “It feels SO FUCKING good, your majesty,” I moan like a cum-hungry little kitten, shrinking under my prince's dirty grasp. He tugs at my waist, wrapping his arm around me and pulling back hard. He forces my body backwards, over and over and over again, impaling my tight thighs with his cock until I'm so filled with orgasmic, quaking sensations that I can't keep my thighs together anymore. In vain I wrap my ankles between one another but the teasing of his cock against my sensitive clit is too much. My chest tightens and my lips part and I scream my prince’s name—

  “Erica! Erica!”

  God. Just a dream? Damn it.

  “Erica!”

  “I’m awake, I’m awake,” I grumble, hearing my sister banging away on the door to my bedroom. That wasn’t the first time I’ve woken up damning that Prince Estefan visits me only in my dreams… but tonight is the night that I will get to see him for real. And if my hopes come true, he’ll give me all those dirty desires he’s promised me.

  That is… if he doesn’t find out I’m an imposter. It hurt me so much to lie to him in that dress shop, but what was I going to do? Lose him because of some stupid, antiquated rule? Let whatever this is with him die, for no reason, other than to please some cranky old lawkeepers? I know one day he’ll find out… but I hope that we can face that together, with him on my side.

  “Erica! Have you gone to the market today yet? It’s past ten in the morning!” Katrana complains through the door. I hear some mumbling on the other side of the door. Ugh. I bet Bertrand is here, too.

  “Bertrand is here to help move the goods down to the market, sister!” Katrana says. Bertrand is Katrana’s boyfriend… though from the way he looks and talks and acts, it seems he’s a lot more interested in me than he is in Katrana. I have to deal with his advances every time he drags his carcass over here - moping when I turn him down after a ‘subtle’ ass grab or ‘accidental’ grope of my chest. I’ll probably have to deal with another one today. I pull my nightgown down my body, exposing my full, bare chest and the smooth curves of my young body; a breeze gusts through my open window, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is a long, flowing, golden mess, and there’s heavy bags under
each of my eyes. I look like hell… not set for a royal date. Going to my closet, I sample each gown and dress… pulling out the dress of deep, lacy black, trimmed in red with rubies and onyxes, that Estefan got me for the date tonight. It looks so unbelievably beautiful that for a moment I feel like I’m in that dressing room again, his arms holding me while he promises dirty filth and devours my lips with his. I don’t want it to be a dream anymore.

  “Hey, Erica,” I hear Bertrand’s voice - not muffled anymore, as he barges right in to the room while I stand naked. Startled, I grab my bedsheets and swaddle them tightly against my thick breasts, surprise in my face.

  “What the hell, Bertrand!” I exclaim angrily. He swings the door back shut, and I huff, pulling a simple linen dress from the closet and throwing it over my head. “You’re supposed to knock.”

  “We did!” Bertrand exclaims through the door.

  “And did I tell you to come in?” I respond harshly. He pushes the door open again and I growl in frustration.

  “What? You have your clothes on now!” Bertrand exclaims. Enraged, I grab my flask of water from last evening and throw what’s left inside across Bertrand’s face, leaving him soaked. “Hey! What the hell!”

  “Don’t barge in on me!” I roar.

  “I’m just— just here to help with the market stuff,” he stammers.

  “I’m not going to the market, today,” I hiss, running my hands across the vanity in my bedroom. It’s a complete mess - makeup and eyeliner scattered around, unorganized, clothes laying across the stool I should be sitting in to do my makeup. “I have a lot to do, today. And I have a date tonight.”