He slides himself down my body, rubbing his hands slowly along my body, tracing every inch of me. I shudder as he does so and release a little moan.
I’m lying with my eyes closed, expecting him to enter me any moment. But instead of his large hard cock penetrating me, I feel a different sensation.
It’s soft and warm and wet.
I look down and his messy hair is visible between my legs. He grabs both my thighs and pushes them down to the ground, spreading my legs so he can have completely access to me.
“You must have done this before,” I say, arching my back involuntarily and letting out a loud moan.
He sure knows what he’s doing. Fuck, is he good at it.
He’s got one finger inside me now, with another part of his hand on my clit, rubbing it in just the right way, applying a light pressure, while his tongue circles my lips.
He keeps going, slowly building speed.
My vision starts to go fuzzy and white around the edges.
I can’t resist it anymore. I take one final look down to his body, admiring his shoulders and ass, trying to capture the image in my head forever before I have to lean back and close my eyes as I come.
It’s such a powerful orgasm my body starts to buckle. I try to open my eyes but I don’t see anything…I’ve lost my fucking vision.
“I’m not done with you yet,” says Luke, pulling his mouth away from me for a moment, before returning it. He’s still working away, before he finally pulls his body up above mine, his cock’s head pushing against my clit, rubbing against it.
“I need you inside me now,” I say, barely able to get the words out.
He obeys. He pushes it in slowly.
“I can’t promise to fuck you all slow and romantic,” he growls, as he grinds his powerful body into mine.
I savor every stroke. At the beginning, he’s going slow, but only for a moment or so.
“I want to make you come again,” he says, his head bent down to my ear, before biting my neck lightly.
He’s fucking me hard and fast now.
Fuck does it feel good. Every inch of his cock is sending shivers of pleasure through me. It’s not only the biggest cock I’ve ever seen or received, but the one that simply feels the absolute best.
Luke’s pounding into me and grunting.
I’m just trying to withstand his thrusts which isn’t hard, given how good they feel.
“I want to fuck you from behind,” he says.
“Yes!” I cry out, the possibility filling me with excitement, and together we work on getting me down on my stomach.
Mostly, it’s Luke that doe sit all, lifting me up like a rag doll and flopping me over.
My breasts are smushed up against my sleeping pad, which isn’t particularly cushy. I’m going to be sore tomorrow, but right now that’s the last thing on my mind.
His cock comes into my pussy from behind, and he starts pounding away. At first, he holds his body above him with his powerful arms. But now he falls down on top of me, his body pressed against mine. I can feel every inch of him.
“I’m coming,” I say.
“Good,” he says, increasing his speed to a blindingly fast pace. “I can’t hold out another second.”
We finish together, and lay still in the darkness, completely drenched in sweat.
Now the feeling of the heat of the Texas night is slowly returning.
“Wow,” I say, reaching out to touch him. “That was intense.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice sounding somewhat distant.
“Don’t you want to cuddle?” I say.
“I’ve got to get back to the RV. We’re supposed to be leaving in a couple hours while the paparazzi are hopefully sleeping.”
“So this was just a one time thing?” I try to keep my voice calm and measured, but my heart is sinking.
I know he’s a prince and all, and he’s had hundreds of one-night stands, but I…I don’t know. I feel something for him that’s more than just lust. But the lust alone is enough to make my heart sink when I hear that he’s leaving.
7.
Luke
“It’s not like I want to leave, baby,” I say, but my voice sounds hollow and flat, even to my ears as a foreign speaker. I have the French expression in my head, but there’s no way she’d understand it.
Sometimes I feel like English itself just can’t express the things I want to say. Sure, sometimes it’s my command of the language, but often there’s some kind of heart lacking in the language itself.
“But you’re going to leave, right?” She sounds sad. I can tell she’s trying to conceal it in her voice, but it’s coming through as plane as the night around us.
I nod my head, then realize she might not be able to see it.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I can see your head moving in the moonlight,” she says. “If you were wondering that.”
“I was. You must have great night vision.”
“I guess they didn’t train you in night vision back at the Liserian Palace.”
I laugh.
She’s funny, and damn is she sexy. I couldn’t get enough of her body, and even now my cock is still semi erect. I can’t see her that well, but I run my arms along her, feeling her body—it’s a body like I’ve never felt before. I feel completely drawn to it.
I actually feel like I’m pulling myself away, as if she and I are both attracting super strong electromagnets, like the kind I saw used back in the palace during one of my private science lesson demonstrations as a kid. It’s surprising to me I haven’t drank all those memories away over the last few years of partying and fucking as hard as I could.
“I’ll leave you my phone number,” I say, reaching into my shorts for my wallet, where I have some discrete business style cards printed up with just my name and phone number, sans official royal title.
“Wow, a phone number,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How original. I can tell I’m really special.”
“I’m not always good with sarcasm,” I say. “But I definitely caught it that time. Look, I’ve really got to go, but we’ll talk soon, OK? You said you’re from Kentucky, right?”
“Pennsylvania,” she says, her voice cold. I can tell she’s really pissed that I’m leaving. But, hell, I’m not feeling good about it either.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on stopping by, but maybe I can swing by in the RV on the way back up the East Coast…”
“Doesn’t sound too convincing.”
“Come on, baby, I just… I really have to go. You don’t know how this stuff goes with the paparazzi.”
“You’re right. I’m not foreign royalty with a team of reporters after me.”
Shit, I don’t like the way this is turning out.
I reach out my hand with the card, but she doesn’t take it. I put it down on top of her pack in the corner of the tent, and start unzipping the side. It’s crazy how things can go from so hot and heavy (I wouldn’t exactly say loving) to this…to this icy coldness.
“Bye,” I say, as I leave.
She doesn’t say anything.
Fuck. I guess I blew that.
Now normally that wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. I’ve fucked girls, had them get enraged at me, and completely forgotten they existed by the time I’m in the hallway of their apartment building.
I can already tell this one’s going to be a lot harder to shake. My mind is filled with images of her body as I walk back through the woods in the lonely moonlight towards the RV.
I put my hoodie up, but the whole scene of paparazzi has quieted down so much I don’t really need to. I guess even bloodhound vampire reporters need their sleep too.
I go in the front door. Eugene’s awake, of course, apparently studying his maps. At least he’s changed his filthy and sweaty clothes. He’s clean-shaven as always, with his hair perfectly parted. He looks like a real dork, frankly. Or do the Americans
say nerd? Whatever, it’s good to have a nerd around for stuff like this.
“So what’s the plan, Eugene?”
He explains everything to me, pointing at the maps, and referencing the compass.
“So basically we just drive out the way we came in?”
He nods.
“Wow, couldn’t have figured that out without you, Eugene. Good thing you had all those maps.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“That was sarcasm…”
“Oh, very good, sir… I mean, Lucas. I think you’re really picking up on the American usage of English in away that I could never grasp myself.”
“Whatever.”
“Is everything OK?”
Wow, this guy can’t take anything personally.
“Yeah, fine,” I say.
“What happened with that young woman, Rebecca?”
“Same thing that happens with them all.”
Eugene nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Well, time to get the fuck out of here,” I say, speaking loudly enough to wake up the RV’s royal guests.
“What’s going on?” says some chick, emerging from the back, wearing one of my old t-shirts, rubbing her bleary eyes.
“Getting out of here,” I say, curtly, as I crank the engine and put the RV into gear.
We’ve got to move fast, since the sound might wake up the paparazzi. Although, now I remember what Rebecca said, that sending the topless women as a diversion probably already created a press scandal of its own. I don’t need to personally be in the pictures for a bad story to run about me.
Maybe I’m just acting out of habit, making an excuse to run away from the girl I just slept with? Is that possible?
Certainly.
I mean, maybe I don’t need to drive away from the paparazzi.
I have to be doing something bad, after all, for them to catch me doing something. It’s just that I haven’t let up doing something bad (or against the rules or whatever) since I got to the States.
Whatever. No time to think about this now.
“What’s going on, man?” says Sebastian, emerging behind the girl, and immediately starting to feel her up.
“Get off me,” she says, and he takes his hands off her. “I’ve had enough of you today.”
“Jeez,” he says. “Give me a break.”
“Shut up,” I say. “I’ve got to concentrate.”
“I thought we were going to stay and have some fun here.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I yell at him. “Can’t you see I’m trying to concentrate?”
“Hey, man, just because you’re some foreign prince doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that.”
“Yeah,” says the girl. I guess she’s getting tired of me too. That makes sense, since she hasn’t gotten to taste the royal dick she’s been wanting all along.
“Look,” I say, in my meanest tones. “I’ve got to get us out of here.”
“Don’t talk to us like that,” says Sebastian.
I jump up from the driver’s seat.
I give Sebastian a shove in the chest, and he shoves me right back.
“Fucking princely asshole,” he says, snarling the words at me.
“You’re just an American drunk,” I say.
He swings at me, and I duck down and dodge under it, coming at him with an uppercut to the stomach.
The girls are all there now, and they’re all screaming, although I can distinctly hear one of them yelling “Get ‘em, Sebastian.” I guess I’m no longer as popular as I thought on the royal RV.
Eugene’s hanging off to the side, unsure what to do.
My vision is a tunnel. It’s slowly focusing in on Sebastian. All I care about is beating the crap out of him. I hit him on the top of the head with my elbow and he goes down.
“You had enough??” I ask him, as he lays gasping for breath.
He nods slowly, but at the last minute, he grabs me by the ankle. Was he faking? Is this how the Americans play? They don’t have any honor when they fight, apparently. Pulling a stunt like this back in Liseria is considered the lowest of the low, something only dogs might do. And probably dogs don’t even act that way. They understand hierarchy and authority.
Sebastian pulls me hard and I fall down on top of him. Now we’re wrestling on the ground, and Eugene’s somewhere above, trying to grab one or both of us. He falls to the side as someone’s punch connects with his right cheek.
I pull away from Sebastian and get to my feet, and he does the same.
He’s standing with his arms in front of him, his hands in fists. The RV door is behind him.
I let out a tremendous roar and charge at him, not even swinging my fists, but my shoulder is pointed down at him. I collide with his solar plexus and I hear the breath leave his lungs for a moment.
I was a little too full of rage, and didn’t really calculate the move properly. That’s what a bunch of American bar fights will do to even a prince, I guess—I’ve become more hot headed and less cold and calculating during fights, unlike when I was practicing back at the palace with my military tutors.
We go flying together into the door, both of us screaming. The RV door burst open and we fall onto the ground outside the RV. Again, it’s sweltering hot outside, a huge change from the AC in the RV.
“Get off me, asshole,” says Sebastian, as he tries to bite my ear. He’s kicking at me with his knees, and I’m using my elbows for some close-quarters blows.
“The press is going to wake up,” whispers Eugene from somewhere.
“Get that fucking prince! Fuck him up!” It’s the girls, crowding around, all of them shouting, all of them apparently against me now.
We’re on the ground wrestling and hitting each other for a full minute before I see the first camera flash. Fuck, it’s the paparazzi.
Now they’ve really got something to sink their teeth into: Prince brawling with local in Texas Wilderness. I can see the headlines now, and I can hear my father’s voice on the phone as he admonishes me and threatens to take everything away yet again. Shit.
But that’s not going to stop me from getting one more good blow in, right to Sebastian’s jaw, before getting up.
He’s lying panting on the ground, yelling something at me, and yelling at the reporters too.
“He’s a fucking asshole drunk,” he’s yelling at them, and I can see them holding out their audio recorders, some of them jotting quotes or notes down in their little journalist pads.
The paparazzi are crowding around now, swarming us. I just want to fucking fight them, attack them all at once, using nothing but my brute strength and royal training. What right do they have to follow me around like this, to hound me like I’m a fox during a hunt? Don’t they have lives, better things to do with their time?
I’m shaking and sweating and my teeth are clenched together. My hands are still tightened into fists.
“Come on, sir,” says Eugene, putting a hand on my back, trying to guide me back into the RV. He’s speaking in the gentle tones that an animal trainer might use on a wild frothing animal.
I push him off, but realize he’s got a point: I’ve got to get back into the RV before this gets really out of hand.
Eugene and I rush in together, slamming the door behind us.
Someone’s pounding on the door. It’s the girls. “Let us in!” they’re screaming.
“Let them in?” I say to Eugene. “They wanted Sebastian to beat the shit of out of me just a minute ago.”
Eugene just nods silently.
“Fuck them,” I say, locking both locks on the door. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”
“What about leaving the RV park?” says Eugene.
“Look, man, the shit’s already hit the fan.” Despite the situation, I silently congratulate myself on these Americanisms that I seem to be using so fluently. “They’ve already got their story. Prince beats local to a pulp in wilderness
. There’s no point in leaving now.”
“I guess you’ve got a point, sir,” says Eugene, but he still looks worried. I know he’s going to be taking the brunt of this fallout just as much as I am. Sometimes I wonder if he even gets it worse than I do. His job, after all, is to protect me and keep me out of shit like this.
“Sorry, Eugene,” I say.
He just nods. Shit, I haven’t seen him looking this sullen in years.
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Just another one of the prince’s many debacles in America and abroad. They should all be used to it by now, don’t you think?”
“I see your point,” says Eugene, talking slightly above the sounds of the paparazzi, not to mention the deafening banging of the girls on the RV door. “But do you ever think that maybe it’s time to leave this lifestyle behind? And I’m talking not just about as a prince, but just as a regular human. Don’t you get tired of this?”
“It’s the only thing I know,” I say, before heading off to bed, where I lie in the dark and look at the ceiling.
I wonder what’s going to happen to Sebastian. Aside from Eugene, who’s really just my employee, Sebastian was the only friend I had.
8.
Rebecca
I wake up and yawn, stretching my arms out. I half expect to find Luke lying beside me, before remembering clearly what happened the night before.
Shit, why did I fall for the rich sexy prince? I guess I should have known, or already knew that he was going to run off first thing in the morning. Or literally right after sex, which is what he did. He fucked me and ran off, with some lame excuses about paparazzi.
Come on, I really doubt the paparazzi is so bad he really had to drive his RV off in the middle of the night.
I sigh as I get up. There’s no point in just lying around. I guess I should get on with my trip. Sure, I was planning on spending some more time here at this particular campground, but maybe it’d be better for me emotionally to move on somewhere else.
As I’m packing up, I see his card sitting on my bag. Well, at least he left his number. But who knows if it’s even a real number. Maybe it’s just some joke message service he’s set up to see how many girls he can get to call and leave messages. Maybe he gets a good kick with his buddies to listen to all the girl’s he’s conquered leaving heart felt messages. He probably listens to it with a bunch of beers.
Filthy Royal Page 5