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Rated: 18+ · Appendix · Romance/Love · #1762918
A Princess flees in search of the man of her dreams.
Note: This piece was awarded Third Place and got me the distinct and great honor of being appointed Prince of the Ball in Tina Stone's contest.

The Precocious Princess.

“I want someone who will appreciate me for who I am,” said Princess Beatrice, “like some ruddy young lad from a normal family, you know, the real deal, one of those average everyday guys from down the street.”

“Really,” said the Queen. “You need a man of station, cultured and refined, raised in the court, someone from a good family, after all, the child you bear will one day rule the kingdom.”

“The child I bear should come from the people, not some effete foreigner.”

The Queen sighed, “You’re being difficult. None of your suitors are of that ilk. Then again, a man is but a man, an instrument to an end, and once they serve their purpose, then by all means, cast about for some low bred more to your liking, but try and be discreet."

"Discretion isn't my long suit."

"I don't need reminding," she quipped. "It's an aspect of you character that could definitely use some improvement."

“I'm tired of all this, Mom! The Court smothers me! Everything is so stiff and formal. I can't take it any more, This never ending line of suitors, strutting their stuff, it's just wearing me down.

“Most young girls would die for the opportunity. Be grateful for your lot and don‘t press your luck. After all, you’re but a tumble with the gardener, foisted off as the genuine article.”

“I think you should have tumbled with father more often. The whole unbelievable story is the most redeeming aspect of your life. You should have picked him to begin with and not that miserable excuse who slithered into your bed.

"Count Louis did not SLITHER! I'll have you know. He was as dignified and refined a Courtier as you ever hoped to meet."

"He didn't last long, did he?"

"Nor was he intended to!" Her tone was indignant.

"Whatever you say, Mother, but just so you know, I intend to choose the man I marry and he will love me for who I am, Not some flaccid ego, one of those “look at me, look at me, I’m somebody, see the queen? She's my wife!”

“Stop it! you’re nothing but a precocious and spoiled brat, overindulged and out of control. I despair ever finding you a suitable match. What am I going to do?”

“Nothing! You have absolutely no say in the matter. I’ll marry the man I love and his suitability will serve my pleasure and not the namby-pamby ways of the court. I would sooner marry a WHORE MASTER from Bawd Row than one of your honey scented toads. If I err in choosing, then let my judgment be to blame.”

“Your language tries my patience. Consider yourself rebuked!”

“Dear Gawd not that!”

“Then RESTRICTED, for three days! “

She answered sarcastically“ ...And I had my heart set on the Bahama’s this weekend.”


The Princess mentally reviewed her escape plan one last time and walked over to the railing overlooking the staircase. “SUMMON NORMAN,” she declared loudly for everyone to hear.

The butler appeared below. “The gardener?” he asked, staring up with raised eye brows.

“Yes the QUEEN’S GARDNER! Who hell do you think I’m referring to? How many Normans do we have on this miserable estate? Anglos, Saxons, Celts and some watered down Romans, to be sure, but only one NORMAN. Fetch him you pompous ass. Or should I come down and lipgloss it on your forehead?”

“Nay, nay, my lady I’ll summon him. It might be awhile. He can be slow at times.” With a long suffering look, the butler chimed his bell and summoned a waiting page. "Go to the greenhouse and tell Mr. Swallow his presence is required."

The Princess returned to her bedroom and began packing an overnight bag. When she returned to the railing she noticed the familiar gait of an older gentleman entering the foyer. He carried a garden trowel and his britches were damp on both knees.The butler greeted him and began whispering and gesturing up towards the residential suits. The two appeared to be old friends and the handsome newcomer showed an endearing manner and radiant smile. In delight the Princess went downstairs to greet him.

“And what mischief are you about this time?” he asked.

“Today I'm in search of a spontaneous adventure, you know something ad libbed. I'll be needing the truck to start with. Quickly, bring it around and leave it out front, with the door open and the engine running.”

“You’ll never escape in that old beater.”

“Just do it,” she whispered father

“No so loud,” he replied, “Can’t you act a bit more ladylike?”

She beamed, “It’s God who hath made us and not we ourselves.”

“Hush now.”

“Just get the truck.”

“Yes my lady,” he replied and went about the task.

The Princess was dressed in a pair of washed out blue jeans and a faded cotton blouse. She paced about impatiently, thinking about her plan and considering all that could go wrong. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a lorry pulling up in the courtyard. She gave her father a few minutes to return to his duties. Then, she looked furtively outside, saw the coast was clear and casually strolled towards the truck. Casting about to see if anyone was paying attention, she stepped up on the running board, hopped onto the seat and slid behind the wheel. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and applied a swipe of lipstick. AN ALARM SOUNDED. She slammed the door with a BANG! and threw the transmission into gear. Romping down on the gas pedal, the motor revved dangerously and the truck lurched forward. As it found traction the tires spun smoking and the backend fishtailed on the wet cobblestones. In her wake three garage doors opened and two black sedans and an armored car pulled out.

“Don’t let her get too far ahead,” ordered Lieutenant Hamilton Humphries over the radio net, “Remember what happened last time.”

The Princess drove manically down the lane and turned off the asphalt onto a dirt trail. The access road ended in a grove of trees and she left the truck, sprinting towards a maintenance building. A squad of Infantry leapt off, racing in pursuit. Once inside, she threw open a service door and hopped on her BSA Motor Sport. She kicked it over with a strong motion of her leg and the machine popped off, rumbling to life. "Catch me if you can!" she hollered back at them. With a vengeance she twisted the throttle and popped the clutch. In a cloud of white smoke the front came off the ground as she wheeled down the cow path.

“Ohh my Gawd,” cried the Lieutenant. “She has the dirt bike again. It'll take us weeks to find her."


Half an hour later and twenty miles down the road she quietly boarded the bus to London. A broad shouldered young man, sat next to a window reading from a small threadbare volume. He looked up and watched as she came down the aisle. Since there were no open benches he stood and offered her a window seat.

Not stunning, he thought, but attractive, in a cute sort of way.

“You’re welcome to sit here,” he offered. Heads turned acknowledging the gallantry of his offer.

“Why thank you,” said the Princess, deciding to be nice. She took her seat and he sat down alongside. "Watcha reading?" she inquired in a false cockney accent.

He put the thin volume back inside a brown envelope.

"Afraid to show it to me, aren't you?" she whispered. "Porn, isn't it?"

His jaw dropped and his faced flushed with embarrassment.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"It isn't porn," he replied, it's a book of poetry by Dickens."

"So why the pains hiding it??"

He took a deep breath. "Because when I see an attractive young woman, the last thing I want, is having her see me reading poetry."

"So what's the big deal?"

"Because most females think a man who reads poetry is gay."

"Are you?"

"No, and I don't want to leave that impression, particularly now."

"Particularly Now?" Is he taken by my glamorous appearance or just trying to put me off? She gave him a disbelieving look and squinted. "Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes?"

"I don't engage in duplicity."

"Then show me the volume."

He took it from its wrapping and handed it over.

She read the title. "The Poetic Works of Charles Dickens."

"I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Is that a genuine offer?"

OK, so I was wrong. It happens. Why does he have to make it an issue? "YES."

"Accepted," he replied, "Going to London?”

Now where the hell does he think the bus is heading she wondered sarcastically. With difficulty she suppressed her natural impulse to be rude.

Talking down to him she said, “How observant. Are you always so astute?“

Her condescending reply zipped unnoticed over his head. “Well it is, after all, the direction we’re headed and I thought I’d make a guess."

She doubled down. “Well, it was certainly a wise choice.”

One of the older women rolled her eyes.

"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Tommy Watkins from Willkin's Shire,” he said, extending his hand.

She replied with her favorite pseudonym, “I’m Beatrice Swallow from King’s Purchase.” My, what big hands he has.

“Ever seen the Royal Family? They've an estate there.”

“Only when I scrub the floor.”

“Fancy that, you're a Domestic then ?”

“Oh extremely domesticated," she answered.

From the corner of his eye Tommy gave her the once over. Definitely not bad looking for a servant girl.

"Are you a poet in your own right or just a patron?" she asked.

"Oh, I dabble in it from time to time."

"Then recite a poem you've written, something romantic, that reminds you of me."

She's certainly brash but it suits her. "You might not like my style..."

"Let me be the judge."

"He shifted uncomfortably, trying to collect his thoughts."

She shook a scolding finger, "No sanitizing," she warned. "Just let the verse flow."

"Very well," he replied, "How about this one?"

Beauty tell me truly
Is it love I seek?
or is it just necessity
like when I take a leak?

She clapped her hands in delight. "Now there's a flow if I ever saw one."

He continued,

Is love sublime emotion
Or simply blind desire?
Is the answer in your shorts
Or floating somewhere higher?

"Crude, but provocative. Is there more?"

He nodded in affirmation.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense!"

Sweet-heart don't say nothin
Just give the truth a nod,
Will I find it in your charms
Or is it in your bod?

"Yes, the eternal question. Very creative!

"I'm glad you approve. Are you interested in literature?"

"I'm a bit of a poetess in my own right."

“Do you have family in London?”

“No, I’m there to fetch some parcels."

“Will you be returning tonight?"

“Such was my intention.” She gave him a quizzical look. Nosey, isn't he?

“I only ask because I have no plans for the afternoon."

“A bit forward, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, it's just I hate to let the chance pass, you being a pretty girl and all that.”

“Are you sure it's just my conversation you’re interested in?”

“Most assuredly, although I find you attractive in other ways.”

This guy's the real deal, an honest to god strapping lad from just down the lane. She decided she liked him but couldn't resist goading him a bit further. '“You're well spoken. Could it be you were you born a gentleman?"

“Heavens no, you just bring out the best in me.”

The old ladies looked at one another and winked.

Several Police cars sped past lights flashing. “Wonder what that’s about?” said Tommy, stretching his neck to see ahead.

“No doubt they’re searching for some criminal.”


It was a long afternoon. She wasn’t sure when he took her hand; sometime after he insisted on carrying her large tote.

"I must be getting back, before the last bus.“ That was when she "twisted" her ankle. "Oh Drat!" she cried out lurching to a knee.

“Is it bad?” he asked solicitously.

She sat down on the curb and began rubbing it while she worked the joint and wiggled her toes. “Nothing serious; it pops out from time to time. Painful, but it doesn’t even swell anymore.”

It began to rain.

"Help me over to the Inn. I might be overnighting, no way now to catch the last bus. “

Inside, she made the arrangements. There was an adjacent dining room. They had some fish and chips and a couple of pints. When the meal was over they enjoyed their beers and shared in some good conversation. At length she yawned, “I’m tired. Will you help me upstairs with my things?”

It was a small room but comfortable. She sat down on the bed and motioned him over. When he sat down she leaned over and kissed him. He put his arms around her and they began getting acquainted. They made out for a time until he tried to fondle her breast. She pulled his hand away, but it was a half-hearted attempt.

It did however, vacate the mood. Looking up he asked, "You say you're a poetess. Since I shared with you it's only fair that you reciprocate."

"Fancy you should mention it. All afternoon I've been dwelling on a response to your poem. Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes, indeed." He leaned forward in wide-eyed anticipation.

"Here goes:"

Honey, you are clueless
An empty headed chap
But ain't your fault that you're a man
So let me draw a map.

You put them both together love
The body and sense,
Add um up, divide by two
Easy, 'lest you're dense

Or look a little further now
You'll see the light afar
What's a Rolls Royce engine
If you ain't got a car?

Tommy was awestruck. A sense of wonder swept over him, as if he'd just encountered a true kindred spirit. "Imagine the two of us, meeting as we did," he exclaimed in wonder, "and now discovering how much we have in common."

His words resonated and she felt a definite affection taking hold. Then she had a bit of a premonition. Something seemed to awaken. A part of herself, heretofore unrealized took note and and stretched broadly inside. There was something about this Tommy Watkins, that was quite remarkable, different from any of the other boys she'd ever met. He was real, down to earth and totally unpretentious. Was meeting him a portent of things to come? She felt a hot flash and her heartbeat became audible, pulsing inside her ears. The moment seemed to hang in the air. Goodness Gracious, whatever in the world is this strange sensation coming over me? The finger of fate seemed to be beckoning and the boney appendage was motioning in her direction. In that instant the Princess made up her mind.

"I know this train is moving faster than expected but are you ready for the next station?"

His jaw dropped. This is the girl of my dreams. "Huh? Are you saying what I think?"

"Yes, every word, not to mention that it's drafty in here. I’m chilled. Perhaps we can warm each other beneath the covers.“ She began unbuttoning. The white of her bra was soon evidenced. She tossed the blouse aside and scooted the denim jeans deftly over her hips.

I just won the Lotto! He watched her for a moment, Am I falling in love or is this a dream? Slowly he began unlacing his boots. A distant voice spoke from somewhere beyond his awareness, "Take heed now, this is more than just a tumble in the hay, it's a milestone in your life." He took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers.

She crawled under the spread, eyes wide and staring. “Let me see it,” she insisted, craning her neck.

“See what?”

“Your man thing.”

"Oh that." He pulled out his member.

It came to attention as she watched.

"I know, I know," he said consolingly, " at first glance it can be intimidating." He brandished it back back and forth with a mischievous grin.

"Mercy! Mercy! So that's the harbinger of a fate worse than death," she said, tongue in cheek. So what's he so smug about?

"I hope it doesn't frighten you."

Actually it doesn't, she started to say but decided not to. "Now that you mention it, that serpent of yours is a bit intimidating." She remembered her handmaid once saying that all men believed they had a big, "You know what."

"Are you a virgin?"

"It happens that I am. Why should he be concerned about that?

"So, just that you know, the first time can be something of a hurtle and I'm hardly an expert. Sure you're game for it?"

“Somehow I'll just have to manage. She gave a sigh of contrition. Does he really think I'm that helpless?"

“Then let's give it a go.”

She held up the covers and he crawled beneath, pulling them over his head. She spread her legs as he began nudging her thighs apart. She heard the intake of his breath as if some great wonder had just been revealed. He began fumbling.

“Let me assist,” she offered. Feeling blindly, her search was rewarded and she took matters in hand. “I'm pretty sure I have the sense of it.” She guided the tip where she thought it belonged.

He pushed and it entered with sudden unexpectedness, rending her hymen.

It stung like a bee sting and she cried out, ”Ouch!”

“Should I stop?”

I should have expected that but it still came as a surprise. “No,” she replied, “Just control your eagerness and give me time to adjust to this pickle you've put me in." Not as bad as everyone warned but still no easy walk in the park.

He exerted more pressure and it abruptly bridged the threshold and in fits and starts, muscled into her womb. It throbbed, expanding and contracting as if it had a life of its own. The Princess squirmed to find a more comfortable position and shifted anxiously about.

"Ready to dance?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

He surged forward.

"Oh My God," she cried out.

"I warned you."

Easy enough for him to say. "I'll be fine." He was a load and she was stretched like a wish-bone.

He stopped, poised to continue. "Take a moment, and let your body adjust."

She heaved a great sigh, relieved that the stinging subsided.

"Now you raise up and answer my lead." Lifting her buttocks he pushed.

She groaned, arching her back. "This is a bit more than anticipated."

"You're doing fine, the hardest part is over, but if you want me to, I'll stop."

At that prospect, she stiffened, clutched his buttocks and dug in her fingernails. She snapped, "Don't you dare. Don't even think about it!" Her vehemence came as a surprise and she tried walking it back. "I'll be fine in a moment. I think I'm beginning to see some light at the end of the tunnel."

"Try moving your little muff with me, you know, give it some wiggle and giggle."

"My Muff? Some wiggle and what?" She spit the words hatefully and indignation swelled in her breast. She instantly regretted it. What is coming over me?

"I was just trying to help you relax. You know what levity is?"

"This isn't funny."

"I can see now that you're quite beyond it."

She fumed and wondered at the source of her strong emotions. "Just do the manly deed!"

"By your leave I'll set right to work on it."

Tommy started out slowly but the tempo of his intercourse picked up. It wasn't pleasant to start with but the Princess slowly began adjusting. As it continued she became increasingly animated by feelings she'd never known. She experienced a level of awareness which vividly portrayed her surroundings and she resolved to lay back and watch it all unfold. Then there came a flood of new sensations washing over her. So this is what it feels like the Princess thought, being joined in the flesh.

She was then startled to realize that the serpent between her legs, had a counterpart. The real shock came as it SLITHERED into her awareness. The words of her mother began to cycle once more through her mind. ... Nor was he intended to, Nor was he intended to. With each repetition the words repeated themselves as Tommy worked her body.

She found her concentration divided between not wanting to miss anything, and the inner voice that whispered in her ear. The covers had long since fallen to the floor and she had an unobstructed view from the best seat in the house. HIs broad hairy chest loomed above, as he lifted her buttocks with each plunge inside. His hips undulated, hunching in and out. His cheeks were florid and his eyes glazed as he banged away. His face had a distant look as he starred down into the tangle of hair as if searching for something distant and inscrutable.

The Princess couldn't escape her mother' familiar voice. ...Nor was he intended to, Nor was he intended to. In, out, lift, push. Had there been something premeditated about her hasty marriage to the Count Louis?

From 'twixt her splayed knees she watched transfixed; Tommy's sweating brow, his big hands guiding her waist, and the clutch of his fingers, egging her on, one grunt at a time. It became surreal, an out of body experience. In slow motion, she noted the repetition, like a pounding drum, and the rhythmic beat of one thrust, followed by the next.

Nor was he intended to, In, out, lift, push, over and over again. It was all so overwhelming, so much happening at the same time. "Slow down," she implored, "It's not like I've done this before."

"Relax and move with me," he commanded. "You'll catch on." He'd taken charge and apparently stopped listening.

CATCH ON! of course, the whole sham marriage with the Count was contrived, to legitimize an awkward situation. In, out, lift push. Nor was it ever intended to last, OMG, Mother was PREGNANT!

Her mind swirled. The situation was completely beyond her control. First there was the surreal aspect:

This is the real deal, Here I am, being fucked for the first time, legs spread, flat on my ass, when the truth of it all finally dawns. Then the revelation comes. How could I have been so stupid?

From her detached point of view, she was spellbound as the drama reached its climax. It was physically and mentally intense. On the one hand the situation was primordial, urgent and obscene. By now that part of the experience was becoming old hat; she was neither turned on by it nor particularly disgusted. To be sure there was something new and exciting about the heaving flesh, the turgid smells, groping hands, and the primitive rutting of his intercourse. On the other her eyes had just opened to a tryst, eighteen years earlier, her parents caught in a scandal and all the implications that followed. She could almost see the Queen's mind working to find a way out of her predicament. No! Beatrice was not disappointed in the least. She was thrilled that the mystery of her past was solved and the whole skin slapping comedy finally made perfect sense.

Tommy came and the spell was broken.

"Is that it?" she inquired.

"For now, anyway."

"Get off me."

He hastened to comply and they almost rolled onto the floor.

"Watch the elbows!"

The Princess got to her feet and went to the bath room. She sponged herself with a hot soapy washcloth, noting the stains of lost innocence.

He joined her, and she handed it back.

“It's a contract signed in blood," she said casually, "now you have to marry me."

"I'd be honored," he replied.

"We'll see how you feel in the morning... If I can still walk."
© Copyright 2011 percy goodfellow (trebor at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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