A few days ago, we both got tested so that Lucie could go on the pill. I’m aware that this is against Royal Protocol, and more generally, against the advice given to men of consequence.Never trust a woman to take the pill as prescribed or to be alone with your discarded condom.
But here’s the thing. I would trust Lucie with my life. And so, I’m choosing to trust she won’t entrap me with a pregnancy.
She begins to spasm around my rubbing fingers, soaking me with her cream, driving me mad with need. I yank the hem of her dress all the way up to her waist and walk her backward to the bed. Laying her down, I bite away her panties while she unclasps some hooks and buttons and frees her firm tits.
I climb on top of her. There’s no friction, no resistance when I shove myself all the way into her hot, delicious depths. I rock my hips up and down with a rhythm that I keep deliberately steady… for about a minute. Then I give up and slam into her, racing toward an orgasm. For the first time in years, I feel out of control.
Lucie’s head lolls as she arches into me.
In a last-ditch effort to make this last a little longer, I pull out and turn around on my back. “Ride me!”
With a wild look of naked lust, she straddles me. A heartbeat later, she’s bouncing up and down on my cock, her glorious tits bobbing. Another brief moment later, she throws her head back and cries out as another orgasm rolls through her.
Unable to hold myself back any longer, I come, too, blowing a series of sperm jets all the way up inside her.
26
LUCIE
The woman in the mirror looks refined, worldly, and sophisticated—in other words, nothing like me. Her hair is done up, her ball gown hugs her upper body snugly only to expand into a big bouffant skirt from the waist down. The top reveals lots of cleavage yet comes across as chic rather than vulgar. The woman is wearing strappy heels on her feet and white gloves up to her elbows.
At the ball tonight, she hopes to dance, even though it won’t be with her boyfriend.
Someone knocks on the dressing room door.
“Come in,” I call.
Chloe peeks in. “Anything I can help you with?”
“How do I look?” I ask, turning around.
“Like a princess.”
I roll my eyes.
She giggles. “But seriously, you look amazing.”
“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that! Thank you.”
“Have fun tonight!” With a small bow, she steps away and closes the door.
My next visitor is Gigi who isn’t the type to shower anyone with compliments. We head to the ballroom together, while Max, and other unmarried male guests will arrive separately, either on their own, or in the company of other unmarried men as per Royal Protocol for charity balls. I bet the rule was established by some archbishop in the Middle Ages and updated by no one ever.
“Will you remind me of the biggest don’ts, please,” I beg Gigi while we walk to the ballroom, our trains rustling behind us.
Chloe got me a copy of a rule book titledRoyal Balls Etiquette. I perused it from cover to cover, but my sudden nervousness seems to have erased all recollection of what I read. Max has taken me to parties, dinners and picnics, but they were all more or less informal. This ball is my first big formal event in Mount Evor. Or anywhere, for that matter.
“Do not romp in the ballroom,” Gigi says.
“Right! I recall that from the book Chloe gave me.” I give her a sidelong glance. “They mean it in the ‘no playing and running around’ sense and not in the ‘don’t have sex in the ballroom’ sense, right?”
“You’re such a frustic!” She swats my hand, grinning. “It is assumed that the guests wouldn’t even think about having sex in the ballroom.”
“Frustic?”
“Frustic is a term of endearment we Evorians use for your fellow countrymen. It’s a blend of ‘French’ and ‘rustic.’”
Pressing my palm to my chest, I declare. “I solemnly promise to refrain from romping.”
