The King and I
Featuring Charles III, King of the United Kingdom
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Secret Royal Tryst
The King and Queen Camilla hosted a special reception at Buckingham Palace, bringing together all the major working members of the royal family and representatives from the late Queen’s charities to celebrate what would have been Queen Elizabeth’s 100th birthday. The Prince and Princess of Wales, William and Kate, were there; so were Princess Anne, the Princess Royal; the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, Prince Edward and Sophie; the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester; and, making a rare appearance, the late Queen’s 90-year-old first cousin, Prince Edward, Duke of Kent. Most of them had already enjoyed private liaisons with James Cole, the King’s sharp American PR chief.
James spent the afternoon playing nice, shaking hands, and struggling with boredom. He had hoped he could slip away for some relief. Prince Edward kept catching his eye, and James wondered if he could get away long enough to drop a load. Edward’s ass had been ages ago, but the memory still made his cock twitch. As much as he wanted to help Charles, there was a limit.
Charles slid next to him during a conversation, nodding politely at a joke while casting James a sly, hungry grin. It wasn’t long before James cleared his throat and excused himself. Charles caught the signal at once.
“James, a moment alone,” the King said smoothly. “You don’t mind?” He added the last for Camilla’s benefit; she wore a distinctly suspicious look. Charles winked at his wife and guided James out of the hall. James followed, fighting a grin at the sharp glance Camilla threw his way.
The short journey felt endless, guests to dodge, heads to nod at, but they finally reached the stairs and slipped into a dark, quiet upper hallway. Charles’ hands were already on him, steering him firmly into a guest bedroom. James caught only a glimpse of the large four-poster bed before the lock clicked shut and Charles turned to him, eyes dark with need.
“We don’t have much time,” Charles murmured, voice low and urgent. “Camilla has been suspicious of late. This may be our only opportunity for a while.”
James grinned and closed the distance, pushing the King back against the door and plunging his tongue into that royal mouth. Charles moaned like a man starved, suddenly pliant and desperate. The King of the United Kingdom, powerful, dignified, and proper, melted under the kiss of an American commoner while his wife and half the family chatted downstairs. The risk made it hotter. Charles sucked hungrily at James’ tongue, lapping and whimpering into the kiss as his hands fumbled with James’ belt.
James helped, shoving his trousers and boxer briefs down just far enough to free his thick cock. Charles dropped to his knees at once, eyes wide with reverence as he took in the heavy length. His lips trembled as they brushed the flushed head. He licked a slow, wet stripe up the shaft, savoring the bead of precum, then opened wide and slid the swollen head into the wet heat of his mouth.
James groaned as Charles’ tongue swirled around the sensitive underside, lapping and pressing. Warm saliva coated every inch as the King took more, cheeks hollowing with strong suction. He bobbed deeper, throat relaxing to swallow the thick shaft until his nose pressed into James’ pubic hair. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room. Charles gagged softly but kept going, eyes watering yet locked upward in devotion, saliva dripping down his chin and onto James’ balls. He pulled back to nurse the head with rapid tongue flicks and tight lip suction, then plunged down again, fucking his own throat on the American’s cock.
“Fuck, Your Majesty…” James breathed, fingers tightening in the silver hair. “Goddamn, you suck cock like you were born for it.”
Charles moaned around the thick meat, the vibration shooting straight up James’ spine. He worked faster, messy and eager, spit running freely.
After a minute of that intense, sloppy worship, James pulled back.
“We don’t have time for both. You can finish me with your mouth, or I can fuck that royal ass. Your choice..”
Charles looked up, eyes glittering with that dangerous spark. His voice was hoarse but perfectly posh. “Fuck me.”
James hauled him to his feet, spun him around, and pressed him chest-first against the door. He yanked the King’s trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh, flipped up the tails of the formal shirt and jacket, and exposed the pale, firm cheeks of the royal arse. James dropped to his knees again, spread those cheeks wide, and buried his face between them.
Charles gasped sharply as James’ hot tongue dragged over his hole. James licked broad and wet, then pointed his tongue and pushed inside, fucking the tight ring with deep, thrusting strokes. The taste was musky and addictive. Charles’ thighs trembled. He bent forward, pushing his arse back shamelessly, and James went deeper, tongue spearing in and out while one hand reached around to stroke the King’s cock with firm, twisting pulls.
Charles’ voice cracked into high, needy whimpers.
“James… oh, heavens…”
James kept rimming him, tongue swirling, probing, and licking relentlessly while he jerked his own thick cock with his free hand. Charles started rocking back against his face, fucking himself on James’ tongue. His own hand flew to his cock, stroking fast. It didn’t take long. With a strangled moan he came hard, spurting thick ropes of cum across the polished wood of the door.
James stood, cock throbbing, and spat into his palm. He slicked the head generously with spit and precum, then dragged the fat tip up and down Charles’ crack, teasing the wet, relaxed hole. Charles pushed back eagerly. James lined up and pressed forward. The broad head popped inside with a low grunt from the King.
“Fuck… you’re tight,” James growled in his flat American accent.
Charles panted against the door. “Don’t stop. Please.”
James gripped the slim hips and drove in deeper, burying every thick inch in one powerful thrust until his pubic hair was flush against Charles’ arse. The King’s hole clenched hot and velvety around him. James pulled back almost to the tip, then slammed forward again, setting a hard, vigorous rhythm. The muffled slap of flesh on flesh echoed as he pounded the royal arse, hips snapping with force. Each thrust drove his cockhead straight into Charles’ prostate, making the older man’s legs shake.
“Taking my cock so well, Your Majesty. That ass was made for this,” James grunted, pounding harder, deeper, grinding on every inward stroke.
Charles moaned like a common whore, pushing back to meet every brutal thrust. “Yes… James… harder. Fuck your King!”
James obliged, fucking him with raw power, one hand reaching around to fist Charles’ cock again, stroking in time with the savage pounding. The King’s hole fluttered and squeezed around the pistoning shaft, slick with spit and leaking precum. James railed him relentlessly, balls slapping against Charles’ skin, the wet squelch of cum-lubed fucking filling the small room. He kissed and bit at the back of Charles’ neck while hammering into him.
When James felt his own orgasm building, he slammed in as deep as possible, grinding hard against that sensitive spot, and came with a low groan. Thick, heavy pulses of cum flooded the King’s arse, pumping him full until it overflowed. James kept thrusting through the climax, milking every drop, before finally stilling deep inside the clenching heat.
He pulled out slowly. A thick river of white cum immediately gushed from Charles’ wrecked, gaping hole and ran down his thighs.
James turned the King around and kissed him hard, deep, and possessive, tasting the faint salt of his own cock on Charles’ tongue. Charles clung to him, still trembling.
They straightened their clothes as best they could. Charles looked thoroughly wrecked, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. James felt his own legs a little unsteady.
Back at the reception, James’ gait was only slightly off. Charles, however, moved like a man who had been thoroughly rearranged. He found Camilla again and murmured something polite. She gave James a long, unreadable look but said nothing.
James turned his attention back toward Prince Edward, who was still watching him from across the room.
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy, invented for entertainment purposes only. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of King Charles III or any person named James Cole. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.
Mature content
