The Prince Consort of Denmark
Featuring Prince Henrik of Denmark
Chapter Six: A Forbidden Nightcap in Paris
Prince Henrik of Denmark stood tall and commanding at the Danish House in Paris, his oval face with its strong squared jaw and prominent jowls illuminated by the warm chandeliers. His pale blue eyes sparkled behind his signature glasses as he delivered a passionate speech about his new biography, Enegænger – Portræt af en Prins, co-authored with the young Danish journalist Stéphanie Surruguent. Dressed impeccably in a single-breasted grey pinstripe suit, matching waistcoat and trousers, a crisp light blue dress shirt, and a yellow silk tie, he exuded the flamboyant elegance of a French aristocrat. His thick, receding silver-grey hair was neatly combed back, and his thick, rolling French accent flavored every word as he signed copies for admirers, his gold Rolex glinting on his left wrist alongside his wedding band.
Later, in the privacy of his luxurious hotel suite overlooking the Seine, Henrik and Stéphanie lingered over a nightcap of fine Armagnac in crystal glasses. The weeks of intense interviews and writing sessions had woven an undeniable thread of sexual tension between them. Henrik, ever the rebellious bon vivant with his Gallic pride and elegantly hedonistic nature, intended to ignite it.
Stéphanie was no classical beauty, her features were pleasant but unremarkable, her build slightly pear-shaped with a thicker waist and full hips, standing barely 5'5". Yet there was a soft cuteness to her: curly brown hair framing doe-like eyes and modest apple-sized breasts that stirred something long dormant in the 76-year-old prince.
As they sat close on the velvet settee, Henrik’s gaze drifted openly to her breasts, then lower. He sensed her eyes flickering downward, drawn to the growing bulge in his pinstripe trousers.
“Eh bien, do you wish to touch it, ma chère?” he asked in his cultured baritone, the thick French accent rolling richly over the words, laced with a teasing lilt. His hand boldly cupped his crotch. Stéphanie’s cheeks flushed crimson.
“I believe you do,” he murmured, his sharp wit masking the petulant hunger beneath.
He gave her a moment, then calmly unzipped his trousers. His 6.5-inch uncut cock emerged, pale shaft thick with substantial girth, the thick hooded foreskin still partially covering the large, plump mushroom-shaped head. Low-hanging balls rested in a loose, wrinkled sac amid trimmed silvered pubic hair. He began stroking himself slowly, the foreskin gliding smoothly back and forth over the swelling head, a bead of clear precum glistening at the tip under her hypnotized stare.
“After nearly fifty years with only Margrethe,” he said softly, voice warm yet edged with aristocratic longing, “I have not beheld another woman au naturel especially one as charming as you, mon petit trésor.”
Stéphanie’s hands trembled as they reached for him, then hesitated.
“Do not be shy, ma belle,” Henrik coaxed, his hand pumping his thickening shaft with elegant strokes. “In fact, I have fantasized all evening about your beauty. Lift your skirt for me just a little, if you please.”
Slowly, she obeyed, hiking the fabric to her waist and exposing a lush triangle of rich dark brown pubic hair. Henrik sighed with pleasure, his sturdy, rotund frame, prominent potbelly straining the waistcoat, contrasting her petite form. His cock bobbed freely, harder than it had been in years for any woman save his queen.
“Viens, Stéphanie. There is nothing to fear. Come to me.”
He opened his arms and she melted into him, her face buried against his broad chest. Her hand wrapped around his girthy shaft, stroking with tentative firmness. Her other hand slid around the back of his head, pulling him into a long, passionate kiss. As their tongues met, Henrik’s hand slipped under her skirt. He found her already slick, his fingers gently rubbing her pussy lips before sliding between them. She was wet and hot. A low, guttural moan escaped her.
“Magnifique,” he exclaimed against her mouth, his voice husky with Gallic satisfaction, his cock throbbing in her grip. “Mon Dieu, see what you do to me, chérie. You awaken the old lion.”
Her hand explored him boldly now, sliding the foreskin fully back to expose the glistening, plump head. She stroked with deliberate rhythm as he urged her to open her blouse. She lifted the hem, revealing her small breasts, nipples large and erect, poking insistently from plump crimson areolas. Henrik kissed his way down her neck, then to her breasts, licking and teasing one nipple until it was stiff before sucking it gently into his mouth. At the same time, he slipped a finger inside her tight channel while his thumb circled her clit.
Stéphanie bucked her hips, breathing rapidly.
“Oui, let it come, ma douce,” he murmured against her skin. “Feel how I desire you.”
He added a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching her. She threw her head back with a long moan. Henrik could sense her climax building, yet he deliberately slowed his movements. He wanted to control the moment, to make this night her most romantic and unforgettable experience.
“Oh, Henrik, why did you stop? I was so close,” she gasped, voice trembling with frustration and need.
“Ne t’inquiète pas, ma chérie,” he replied softly, his thick French accent warm and reassuring. “There will be plenty of time for that. I thought we might get into bed where we can be more comfortable, oui? Let me love you properly.”
They moved frantically to the bedroom, shedding clothes in a tangle of fabric. Stéphanie lay back onto the bed as Henrik’s broad chest with its soft man tits, rounded potbelly, and plump pale buttocks came into view before he climbed onto the bed. He kissed down her body, lingering at her navel before settling between her plump thighs. The musky aroma of her arousal overwhelmed him. He lapped hungrily at her slick, hairy lips, tongue delving deep into her folds, devouring her like a starving man. His tongue lavished broad, flat strokes over her swollen clit while two fingers pumped steadily inside her. Stéphanie writhed, hips lifting off the mattress.
“Jamais, my dear. I could feast on you all night,” Henrik growled softly, his French accent thickening with passion.
He sucked her clit between his thin lips, flicking rapidly, then nibbled gently with his teeth. He added a third finger, stretching her further, curling them against the sensitive spot inside. Her first orgasm crashed over her suddenly, thighs quivering, juices flooding his hand and mouth. He did not relent. He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked with steady pressure while his fingers thrust deeper. A second climax followed almost immediately, her walls pulsing around his fingers. When the third massive orgasm ripped through her, she tried to scoot away, oversensitive, but Henrik’s strong hands pinned her hips firmly to the bed as he continued licking, sucking, and lapping every drop of her creamy essence.
“Délicieuse,” he whispered, lips glistening as he finally lifted his head. “Now, ma petite, now you are truly ready for me. Ah, what a vision you are.”
Stéphanie kissed her way down his body, licking and teasing his nipples before moving lower. She gripped his cock, licking the bulbous head in slow circles, tongue swirling under the retracted foreskin. Both hands pumped the pale, veined shaft as she took the head into her mouth and began sucking. She worked her way down, taking half the shaft, then more, gagging lightly before easing back. Henrik groaned, his pale blue eyes widening behind his glasses. She licked down to his low-hanging balls, sucking one into her warm mouth, then the other, teasing them with her tongue while stroking his cock.
“Uhh… mon Dieu,” he warned, voice strained with aristocratic restraint breaking. “Doucement, baby, please… I am going to come before too long if you continue like that, chérie.”
He rolled her beneath him, kissing her deeply, tasting herself on his tongue. His fingers played over her body before returning to her slick pussy. She opened her legs eagerly. Henrik rose between her spread thighs, his thick uncut cock jutting proudly from its silvered nest. He rubbed the plump head up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness, then pushed forward.
“Ah, oui… so warm, so tight,” he breathed as Stéphanie gasped, the substantial girth stretching her open.
He sank to the hilt in one smooth thrust, his low-hanging balls pressing against her. For a moment he held still, savoring the tight, velvet grip of her pussy. Then he began to move, deep, unhurried strokes at first, then steadily more powerful.
As he thrust, a private shadow crossed his mind. In recent years at his French château he had discovered the pleasure of yielding to younger lovers, Anton in Denmark, Jules in France, who took him with vigor. He had grown to crave being filled, being the receptive one. Now, driving into Stéphanie’s welcoming heat, a fleeting self-reproach flickered. He hated the wish that it was he being taken, even as her tight pussy gripped him like a velvet vice. Yet the contradiction only sharpened his arousal; he pounded harder, using her body almost as a trampoline for his conflicted desire.
“Oh fuck!” Stéphanie gasped, thrusting back wildly. “Fuck me with that big cock, Your Highness!”
“Oui, ma belle, take me… feel how a prince loves,” Henrik grunted, his accent thick and rolling, voice laced with elegant command.
Her nails raked his shoulders. Her pussy clenched spasmodically around him as another orgasm tore through her. Henrik leaned down, forcing his tongue past her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. She reached behind him, fingers digging into the soft, generous flesh of his plump pale ass, pulling him deeper. The room filled with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, her muffled cries, and his low Gallic grunts. Her walls pulsed around his thick shaft as she came again, eyes rolling back.
“Yes, Your Highness, give me your cum!” she hissed.
“Ah, mon Dieu… now!” Henrik arched, his potbelly pressing against her soft belly, and pulled out at the last moment. Thick ropes of cum spurted across her ruddy pink mound and dark bush. Stéphanie writhed beneath him, spreading his seed with her fingers, smiling up at his beaming, sweat-drenched face.
Collapsing beside her, sweat-sheened and breathing hard, Henrik allowed himself a satisfied, almost boyish smile, his silver hair tousled, glasses slightly askew.
“C’était merveilleux, Stéphanie… truly magnificent.”
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, and it does not reflect any known events or factual scenarios involving Prince Henrik or any person named Stephanie Surruguent.
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