Featuring Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor
Chapter 9: The Second Siege of Royal Lodge
The Royal Lodge, a decaying monument to faded grandeur, loomed heavy with dust and desperation. Prince Andrew, 64, paced its grand hall, his 6-foot stocky frame burdened by a doughy paunch, light chest hair matted with sweat beneath a tailored white polo shirt. His thinning silver-white hair was brushed back from a receding hairline, framing a broad squarish face, strong jaw, prominent straight nose, and pale blue-grey eyes narrowed in irritation. His fair ruddy skin showed age spots, full lips twisted in displeasure, and the metal-band wristwatch on his left wrist glinted as he gestured. The lodge’s crumbling roof, peeling plaster, and warped floors demanded £700,000 in repairs—a sum that mocked his depleted funds and tarnished status.
“Seven hundred thousand pounds?” Andrew snapped, his clipped upper-class RP accent dripping with Sandhurst polish and aristocratic disdain. “Utterly preposterous! One simply does not bleed a member of the Mountbatten-Windsor family dry like some common bloody tradesman!”
Edmund Lewis, 6 feet tall with a lean athletic build from his Gordonstoun rugby days, leaned against a cracked pillar. His sandy blonde hair was streaked with gray, sharp blue eyes gleaming with old grudges.
“That’s the cost, Your Royal Highness,” he drawled with mockery. “Skilled labour to save this rotting pile. Quality isn’t cheap—even for a prince in reduced circumstances.”
Beside him stood Henry, 37, 5'9" of stocky muscle, jet-black hair cropped short, his weathered face impassive but for the glint in his dark eyes.
“You’re fleecing me, Lewis,” Andrew barked, jabbing a finger. “This is extortion, plain and simple!”
Edmund’s smirk widened, gaze dropping to Andrew’s midsection.
“Extortion, Andy? You’re a disgraced prince with a crumbling mansion and no coin to spare.” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a predatory purr. “I can ease the burden—for a price, old boy.”
With deliberate slowness, he unzipped, freeing his 7-inch uncut cock, semi-erect, foreskin partially retracted over a glistening rosy head. He began openly stroking the thick shaft.
Andrew’s ruddy face deepened to crimson, fury clashing with desperation as his pale blue-grey eyes flicked involuntarily to the hardening cock before snapping back up.
“Fuck off!” he roared, short-tempered arrogance flaring. “I’m the Duke of York. A Prince of England! How dare you wave that filthy thing at me like some gutter rent-boy? You pathetic, jumped-up oik—touch me and I’ll have you ruined, do you hear? I’ll have the bloody Palace solicitors on you before you can zip up!”
“Not anymore, you entitled cunt,” Edmund snarled, unmoved by the royal bluster. He released his dick, grabbed Andrew by the shoulders, and despite the prince’s indignant struggling—barrel-chested body shoving back, thick arms flailing—Edmund forced him down. Andrew’s knees hit the dusty floor hard, tailored trousers creasing, his face now inches from the swollen, musky cock. Edmund gripped the thinning silver-white hair tightly.
“Suck it, you entitled royal prat,” he ordered, pressing the slick head against full lips before slapping the heavy, veined shaft repeatedly across Andrew’s ruddy cheeks and full lips with wet, degrading smacks. Precum and spit streaked the prince’s face.
Funds gone, reputation in tatters. With a grudging nod, aristocratic pride buckling under necessity, Andrew finally parted his lips. The musky, salty tang of unwashed arousal flooded his senses as the velvety shaft slid inside. All of a sudden things lurched into action as Edmund stepped forward and rammed the full length of his dick right into the prince’s mouth so that his heavy balls banged against Andrew’s chin. He held it buried deep, watching with cruel satisfaction as Andrew began to gag violently, throat convulsing around the thick, veined shaft.
“Hmm. Nothing quite as good as a cocky former prince tasting his first cock reluctantly,” Edmund murmured.
He removed his stiff member from Andrew’s mouth and relished the prince’s disgusted expression and desperate attempts to spit out the taste.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you. You’ll not forget the taste and smell for a long time.”
With that he slid his cock back into the royal mouth, the bulbous head grazed his palate, veins throbbing against his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking with practiced skill honed from years of discreet indulgences, tongue swirling around the sensitive glans and teasing the precum-slick slit with hungry flicks that made Edmund hiss.
“That’s it, Andy—use that posh mouth properly,” Edmund growled, hips rocking, thrusting deeper until the head nudged his throat. “Take it you thin-skinned little shit.”
Saliva bubbled and dripped in thick strings down Andrew’s chin, staining his polo shirt and soft man tits. Wet, obscene slurps echoed as he gagged but persisted, throat convulsing visibly, nose eventually buried in silvery-grey pubes, inhaling the heavy scent.
Edmund’s hand reached down, dismissively grabbing the short silver-white hair and using it as leverage in combination with his thrusts.
“Like that, do you, cocksucker? Proper posh mouth on you,” he goaded between grunts. Andrew’s cheeks bulged obscenely with dick and burned with shame.
“Have you sucked cock before, Your Highness?” Edmund taunted, patting the prince’s disheveled gray hair condescendingly.
Andrew shook his head as best he could around the thick shaft, denying it even as his skilled tongue betrayed long practice.
“Look at this, Henry,” Edmund taunted, winking as Henry moved over, unzipped to reveal his 9-inch uncut cock, thick and heavy, a prominent vein pulsing along its length. “His Highness is ready to pay in the currency of the gutter.”
Andrew pulled off Edmund’s cock with a wet pop, blue-grey eyes flashing defiance once more.
“Absolutely not. One does not service the help like some common tart. Keep that grotesque thing away from me, you bloody animals!”
Edmund laughed and slapped his spit-slick cock hard across Andrew’s face—left cheek, right cheek, then across the lips—leaving shiny trails.
“Open up for the foreman, Andy. Earn that discount.”
After a tense, petulant pause—jaw clenched, nostrils flared—Andrew succumbed again, lips stretching painfully around Henry’s girthy shaft. The earthy musk was stronger; the prominent vein dragged heavily over his tongue. He lapped desperately at the frenulum, sucking hard, jaw aching as Henry bucked.
“Fuck, that royal tongue’s working overtime,” Henry grunted. “Lap it up, you fat ponce—swirl it proper round the head like the experienced slag you are.”
Andrew obeyed, tongue lashing relentlessly, throat bulging, drool cascading onto his paunch.
The two men began alternating their cocks in Andrew’s overstuffed mouth—Edmund’s girthy, downward-curving shaft sliding deep, followed by Henry’s even thicker length stretching his jaw painfully wide. They took turns slapping their slick, spit-covered cocks across his ruddy cheeks, full lips, and broad nose with wet, degrading smacks, leaving shiny trails of precum and saliva. Andrew’s pale blue-grey eyes watered as he sucked one, then the other, tongue swirling desperately around bulbous heads, teasing slits and frenulums while gagging wetly.
“Got me all hard with that sucking. Better put this boner to some good use, hadn’t I?” Edmund said as he moved behind the kneeling prince, yanking down his trousers and boxers to expose the full, rounded, pale, hairy arse. Andrew’s own uncut 7-inch girthy cock—slight downward curve, loose foreskin over the bulbous rosy head—bobbed half-hard.
“Keep sucking,” Edmund sneered. He slapped his rigid cock repeatedly against the prince’s plump arse cheeks, leaving wet marks, then delivered several sharp, stinging smacks to the pale flesh that left red handprints. “Nice royal rump—soft as your reputation.”
He spat on his cock and pressed the head to the tight puckered hole.
Andrew pulled off Henry’s cock again, twisting his head in fresh defiance.
“Don’t you dare! I am a member of the Royal Family—unhand me this instant, you insolent swine! I’ll have you both horse-whipped!”
Edmund paid him no heed, gripping the fleshy hips harder and shoved forward. The experienced hole yielded with a slick pop despite the protest. Andrew gasped sharply around Henry’s cock as Edmund buried deep, tight heat clenching until he bottomed out.
“Christ, this royal arse is well-broken in,” Edmund chuckled cruelly, balls slapping hairy thighs with each punishing thrust. Wet squelches filled the hall as he pulled almost out and slammed back in, stretching the rim pink and shiny. “Who’s been ploughing you, eh? Epstein mates?”
His cock dragged relentlessly along inner walls, battering the prostate mercilessly while he continued smacking the jiggling cheeks.
He then started to roughly fuck Andrew’s arse with long, powerful strokes. The prince submitted at that point—broken, he simply knelt there and allowed the older man to have his way. The weight and pressure were uncomfortable, but worse was the raw sensation of the very cock he had been forced to suck plunging back and forth, stretching and battering his tight anal walls. Edmund grunted and wheezed with every thrust, his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against Andrew’s low-hanging sac. The wet, obscene squelching grew louder as the prince’s hole loosened, the rim turning shiny and puffy from the relentless pounding. Edmund angled his hips to hammer the prostate mercilessly, making Andrew’s own uncut 7-inch cock leak profusely onto the dusty floor despite his shame. All while Henry gripped Andrew’s head, slowly fucking the former prince's mouth.
After long minutes of deep, punishing anal, Edmund gave a louder grunt and a final brutal thrust, flooding Andrew’s guts with thick, warm sperm. The prince shut his eyes tight, trying to block it out. How could this be happening to him?
Edmund immediately pulled out of the prince’s arse with a lewd pop from the gaping royal hole, and stepped back. Before Andrew could recover, Edmund moved in front of him and shoved his cock, still glistening with anal juices, straight into Andrew’s mouth.
“Clean it, Your Highness—taste your own filthy royal arse on my dick.”
Andrew did it unthinkingly, gagging wetly, tongue swirling obediently around the sharp, musky shaft until it was spotless.
Henry took position behind Andrew.
He slapped his thicker cock against the cum-slick cheeks several times, then spread them wide and drove in with an obscene, frothy squelch. The added girth stretched Andrew even further, the prominent vein dragging intensely along sensitive inner walls as Henry began a long, brutal fuck. He alternated between slow, deep grinding strokes that made Andrew feel every inch and rapid, punishing slams that caused his portly body to jiggle—soft man tits, paunch, and reddened arse cheeks all quivering.
“Bloody loose and sloppy now—like a proper cum-dump for the working class,” Henry grunted, pounding deep, hands bruising fleshy hips, cum frothing at the stretched rim as he delivered more loud smacks to the reddening arse. Andrew’s own cock leaked profusely, his portly body shuddering.
“One… one demands you hit it harder, you brute,” he gasped between moans, entitlement melting into desperate hunger.
Edmund laughed, feeding his cock back into Andrew’s mouth, keeping the prince constantly stuffed at both ends. Andrew’s throat and arse burned, body rocking helplessly between them, drool and cum dripping down his chin onto his polo shirt and hairy chest. Henry’s pace eventually grew erratic; with a deep roar he buried himself to the hilt and unloaded, pumping jet after jet of hot semen deep into Andrew’s already-filled bowels until it overflowed and ran in messy rivulets down his sturdy thighs.
Andrew’s own orgasm finally crashed over him in weak, humiliating spurts from his foreskin-covered cock onto the floor. Henry pulled out and immediately fed the messy cock back into Andrew’s mouth for cleaning.
“Lick it spotless, you disgraced Windsor whore.”
Andrew’s tongue worked submissively, tasting the bitter mix of cum and his own anal musk.
As they zipped up, Edmund smirked.
“Repairs start next week. Clean up before Fergie sees you like this, Andy.”
Andrew stood shakily, trousers at his ankles, polo clinging to his sweaty, hairy chest and paunch, face a glistening mask of cum, spit, and utter degradation, silver hair disheveled. Another stain on his secret ledger—indulgence amid disgrace behind Royal Lodge’s crumbling walls.
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 Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, Edmund Lewis, Henry, or any other real person.
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