The Invitation (9 page)

“I am willing
to give you a chance. On one condition.”

“Please, name
it Your Royal… Humphry.”

“When we are
alone you are to address me as Your Royal Highness, Your Majesty or
Your Lordship. Is that understood?”

Jane was
confused. What the hell had happened to ‘call me Humphry?’ Surely
that was a cockeyed way of going about it, shouldn’t it be the
other way round? Formal address in public and relaxed in
private?

No matter, she
wanted him to think well of her.

“Yes, Your
Majesty.”

“Better. My
conditions are quite simple. You are to do whatever I say. I am to
mould you into a suitable addition to the royal family. Are you
prepared to make the necessary changes?”

“Yes Your
Majesty. I just want to be with Rupert.”

“Good. Only
when you are trained up will we officially announce the engagement.
In fact, it is probably better to consider yourself un-engaged from
this moment on. Have you told any of your University friends?”

“No, it was
important that you were the first to know. Like you say, we didn’t
want it leaked to the press.”

Trained up, she
thought. That’s a funny way to put it. For some reason the words
stuck in her mind. They sounded so ominous.

“In an ideal
world, I would send you to a Finishing School for Young Ladies in
Switzerland. But that would interrupt your University studies too
much and it is important my son marries an educated woman. So you
shall be home schooled, by The King of England himself. What do you
say to that?”

“It would be an
honour, Your Royal Highness,” she answered truthfully.

The fact that
The King of England would invest so much time in her was truly an
honour. Still, she doubted she would see too much of The King
himself. He was bound to fly in a finishing school tutor from
Switzerland, or use someone of a similar ilk. She had visions of
some be-titled lady with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun; a
cross between an aging, diva ballerina and Mrs Doubtfire…

“Yes, indeed.
Oh, and keep your eyes lowered when we are alone together. It is
disrespectful to stare directly at The King.”

Jane lowered
her eyes, her hands clasped meekly in her lap. She had been alone
with him for all of ten minutes and it was like they had slipped
into the role of master and servant rather than teacher and
student. It was all most odd but Jane was just happy to be gaining
The King’s approval.

“Do you know
what is taught at Finishing Schools, Jane?”

“No Your
Majesty.”

“Social skills.
Etiquette. Preparing the female student for marriage.”

Jane could
think of nothing to say in reply. She kept her eyes downcast. His
voice was doing strange, twisting thing to her insides and she was
having difficulty catching her breath.

“We shall start
your training today. And as a test to see what you have learned we
shall dine with your soon-to-be fiancé this evening, plus a few of
my closest friends.”

Jane’s mouth
went instantly dry. No pressure then.

“Yes Your
Majesty.”

“As it is the
Easter holidays, you are to move in to the Palace for two weeks to
undergo an intensive course in the fine art of the aforementioned
topics. Do you consent to this Jane?”

Move in? Now?
“But I don’t have anything with me,” she blurted out unthinkingly.
“What about clothes? What about Rupert? Shouldn’t I discuss this
with him first?”

She looked him
in the eye when she spoke, momentarily forgetting the new rule
imposed upon her.

“For the next
two weeks you are to answer to me, and me alone. Have I not made
myself perfectly clear? And do not look at me.”

“Yes Your
Highness.”

“Your
Royal
Highness. I shall inform Rupert of our plans in short
order and you shall see him at dinner tonight.”

“Yes Your Royal
Highness.”

“Better. Tell
me Jane, are your breasts natural?”

The question
jolted her. “What?”

“They are
awfully large for so slight a girl. Have you had implants?”

“No, I have
not,” she replied, her heart hammering at his impetuousness.

“I should hope
not. The future King of England would not marry the type of trashy
girl that has implants. If you have implants they would have to be
removed.”

“But I
don’t.”

“Take off your
dress, Jane. I need to see that for myself.”

Jane simply
could not believe what she was hearing. Surely her ears deceived
her? The King of England, asking her to strip? Maybe, once upon a
time, in her secret, girlish fantasies, he might say such a thing
to her. But in reality? No way.

“Your Royal
Highness, is that really necessary?”

“If you do not
willingly consent to training, you have no future within this
family. And there is something else you should know too. Wilfully
disobeying me will result in punishment. I will ask you one final
time, do you consent to training?”

“Yes Your
Majesty.”

“Then stand up
and remove your dress.”

Jane got
shakily to her feet, the chair scraping noisily over the highly
polished floor.

I can’t
believe I’m doing this
, she thought, reaching up behind her
back to unzip the garment. The dress fell to the floor in a puddle
around her feet encased in the sensible court heeled shoes.

Beneath it she
wore plain white cotton underwear, her bra good and sturdy to
accommodate her heavy breasts.

The King rose
from his chair. Jane was reasonably tall at five-foot seven but The
King towered over her, making her feel tiny. His commanding
presence seemed to add at least another foot to his already
impressive height.

She gasped and
recoiled in shock when he reached out to gently cup her
breasts.

“Naughty, Jane,
you are to let me take control of you, that is the only way you
will learn what you must learn. I hope you realise I am storing up
your punishments for later. It would be a wise move on your part to
start minimising your misdemeanours.”

He closed the
gap between them; close enough that she could feel the warmth
emanating from his body but not close enough that they touched. He
reached behind her back to unclasp her bra and she passively let
him.

Her big tits
sprung free, round and soft and completely natural.

The King took a
step back, his eyes wide.

This time when
he reached out to touch her tits, she let him. He grabbed them
hard, squeezing and moulding them with his long fingers. Her tiny,
pale nipples puckered under his touch and a small whimper escaped
the back of her throat.

His touch left
her weak kneed and trembling and she concentrated on looking at the
hollow of his throat as he completed his physical examination of
her breasts.

“Well, I can
safely say there is no silicone in those. They are a delightful
example of full, natural breasts. No, I didn’t say you could get
dressed again. Put your clothes down.”

Jane had
retrieved her bra and stopped dead in her tracks when His Royal
Highness ordered her to.

“Please sit
down again Jane. Drink your champagne.”

“But Your
Majesty, I am practically naked.”

“Yes, you are
right. You are practically naked, you are not entirely naked.
Please remove your knickers and kick off your shoes. I wish to see
all of you.”

His indecent
command had her trembling indignantly. As if in a dream she did as
he asked and stood naked before him.

To her
surprise, he made no move to touch her. For the first time she
fully acknowledged her growing arousal; her pussy was wet and she
pressed her thighs tightly together, ashamed if The King were to
discover how much this harsh, bizarre treatment was turning her on.
Because Jane didn’t fully yet understand what this was. All she
knew was she was as horny as fuck, embarrassed and scared.

“Good girl.
Your body and your obedience please me. Sit down. We are going to
learn a very important lesson today with regards to social graces.
Or in this case, about the indomitability of the human spirit. To
put it in layman’s terms, it is what one might refer to as a ‘stiff
upper lip.’ A true aristocrat keeps emotion tightly reigned in. If
one is embarrassed, one does not show it. If one is hurting, one
hides it. If one is scared, one acts indifferently. The art of
detachment and poise, Jane. No matter what is going on in the
inside, you do not show it on the outside. This lesson will be put
to the test at dinner. Tell me Jane, how do you feel right now? I
want you to be completely honest with me.”

“I’m
embarrassed Your Majesty. And I’m scared, I don’t understand why
you are doing this. And I’m…I’m…”

“You are what,
Jane?”

“I am aroused,
Your Majesty.”

“That is
evident, Jane. Is it safe to say you are experiencing many
conflicting emotions at this precise moment?”

“Yes Your
Majesty.”

“The upper
echelons of society would not bat an eyelid at such trifles. I do
not want you to be ashamed of your nudity, Jane. It is natural and
right to be comfortable in the skin God gave you. As part of your
training you will spend a good deal of your time nude. It will
teach you stoitism. Drink your champagne for heaven’s sake.”

Jane raised the
glass to her lips, the bubbles hitting the back of her nose and
fizzing hotly down her throat.

“Now, I would
like you to climb onto the table and get on all fours.”

Jane’s head
buzzed, but with alcohol or nerves, she didn’t know.

“I’m scared
Your Majesty,” she replied truthfully.

“Don’t be
scared. Or be scared but do not show it. Reign it in child, never
let your weaknesses show. Come on, I know you can do this.”

Without quite
believing she was actually doing it, she crawled onto the table on
all fours. She quivered from head to toe when the King trailed his
fingers down her spine, stopping when they reached the top of her
arse. She was painfully conscious of her big tits hanging straight
down and her pussy and arse so obscenely on display.

“Tell me the
truth child. Can you swear on your life that you are a virgin?”

“Yes Your Royal
Highness.”

“Why have you
held onto your virginity?”

“I am only
nineteen, Your Majesty.”

“I will give
you one more chance to tell me the truth child.”

“Up until the
age of eighteen I attended a private boarding school for girls. I
have not properly been around the opposite sex until I enrolled at
University.”

“That is all
well and good, but it is not the entire truth, is it?”

She wanted to
lie, she wanted to tell him that yes, of course it was the truth.
But it wasn’t just her body that was bared to him, it was her soul
too.

“No Your
Majesty.”

“Tell me
child.”

“I knew that,
even in this day and age, The King’s son would prefer a
virgin.”

“I appreciate
your honesty Jane. You must never lie to me.”

“Yes Your
Majesty.”

His fingers
stroked down her tight arse crack, worming their way deep between
her cheeks before one digit settled on the tightly puckered
arsehole.

She flinched at
his probing fingers and held her breath.

“You have a
beautiful arse, Jane. One day, but not today, I shall enjoy
plundering its depths. Stop looking so fraught, what is it that you
are learning about today?”

The tip of his
finger pushed more insistently at her anus.

“The
indomitable human spirit!” she gasped.

Well done,” he
said, his finger pushing no deeper, but still resting against her
anus too firmly to be comfortable.

The slightest
extra pressure on his part and he would slip inside her. She
squirmed in discomfort, tears welling in her eyes.

“Relax. Never
let your discomfort show on your face. Compose yourself in the
manner of a true Lady. Lift up your face and stem the tears.”

Jane took a
deep breath and swallowed back the tears. She lifted her tear
stained face and looked dead ahead, her gaze fixing on the hanging,
family coat of arms on the far wall.

“Better. If you
cry I will give you a thrashing, do you understand?”

“Yes Your
Majesty,” she said in a cracked voice.

“Good, although
I do enjoy a thrashing.”

Jane didn’t
want to find out what constituted a ‘thrashing,’ so she held back
the tears and forced herself to be still.

“The idea of
what I am about to do to you will hurt a lot more than the
actuality. Do not move. Do not cry. Keep your face calm and serene
at all costs.”

His finger
pushed even more firmly at her anus until the tip of it slipped
inside of her. A small cry of shock escaped her lips before she
could do anything about it.

Stiff upper
lip, she thought, gritting her teeth against the alien sensation of
having something in her arse. He was right; it didn’t hurt. It made
her want to squirm and holler because it felt so dirty and nasty,
and just plain wrong.

She guessed he
wasn’t in that deep, maybe just up to his first knuckle. She forced
her sphincter muscle to relax so she was better able to more
comfortably accommodate his finger.

“You still
looked pained child, relax your facial muscles. I want you to look
as serene as the Mona Lisa.”

It wasn’t easy.
Especially when The King, still with his forefinger wriggling
inside her anus, edged up her body slightly so he was standing
parallel to her. With his other hand he slapped one of her
tits.

She shrieked
and flinched.

“Composure!”
The King shouted, making her jump. “God damn it you filthy little
whore, never let anything show on your face.”

He slapped her
other tit and inside she raged in white-hot humiliation. She stared
dead ahead at the coat of arms, all the while catching glimpses out
of the corner of her eye of her tits swinging beneath her with each
of The King’s hard slaps.