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So one week goes by. I was supposed to see her but unfortunately her parents had something to do with the family and we could not get together. Now being the smart person I am, I had not touched myself this whole week. I was saving all my cum for her so I was very disappointed when I could not see her. She said that we can see each other next week no problem though so I decided to stay positive.Another week goes by and today is the day. I had not masturbated in about 2 weeks and was ready to explode. Like always we just spent some time with each other, and then we went downstairs to her basement. Her basement is where we always did anything sexual because no one could hear anyone down there.So we start kissing and touching each other, and I remind her about her promise to me. She was hoping I had forgotten but this actually was the only thing I could think about. Now for whatever reason she did not want to give me a blowjob today. I have no idea why but it just did not. You never look away from me; I can’t help but bite my lip, blushing. I love the way you look at me, and you grin wide as you see me blush. The light cascading over us both, a soft silhouette of us reflects off the far wall. Playfully I tug on your chin, bringing you down for a kiss, and you come so willingly. Mmm my Sir, I love your lips on mine. My sweet warmth of slippery softness pulses hard against you, throbbing, urging you on inside me. We’re in no rush right now, we just need this moment. It’s perfect, your cock buried deep inside my treasure chest. Though we’re moving slow, our breathing is shallow, every so often you growl for me. It causes my pussy to tighten and pull you in deeper, you love the effect you have on me, and as much as I love the effect you have on me. Our need starts to grow again, needing a little bit more of each other. I wrap my legs around your middle; you grind down inside me and start to thrust a bit harder now. You so easily find my sweet spot, and.
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M. one cold, wet Saturday morning, when a black limousine turned up at my college accompanied by two police cars flashing their blue lights. I was still in bed, and I thought my flatmate was winding me up when she shook me awake and said I had visitors — a junior minister from the Home Office and my father’s Private Secretary. Dressed in my Winnie the Pooh pyjamas and Porky Pig slippers, I stumbled into our lounge, and found the two gentlemen, dressed very formally, perched uncomfortably on the edge of our couch. Daddy’s P.S., Sir William Merchant, had been like a grandfather to me down the years, and if their very presence at that unearthly hour hadn’t told me something dramatic was happening, his demeanour did –he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Clearing his throat three times, his normal rich booming voice was little more than a croak as he said, ‘Vicki — your Royal Highness — I have the most dreadful news.’ Then he proceeded to tell me that Daddy had taken a tumble.

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