Erotica
You’re My Queen
He lay on top of her, panting, and whispered in her ear: “You’re my Queen.”
Catherine stretched her arms sideways and yawned, opening her eyes. Everything was still dark around her. She closed her eyes again, and smiled when images of her dream entered her memory.
Tall and handsome and very well groomed, he stood in front of her, a smile on his face. It seemed that smile was only for her. His grip on her body was gentle and demanding, loving and firm. She offered no resistance when he turned her around, and undid the endless row of pearl buttons at the back of her ball gown.
A dreamy smile played around Catherine’s lips remembering the ball gown. The beautiful royal blue fabric hugged her upper body tightly, pushing her breasts up to a stunning cleavage and pulling her waist in, thinner than she had ever seen it. The fabric of the skirt seemed to go on and on forever.
When he pushed the fabric from her shoulders, the weight of the dress pulled it down over her body, exposing the tight corset she wore underneath. She looked down at her exposed breasts, and watched as the corset joined the dress around her feet, after he had untied the strings and pushed it down. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to a huge four poster bed in the middle of the room.
Catherine shook her head. She had been watching too many episodes of the television series about the ‘Tudors’. The four poster bed in her dreams was exactly the same as the one Henry VIII’s wives slept in. The history of the English monarchy intrigued her and she would have loved to had been one of the Queen’s maids of honor. Or better even, one of the ladies at court.
The handsome man gently lowered her to the bed. While walking around to the other side, he got rid of his own clothes, and then lay down beside her. His fingers traced the contours of her body, from the inner line of her thighs, to circling around her nipples. He bent forward to kiss her — a long lingering kiss that ignited the passion deep inside her.
His mouth moved to her nipples; his hand cupped her sex. She arched her back, squirmed and moaned, when his fingers slipped inside. Finger-fucking her, he sucked and bit her nipples, just enough to make her beg for more. Passion exploded, and suddenly he was on top of her, in her, filling her. He held still, kissed her, then pulled back and pushed back in.
Hard. Fucking her with deliberate strokes.
She met each of his thrusts, pushing her hips against his, spreading her legs even wider. Her climax came first, wetting the bed below her, before her sensitive insides welcomed the hardening of his cock just before he climaxed. He lay on top of her, panting, and whispered in her ear: “You’re my Queen.”
A giggle escaped Catherine as she now whispered the words: “You’re my Queen.”
Her hand slipped between her folds, the wetness welcoming her fingers. She pushed a finger inside, and drew in her breath. The tenderness of her soft flesh felt like she had really been fucked hard the night before. Catherine ran a finger up towards her clitoris, which was just as sensitive as her inside. She shook her head. That was quite a dream for her to wake up so sensitive to touch. Maybe she had fingered herself in her sleep? She shrugged, dipped her fingers inside again and spread her wetness to her clitoris, rubbing gently on and around the swollen piece of flesh. With her legs pulled up and spread as wide as they were in her dream, it didn’t take long to bring herself to a climax.
Catherine opened her eyes again, and tried to focus in the dark. She pushed the bed covers back, wanting to get up, but when she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, something blocked them. She reached out and touched the heavy velvet fabric surrounding her bed. What? Curtains? She ran her hand over them, looking for an opening, then pushed the curtains aside.
Candlelight illuminated the room. A fireplace. A thick white rug in front of it, the wood crackling in the fire. Catherine sat on the side of the bed and looked around. Where was she? How did she get here? She slid off the high bed and took a few steps into the room. A table and four chairs around it stood in a windowed alcove. A silver teapot and the finest china cups and saucers stood on the table. She didn’t recognize any of the items.
Confused Catherine walked a couple of steps more. There was a vague familiarity to the room, but her confusion prevented her from clear thinking. Was she still dreaming? Was all this part of her dream? Had she not woken up yet? Catherine yelped when she pinched herself hard. According to herself, she was wide awake. Or was she?
Fear gripped her heart. How did she get here? She walked over to the dressing table and looked at her reflection. At first she just stared, trying to understand. It was only when she heard the voice behind her that she recognized the face in the mirror. A chill ran down her spine.
He lay on top of her, panting, and whispered in her ear: “You’re my Queen.” She hugged him tight, a deep satisfaction filling her being, the air around them shifting in a flash. He rolled off her, holding her in his arms until she fell into a deep slumber. Henry smiled, looking down at her, knowing her life had just changed forever. Before he left the bed, he whispered: “You’re my wife now, for as long as I so desire.”
“Good morning, my love. I hope you slept well on your first night as Queen of England?”
Staring back at her with the same confused and scared expression she knew she had on her face, was Catherine Parr, the sixth wife of the man who spoke behind her — King Henry The Eighth.
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