One King Fitz All

George looked down at the royal erection, admitting to himself that he may have finally succumbed to the needs of the flesh, and said “I do not know yet, Dashwood, but I am not to be disturbed. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Though surprised, the army officer understood that he was to wait outside in order to head off any potential visitors unless, of course, they happened to include the Queen, in which case he and the lady would have to move very quickly.

The monarch downed a large whisky followed by another, removed his outer clothing and donned the royal bathrobe, closed his eyes for a second and walked in.

“Your Majesty, I …” Charlotte was relieved that soap flakes had been invented, with the bubbles doing a lot better job than her hands had managed.
“Didn’t anybody teach you to stand when I enter the room?” he said more confidently than he felt.
“Of course, Your Majesty” and she rose like Botticelli’s Venus from the water, only of course she dripped erotically. The bubbles began to slide off as one hand covered her pubic area.

“Lady FitzStuart, I have a need … a need that, until moments ago, was dormant. You have awakened that need.” He removed his bathrobe, to a gasp, revealing his silk drawers and top and pointed at the offending protrusion. “If you wish to leave now then I will understand and you can keep your position” he paused anticipating movement and when none came, “But if you want to be of service to your King, you will join me on the mat.”

A lot went through Charlotte’s head. She was not a virgin but her boyfriend had been killed during the war and that whole thing had been an unreal situation, just like this. Again her thoughts turned to her heritage and it occurred to her that a choice centuries ago had led her to be at this crossroad. History was repeating itself. Finally she prayed there would be no consequences before her shining wet body climbed, almost as though possessed, out of the tub and moved seductively and hypnotically towards her King.