I must learn how to please a man. It is my duty, as Queen of England, to please my Lord and Sovereign. And I want to, more than anything. But after two months of marriage, I am still a maid. King Henry has visited my chamber only a few times and just once touched my breasts, then went to sleep.
I was brought to England from Cleves under the conviction that the King had chosen me for my modesty and chastity, after the big debacle of Ann Boleyn. But now that he knows what a chaste wife looks like, he is frustrated. And so am I. I know now that a world of pleasure has been cloaked to me. I want to discover it. Cleves was a small Duchy with only my family as courtiers. But England is different. The court is vast, loud, and hedonistic. Musicians and helpers are hired not only for their talent but also for their beauty, and they roam the castle late at night to find places to fuck.
I have by my side a woman that surely knows how to please a man in bed: my main lady in waiting, Jane, Lady Rochford, the young widow of the infamous George Boleyn. Jane found herself at the center of the Boleyn intrigues and was lucky to escape with her life, so rumor has it that she swore to live her life to the fullest because, in this court, no one can take anything for granted. The other ladies whisper about her sexual escapades, and I ought to be scandalized, but I find myself intrigued.
“Majesty, to give pleasure, you should know pleasure,” Jane says with a straight face after I share my conundrum. She is brushing my hair before bed, and I have ordered the other ladies to leave us alone. She puts the brush on the vanity and runs her fingers through my hair. Dressed only in our nightgowns, it feels intimate and somehow forbidden. “You must relax, your Majesty. Let your body enjoy new sensations. Explore.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back. Her fingers trace my earlobes and travel down my neck, then brush over the fabric that covers my breasts. I gasp, and when my nipples pebble, she circles them over and over, sending shots of heat down to my core. She leans and kisses my mouth softly, then says, “Go to bed, my Queen. So I can prepare a surprise for you.” She blows out the candles and leaves the room.
I get under the covers, but cannot fall asleep. My cunny feels soaked and desperate, and I grab at it, trying to find relief, though unsure of what I’m doing. After a short time, I hear noises coming from the dress closet. At first, I think it is a sound of pain, but then I realize it is something different. Rhythmical thuds pace the moans. I stand quietly and walk to the door that is ajar. I peek through and see two figures under the moonlight. Jane, lying over the seamstress table, her nightgown rolled over her waist, leaving her breasts and her privates exposed. Her legs are spread open like a tavern whore. Thomas Culpepper, the handsome groom, naked with his breeches pooled at his ankles, pounds in and out of her like a lion in heat.
Jane looks toward the door where I stand, and I try to move, but I am frozen. She holds my gaze and lifts her legs to throw them over Culpepper’s shoulders, then uses her hands to spread her buttocks. I have a clear view of his cock thrusting in and out of her, thick and sturdy, making her cry in pleasure. She staged this show for me. She wants me to see this. To learn what a good fuck looks like. She wants me to feel how I feel, hot and mad with lust.
She signals to me with her gaze, and I follow as her hand moves to find her cunny, and she rubs it with abandon. My hand, as if it has a life of its own, runs down my nightgown, lifts it, and finds my own wet quim. I see Jane use her other hand on her nipple and I mimic her, pinching and twisting, and when I think I can’t feel more crazed, Culpepper pulls his cock out of Jane, and it spills all over her, thick white strings of liquid covering her belly and breasts as he howls in pleasure. I feel a quake in my core, and my whole body convulses, making me lose my balance.
“Your majesty!” Jane screams as she hurries to pick me up, and I hear the vanishing steps of Culpepper running away. Jane helps me up and walks me to the bed. She smells of man and sweat and lust. The scent, her disheveled appearance, the color on her cheeks and lips ignites the fire in me again. When she helps me on to the bed, I pull her with me.
Jane climbs on top and takes off her nightgown, so she is kneeling naked over me. She cautiously pulls my gown up, and I do not stop her. She pulls it off over my head, and now I am naked too. We kiss. It’s sweet and soft, the sensation making my hips roll in circles. Jane moves one leg in between mine, and I rub my pussy on it like a cat, desperately chasing relief.
Jane kisses down my face and neck until her mouth finds my tits and sucks on one hardened nipple while pinching the other between her fingers. I am lost in a haze of lust, my legs want to spread open as if to receive a big cock, but I force them closed so I can rub on Jane’s thigh. She reads my dilemma, and her mouth travels down my belly until she finds my core and spreads my legs wide.
“I must be careful, milady. I shall not break your virginity, for it belongs to the King. But you will enjoy this.”
Her tongue takes a long lick that makes me arch my back. Then she slowly inserts one finger in my tight channel. When it’s all in, she rubs slowly inside of me. I have never felt anything like this. Her mouth finds my wanton clit to lick and suck, and I’m in heaven, my hips moving of their own accord so I can feel more, as pleasure clouds my brain and finally my pussy squirts in orgasmic bliss.
It is not unusual for a queen to share her bed with the lady that she keeps as a confidant. For the next few weeks, as the King sends no word of visiting me, Jane spends every night by my side, and I relish in her delicious teachings.
When an emissary of the King finally comes to my chambers, the news he brings shocks me. The King has invalidated our marriage. He is giving me houses and lands and shall from now on refer to me as his sister. I feel lost, so I turn to Jane.
“What shall I do now?” I ask.
She gives me a look of glee.
“Whatever you please, milady. You can choose to marry again or not. And since you were already married, no one will expect you to be a virgin. You can have a lover…or more,” she says, running her fingers over my cleavage.
My eyes open in awe. I can have in my bed any young or beautiful man, like Culpepper or Thomas Wyatt, maybe even the handsome Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon. Perhaps I can have all of them.
