stories.xnxx.com


Introduction:

The Princess of Wales is kidnapped by African Freedom Fighters
No one noticed the unmarked Rolls-Royce leave the side entrance of Buckingham
Palace; it was an everyday event.

Behind the blacked out windows, the young, blonde Princess of Wales sat in
apparent serenity. It was the pose she wanted her driver and Scotland Yard guard
to see; any hint of nerves and they would have cancelled the trip. No chances
were being taken, not after what had happened eighteen months ago.

She wondered what they would think if they knew how her insides were churning;
how the anticipation was making her pussy bubble with sticky cream? What would
they say if they knew that their darling Princess; their media queen, was really
a cock-craving, cum-guzzling bitch with an definite passion for black cock and
rough sex?

Her watch said eleven-fifteen; another thirty minutes, she thought, then she
would be free; free from their watchful eyes, free from their protection, free
to indulge in her newly discovered passions and perversions.

Thank God for Mandy, she thought. What would I do without her? She checked her
watch again. Her Scotland Yard guard noted her impatience but paid it no mind;
security was his game and he was damn sure nothing like what had happened was
going to occur while he had the watch.

The Princess extracted a compact from her purse and checked her makeup. She saw
the brightness in her eyes, the suppressed lust, and she wondered if what Mandy
had arranged had been done so without arousing Scotland Yard's curiosity? It had
to be, her demanding body screamed. It just had to be.

Mandy had received the call only an hour ago; the Princess would be pleased to
visit her college roommate; security would have searched the flat, and the
surrounding area and staked out the adjacent homes for any suspicious
characters. What they didn't know is that Mandy was already aware that she was
going to have a visitor. Her 'friends' were in the attached building, and the
moment security walked out of the flat, they would casually walk across the
eight inch window ledge - four stories up - to Mandy's flat and hide in the
closet. Later, after she departed, they would sneak back the same way. No one
would be the wiser.

The 'arrangement' consisted of two big, black American Marines, Mandy had said;
Embassy Guards. Hugely hung; one who had never touched a white woman before.
What would their reaction be to fucking the next Queen of England? Appreciation,
she hoped. She squeezed her thighs together as a secret shiver ran up her spine,
causing her juicy cunt to dribble. She took a deep breath, thankful that she'd
remembered to wear a Kotex pad. Her cunt got so sopping when she thought of big
cocks, she'd most definitely would stain her suit and the seat, too.

The big Rolls circled Picidilly Square, passing the cavernous underground garage
of St. Mark's Hospital. The Princess stared at it as they passed. That's where
it all happened, where it all began; the most terrifying, most thrilling
forty-eight hours of her life. Idly, she wondered how they had managed to cover
it up? After all, the kidnapping of the Princess of Wales was major headline
news, but not a word had been printed, and according to Scotland Yard, only a
small, select few actually knew what had happened. Of course it was all
deniable; the terrorists were all dead, killed by an action team from the SAS;
the Special Air Service.

Sadly, she remembered them; the terror they had provoked in her, and the
fantastic pleasures they had ultimately given her body with their giant African
cocks; huge and thick as a tree limb, the bulbous pink and purple heads dripping
with thick, rich, white cum-juice. She licked her lips and recalled their
blackness; remembering how the contrast of color; their black against her white,
had dazzled and turned her on so completely, so passionately, that nothing else
mattered except to have their massive pricks in every opening of her delicate
body.

Her stomach tightened and her eyes clamped shut as images of their long,
snake-like, pink tongues flashed in her mind; sliding deep in her pussy, down
her throat, up her ass.

She squirmed and squeezed the armrest with a power no-one would have believed
she possessed and re-crossed her shapely legs, pressing her thighs together,
cutting off the oozing flow of cunt-cream from her incredibly hot pussy.

What a terrible waste, she thought. Poor Jumo, and Mentu, and her sweet
surprise, Kunta. The magnificent Chaka. All dead. Their big, beautiful Kaffir
cocks lost to her forever. They were all gone, but they had forever changed her
life.

She rested her head and let her mind wander backwards in time. It had been a day
very much like today, she thought; spring-like, but still overcast; the sky
uncertain of its ultimate direction. Arrangements for her annual physical at St.
Mark's had been made and she arrived promptly on time; a doctor - black - was
waiting to greet her. Her driver and guard were the first out of the car, and as
they opened her door, she watched in horror as the doctor pulled a gun and shot
both men. They were dead before they hit the ground.

Her mind registered that the gun was silent and she remembered screaming, or
trying to; she wasn't sure, things became very jumbled then. Men in ski-masks
grabbed her and roughly pushed her back into the car. She was thrown down, her
face pressed hard to the floor; a gun to her head.

She remembered the terror that ran through her body; a cold, vileness that she
could smell and taste. She remembered her shame as her bladder threatened to
desert her.

Strong hands pinned her down and harsh garlic breath assailed her nose as a
voice from hell told her to keep quiet and be still. Or else! Her hands and feet
were tied painfully tight and she was gagged on an evil smelling piece of cloth.
Another covered her eyes, blacking out almost every trace of light.

The darkness intensified her terror as the car zig-zagged through the streets,
then up a ramp where it screeched to a halt. She didn't know it at the time;
they had driven the car into a large lorry - a moving van - and calmly drove
away, eventually finding their way to a deserted warehouse on the London docks.

They handled her with disregard; half dragging, half carrying her up a flight of
metal stairs. She was pushed from behind and fell heavily on a smelly mattress,
the air rushing painfully from her lungs. Her wrists and ankles screamed as the
ropes cut into her soft skin. Thick fingers fumbled with her blindfold.

"Be careful what you see, Princess. We don't want to have to kill you." The
voice was deep, resonant, and the words made all the more chilling by casual
manner of delivery. She blinked her eyes, trying to adjust to the harsh light
that shined directly into her face. Four men surrounded her; big men. Black men.
She knew that from their bare hands and the slits in their ski-masks baring
their flat noses and big lips.

The biggest man, the one with the chilling voice, knelt beside her. His eyes
traveled the length of her body lingering on her exposed camisole - her jacket
had been pulled open - and the large expanse of uncovered thigh made visible by
her disheveled skirt. He was smiling. Slowly, he reached out and tugged her
skirt down below her stocking tops. Bile welled up in her throat and she felt
her body flush with shame and embarrassment as he touched her. Her mind reeled
at the indignities she would suffer at their hands, and in a fit of mental
defiance she vowed not to give them a instant of reaction. Whatever happened,
she would remain like stone; an unmoving, unfeeling, inert object. Do your
damndest, her mind screamed at them; you'd do better jerking off.

The big man seem to read her mind. "You will not be molested, Your highness. It
would be counter-productive to our goals," he said quietly. "Your
accommodations," he waved his hand around the loft, "may not be what you're use
to but under the circumstances I'm sure you understand.

"Your release, I'm sure, will be swift and you will have the benefit of knowing
that this small detour will enrich the freedom fighters of our country."

Her screams of rebuke were muffled by the gag in her mouth. Outraged, she
struggled against her binds, unaware that her thrashing about widened the gap of
her jacket and rode her skirt up over her nylon tops, baring naked flesh. This
time, the big man made no attempt to cover her up.

"Yes, I know," he said, not unkindly, "It's hell for the Princess Royal to be
treated thusly; a pawn in the game of international struggle, but so be it.
Please do try to make your time with us as tolerable as possible."

He stood up and pulled her roughly to her feet. Her feet stumbled and he caught
her in his strong arms. Her body pressed tightly against his. Involuntarily, she
gasped and her eyes widened in amazement as his cock pushed hard against her
stomach. It was huge!

Looking deeply into her eyes he forced the crimson to her cheeks and this time
it had nothing to do with shame or embarrassment. Disconcerted, she turned away,
unable to look at his dark, passionate eyes.

"Take off the ropes," he said to one of the others, "and then remove her
clothes."

She screamed behind the gag and angrily threw her body at him; lashing out with
her foot. Nimbly, he stepped aside.

"I love a woman with spirit," he said, "I do not relish this, but it's a
necessary security measure. The Princess of Wales can not run away if she has no
clothes on, now, can she?"

Two men grabbed her, still kicking and screaming and pulled her away from their
leader. In her mind, that's how she identified him - their Leader; a big,
powerfully built man, radiating a maleness that was almost tangible. He also has
a great big cock, a horrible little voice told her. She started to kick and
scream even more.

She watched him walk away, out the door, followed by another. His departure
increased the terror; she had somehow sensed that she was safe as long as he was
around, now she was faced with two strangers who didn't appear to have the big
man's intelligence, or his rough kindness. Maybe they have big cocks, too, the
horrible little voice said.

Each man had her by an arm. They were chuckling to each other, talking in a
strange foreign language that she couldn't identify. Oh, God, she thought in
horror, they are going to strip me! Shutting her eyes tightly, she clamped her
thighs together as her skirt and petticoat fell to the ground.

"You have nice legs for a white girl," she heard one of the men chuckle and the
flush on her body deepened.

"And from the looks of things she's a real blonde, too," the other said. Their
laughter made her body go rigid as she tried to shut out the sights and sounds
of her humiliation.

They untied her hands and pulled her jacket off; then the camisole. She was
naked from the waist up. Their foreign ribald commentary followed each item of
clothing to the floor, becoming louder as more of her body was exposed, whooping
when her perky tits were bared. The cold air immediately stiffened her big
nipples. Blushing fiercely, she stood there with her arms covering her panting
chest, with only a flimsy pair of panties, stockings and a garter belt left on
her body. She wished they weren't so lacy, so sexy, so provocative.

The men were suddenly silent and then, without warning, they yanked her panties
to the ground. She was naked! Exposed! Defiled!

"Ho, Ho, look! A field of golden wheat covers her honey pot, my friend!"

"We should bake bread in her oven!"

The laughter made her tremble with humiliation. They were looking at her; she
knew that, examining every curve, visually exploring every secret nook and
cranny of her slender body. Roughly, her arms were pulled away and she was
completely exposed. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to force them
down; to be stoic, strong and unyielding. She failed and her sobs shook her
body, jiggling her tits for all to see.

"I take back what I said," one of the men said, "you're a beautiful woman, white
or not. And that blonde pussy of yours makes my cock jump, your Royal Highness,"
he said condescendingly.

Her eyes jumped wide in surprise and shock as his hands encircled her tits; his
big palms completely capturing them, the coarse exteriors raising her nipples to
steely hardness. He thrust his hips forward, pushing his thickening prick into
her stomach. She felt it hard against her flesh. A strange hot chill swept her
body; a perverse excitement, and as hard as she tried she couldn't stop the hot
tremor that rippled through her shaking body.

The other man snarled something foreign at his companion. Then, still gagged,
she gasped and panted as they pulled her back to the worn mattress and tied her
wrists and ankles to the metal bedstead. They used soft, colored scarfs that
held but didn't hurt her as much as the ropes. Then, they stood there staring,
devouring her spread-eagle form with their eyes. She knew it was a shameful,
provocative picture; red garter-belt, black hose and heels, her blonde cunt
gaping wide; like something out of a cheap girlie magazine.

Then, in humiliation, she realized she hadn't even tried to fight them off; just
let them spread her out, obscenely, without raising a finger. She turned her
head away as the tears flowed anew.

She had been too preoccupied with the realization that her pussy was wet!

The men stood off aways, by a window, talking quietly between themselves and
glancing at her every now and then. To gloat, to ogle, or just keep an eye on
her; she wasn't sure. She blinked the tears away and tried to control her
breathing, and force herself to think. She had been briefed by Scotland Yard on
terrorist tactics; the humiliation and degradation. They did these things to
break down the will to resist. Generally, they didn't do bodily harm. If, she
thought, if she could just tough it out for a little while longer she would be
rescued and these black scum put behind bars. She was the Princess of Wales, the
next Queen of England! She would be saved!

Her rapid breathing abated and her mind skipped around. black scum? If they were
scum, she thought, why did my pussy get wet? Why did my body react so when I
felt the size of their cocks? She trembled when the horrible little voice
answered her.

She had come to the marriage bed a virgin, well, almost a virgin, if you count
sticky fingers and slender cucumbers; and while not unpleasant, sex with the
Prince of Wales had not been the earth shattering experience she had hoped it
would be. Nice, but far from the wild sex movies and pictures, and stories, she
and her college chums had seen and read about. And Mandy, with her thrilling
accounts of fucking and sucking anonymous black men with huge, massive cocks
pushing into her slender white body, had sown the seed of fantasy that now crept
into her mind.

She drifted for a moment and wondered what it would be like to fuck a hugely
hung black man. Nice white girls from good families didn't have anything to do
with the black Kaffirs. It was unthinkable; yet the subtlety of color contrast
was seductive. The imaginary image of a fat cock formed behind her closed eyes.
It had the shape and size of the Leader's. Automatically, she licked her lips
and felt the heat fill her loins. She trembled at the wild, sexiness of the
thought; the total forbidden, secret wonder of it.

And she sighed deeply.

The bed sagged beneath the weight of the man and her eyes leaped open, the
terror of reality instantly back at hand. She tried to wiggle away from him; the
one who had jammed his cock into her stomach and felt her up; the one who had
started these horrible thoughts running through her mind. No, she told herself,
the Leader did that. No, the little voice said, You started them.

He was still wearing his ski mask, but had taken off his shirt. His chest was
thick and muscular, and covered with course, crinkly, hair. He was smiling, but
it was an evil, leering smile; a smile of triumph.

She stared, wide-eyed, as his hand gently stoked her bare leg. His touch was
hot, but she shivered. Fear or anticipation?

"Comfortable, Your Highness?" he asked, his hand resting hotly just above her
knee, inches away from her exposed pussy. Growling through the gag, she tried to
squeeze her thighs together, petrified that he would see the moisture clinging
to her silky bush.

"Good! We want to make your stay with us a happy one."

His hand traveled higher; his touch like fire, the arrogant smile more evident.
"My friend and I have had a long conversation on how to make you happy. We think
we have found a way." He stuck his tongue out; long, thick, and sharply pointed,
and wiggled it obscenely at her. She screamed behind the gag and tugged
powerfully at her constraints; her body thrashing about, tits jiggling, hips
moving, paradoxically, in a wanton, arousing fashion.

"Yes, Princess, fight!" he laughed. "A woman of spirit is much valued in my
country, but don't wear yourself out. My tongue will give you great pleasure,
but you don't want to be too tired to enjoy it, now, do you?"

For a big man, he moved cat-like, positioning himself between her twisting legs,
his strong, rough hands clamping on her churning hips, pinning them to the
mattress. Her eyes bulged in horrid fascination as his tongue darted in and out
of his mouth like a cobra's. It was the longest tongue she had ever seen.
Horrified, she watched his head dip between her thighs. A blinding flash of
vivid color exploded in her brain as his tongue shot deep into her open pussy
like a hot spear. Her head reared back, blonde hair flying, and her hips arched
up as an unexpected electric shock coursed, hotly, through her body. The binds
strained as she hurled herself against them.

Viper-like, his tongue turned and twisted deep inside her cunt, rasping against
the oily walls of her pussy, stoking the smoldering embers of fantasy into a
roaring fire. Her eyes rolled to the whites, and her fists and toes clenched as
he sucked on her clit. Bolts of terrible excitement flashed in her brain, sweat
broke out on her forehead, and huge goosebumps rose on her flesh. Her traitorous
body was reacting on its own, flooding her cunt with rich pussycream, sending
horrible spurts of blinding pleasure to her brain, raising her sensory system to
heights never before felt.

Tremors racked her body as his tongue flicked wildly in and out of her sopping
pussy; over her tortured clit, driving her wild with undeniable pleasures. Her
hips pushed hotly against his thrusting mouth. Through slited eyes she saw his
large black hands slither up, over her body, kneading the soft, yielding flesh
of her stomach, her asscheeks; cupping and squeezing her heaving tits, tweaking
the hard, round nipples; the rough touch of his forbidden color adding fuel to
the hot fires of hell that raged in her body.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of her feverish brain she saw herself and felt
the reactions of her body; the wondrous, forbidden pleasures were identifiable,
each with it's own unique thrill. Never had she felt this way. Never had she
received such unbounded pleasure. Never had she found herself on the edge of a
terrifying abyss, wanting to leap into its beckoning darkness. She saw her own
lust, huge and untapped, still shackled, straining to be released. And she saw
their blackness, their forbidden color and her mind erupted with fascination,
passion, and lust.

A kaleidoscope of swirling colors flashed brilliantly behind her closed eyes.
Her brain threatened to explode as a huge surge of searing pleasure crashed over
her body, stunning her with its force and burning intensity. Her body arched
into a bow, hips churning and twisting franticly; her arms strained. Suddenly,
her left arm was free and she grabbed the back of his head and pushed his face
deep into her throbbing cunt, humping her hips against the rasp of his beard,
smearing his face with her flowing juices, straining to survive the mammoth
climax that shook her body with violent tremors.
0 comments
SUBMIT A COMMENT
You are not logged in.
Characters count: