Royal Suite, The Royal Franklin Hotel
29 February 1992, 7:34 p.m. PST (0534 GMT)
Captain Gustafson, Staff Sergeant Davis, and Gunnery Sergeant Arnold were in their finest civilian garb. All three wore coats
that were cut a little fuller in certain areas to hide pistols. Each was an expert shot with their sidearm. Their clothing was nice, but not to the point of what was expected for a guest
at the Royal Governor’s Leap Year Ball. They would be recognizable to all at the party as bodyguards. The security was further augmented by a pair of squads from Bravo Platoon of the
Lincoln Rifles under the command of Staff Sergeant Custis Meredith and their own squad leaders. These men would be in Dress Blues and obviously armed at the party. They had arrived two
The door to Brigadier Thompson’s room opened and every eye was locked on him. He had foregone formal military uniform for the
uniform of a Knight Commander of the Royal Order of King George. Slacks, shoes, socks, and tunic were black. The tunic was closed by gold buttons up the front and had a high-stand collar
that was hooked closed at the throat. A belt of black leather was worn around his waist, gold threads woven around it. His left breast was replete with medals. His right bore three
medallions, one denoting membership in each of the Noble Orders. The one farthest right, that of the Royal Order of King George itself, bore the garlands of his exemplary rank as a Knight
Commander. Hanging around his neck was the light blue ribbon of the Medal of Honor, which hung, also surrounded by a garland of oak leaves, at his neck. All three of the military
personnel waiting snapped to attention, not so much at his arrival, but in honor of that medal. He nodded a response to them.
“Any problems, Captain?” he asked, always on, thought Gustafson.
“None whatsoever, sir. All preparations have been smooth. The limo is waiting downstairs to take us to the Royal
Thompson nodded. “Very good.”
Anything else he might have said was cut off by the opening of the door of Princess Anna’s room. If Thompson had looked good,
the Princess looked absolutely beautiful. Her blond hair was pinned up and sparkling sapphire earrings emphasized her deep blue eyes. Her dress was floor-length and done in gold with
black trim. A sable stole was wrapped around her slender shoulders but did nothing to conceal the deep cleft of her full breasts.
Her eyes went directly to Thompson. “Why, Lord Commander, I can think of very few men who cut quite so fine a figure in that
Thompson took a moment to realize that he needed to bow. He did so, stammering out, “Thank you, Your Royal Highness. And
may I say that your beauty is devastating, to say the least.”
She smiled demurely. “And I thank you for that.” She stepped across the room, a vision in heels, and stopped before the
three business-suit-clad troops. “I trust that Brigadier Thompson has already inquired as to your preparedness.”
Captain Gustafson had trouble concealing a grin. “He has, Your Highness.”
She turned back to her escort. “Very good, Lord Commander.” She extended her arm and he took it. “Shall we go?”
Thompson was actually enjoying himself immensely. “Absolutely.”
Grand Ballroom, Royal Governor’s Palace
29 February 1992, 8:00 p.m. PST (0600 GMT)
The climate of the State of Franklin (it had initially been called Washington Territory, but King George II had wanted to avoid
confusion with Washington City and the other “Washingtons” that were springing up), particularly at the end of Puget Sound, caused regular rainfall and, with the temperature just above freezing,
made the roads slick with cold rain.
Thompson rose from the back seat where Gunnery Sergeant Arnold was holding the door and turned to extend his hand to the
Princess. She took it and he helped her out. They made their way, followed by the two Marine NCO’s and led by the Royal Air Force Captain, down the red carpet, where paparazzi took their
pictures. Thompson even recognized a few of the faces of the reporters that would be blabbing about the Princess’ new dress and her escort the next morning on the talk shows. He did his
best, however, to ignore them. Focusing on Anna certainly helped.
They were soon inside, where Thompson handed off his overcoat and Anna handed over her wrap. They again locked arms, where
they followed the reception line to Royal Governor Daniel Evans. Governor Evans had served since 1965, when he was appointed by King James II. A hugely popular leader and staunch in his
royalist leanings, Evans was a solid Royal Governor who had steered Franklin through rough and smooth waters. He was also renowned for his wonderful parties. He was dressed in the dark
blue tunic of his office. The governor bowed low over the Princess’ hand.
“Your Highness, how lovely to see you again.”
“Thank you, Governor Evans. It is wonderful to be here once again.”
Then it was Thompson’s turn. “Lord Commander Thompson. It is a great honor to have the Hero of Bogota and Medellin in my
Thompson smiled. “Royal Governor, it is a pleasure.”
They then moved down to the entryway to be announced. The crier stated loudly. “Her Royal Highness, the Princess Anna,
and her escort, Brigadier Lord Commander Andrew Jackson Thompson.”
Eyes turned to the entry, suddenly interested. Thompson followed Anna’s eyes to find Royal Governor Gerald Brown of
California. Her smile faltered as he toasted her silently with a glass of champagne. She nodded her head and leaned a little closer to Thompson. She caught the hostility radiating
from his eyes, a menace few men could match without looking silly. “Thank you, Drew.”
The hostility was gone when he looked down at her. “You’re welcome, Anna.”
Anna’s heart beat a little faster and she felt a flash of heat at his voice and his eyes. She was glad suddenly that he was
holding her because she thought she felt her knees get a little weak.
Thompson let go of her arm long enough to snag a pair of glasses from a passing waiter. They sipped at the sweet, bubbly wine
while they both looked around. His head came around to find Anna studying him. “Your first time?”
He chuckled. “At a formal ball? Well, it has been a while.”
She reached out and took his champagne flute from him, setting both glasses on a nearby table. “There’s only one thing for
that.” She reached out and took his left hand in her right one. He followed her only a little reluctantly onto the dance floor.
The orchestra struck up a waltz and his right hand came up to touch her back. His feet moved with the memory of dancing
lessons back at the Austin Academy in Harrison, Texas, when he was fifteen years old. They were rusty, but Anna’s grace hid his lack of ability. Soon, she was clutching him tightly and
Thompson’s heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, he was having a good time in the middle of a ball at the Royal Governor’s Palace.
Royal Suite, The Royal Franklin Hotel
1 March 1992, 12:02 a.m. PST (1002 GMT)
Thompson had removed his uniform and was preparing for bed. He stripped off his khaki boxers and made his way to the large
bed in the center of his room.
The evening had gone spectacularly. He had really enjoyed himself and felt that Anna had, too. He chided himself for
thinking of her as Anna. Even in his head, it should be “Her Royal Highness”, lest he forget his place and think of her as a woman rather than as the figure she was. His mind could not
stop remembering the way she had moved with his hand on her back, the way her hand felt clasped in his. Even when they weren’t dancing, they had not parted far from each other. He
chuckled in the dark. They’d been like a couple of kids.
And just like when he was a kid, he felt himself swollen and hard. His hand extended to touch himself. He wrapped a hand
around it and stroked it gently. He let his mind wander as he began to fondle himself.
His eyes snapped open when he heard the sound of a door opening. It took him a moment to realize it was the door that joined
his room to the Princess’. By that time, the sheets on the bed were rustling and a weight was settling under the covers beside him.
Anna’s body pressed itself tight against his, her full breasts crushed against his chest as he felt the pressure of her soft pubic
hair against his throbbing erection. He heard her moan even as she found his shoulders and neck. In the low level of light from the balcony, she found his lips. They locked together
in the dark.
Her mouth was hot and demanding against his. Her tongue probed his lips, then his mouth with an urgency that he immediately
recognized was as strong as his. His hands found her naked body and touched her, running his hands around her waist, over her hips and buttocks. She threw a thigh over his hip and he
found the sensitive head of his penis rubbing against her slick labia. He moaned deeply into her mouth and she pulled him over on top of her.
One of her hands left his back and slipped between them, wrapping around his erection and giving it a gentle squeeze. She
guided him to her opening and he pushed into her.
Her lips left his and she let out a moan. “Oh, God, yes, Drew,” she said.
He couldn’t make himself talk, so he expressed himself physically. He felt her body open to him as he pushed into her depths,
driving himself in as far as he could. He luxuriated in the sensation of her magnificent canal. He felt her squeeze him in her depths and pulled out to thrust into her again.
She squeezed him then with her hands, now both on his shoulders, and with her thighs, wrapped tightly around his hips.
Quickly, too quickly, he knew he was going to climax. He wanted desperately to hold out so she could experience her own
orgasm but, he realized, that was already happening.
“Oh, oh, oh, God. Don’t stop, darling,” she gasped, and he knew what it signified as he felt the rhythmic pulsing of her
vaginal walls around him. He pushed deep again, pulled back, and gave one last thrust before feeling the explosion of absolute pleasure deep inside of her. He let out his own strangled
She felt him spending himself and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Anna smiled to herself, the secret smile a
woman saves for only those most intimate moments, and pulled him down to her, kissing him on the collarbone twice gently, and running her fingers along his closely-shorn scalp.
She sighed against his neck. He returned her kiss at the join between her neck and shoulder. He felt his body calm and
realized for the first time in his life that he was in love.
Royal Suite, The Royal Franklin Hotel
1 March 1992, 2:14 a.m. PST (1214 GMT)
Anna Virginia Cates Webster awoke to the feel of Andrew Thompson’s hard body behind her. Her head was pillowed on his bicep
and his chest was against her back. His left arm was draped over her and she felt his lips against her left shoulder. The blankets were wrapped tight around them. She could feel his
member, soft but still nice, pressed between her soft buttocks. She squeezed them together and felt it stir a little. She smiled and sighed.
His voice took her by surprise. “That’s a dirty trick.” There was laughter there and she pulled away to roll over and
“It’s been a while since I felt one of those in that particular location,” she said unapologetically.
He chuckled. “I wasn’t looking for an apology, just stating a fact.” His lips found hers in the dark and the kiss was
very deep, tongues actively probing the other’s mouth. His left hand slid down to squeeze one plump buttock. She could feel him doing more than stirring now and she spread her legs by way
He took her up on it and pushed her gently to her back while moving on top of her again. The tip found its mark, seemingly
already familiar with the terrain and he opened her again with that insistent knob. The sharp intake of breath was followed by a moan into his mouth as he entered her fully once
again. She had almost forgotten the sweet pleasure of possessing a man, of feeling him fill her body, touching the depths of her with the extension of himself.
His left hand had found the soft sweetness of her behind again, and worked its way to the separation between her ass
cheeks. His finger settled between them and he massaged her anal opening. His fingertip caressed it as he began the deep, rhythmic thrusts of intercourse.
Anna’s breath caught in her throat as she realized she was close again. It overtook her this time with a vengeance. Her
head slammed back into the pillow beneath her as her breath escaped in a cry. Her chest clenched as her back arched, pressing her breasts tighter against him. Drew stopped moving as her
vaginal muscles squeezed him tightly, trying to strangle the life out of her lover’s working tool. She heard him groan and wondered if she had hurt him even as her legs squeezed at his
hips. It was a wonderful, drawn-out moment on the edge of oblivion.
Then her body relaxed, opening, almost loose, and he resumed the pounding thrusts into her. How could she say it now, how
could she ask for him to be gentle when she couldn’t make herself want that. She wanted to please him far more than she wanted to please herself. She wanted to ask him to take his time,
to let her revel in the feel of his strength, his power, his raw sexuality. But she couldn’t.
Then he seemed to sense it. His movements became more tentative, he almost stopped moving. She wondered if he was ready
to finish. Then she realized that he was looking down at her. Their lips had long since parted and he was studying her in the half-light.
She looked up to ask him if anything was wrong and he locked his lips onto hers. They kissed while he held himself still
inside her body. Their kiss seemed to enliven him and he slowly resumed the thrusts.
She moaned quietly, deep in her throat, saying his name quietly as he slid himself in and out, letting her feel every bit of him
responding to her as the super-sensitivity of the post-orgasmic body feels everything. Slowly, he continued and she could feel her vagina trying to hold him in her depths, wanting to be as
close as possible to her masculine counterpart.
He shifted on top of her and started to increase the tempo. She knew Drew must be near his own climax and she urged him on
both with sounds and without. She pushed herself up at him each time he thrust downward. Soon, he was back at the speed he had started, powering himself into her depths. She could
feel another orgasm building and increased her own tempo to try and come at the same time as he did.
They reached the mountaintop together, a freshening of her fluid washing his seed deeper into her as he spent himself deep inside
This time, she felt his muscles quake as he finished and softened inside her body. She knew that was it, that he had driven
himself as far as he could.
She helped him settle outside of her and she cradled his head in her arms and kissed him above his right eye. She knew what
she felt and that it was the first time she had felt that strange emotion in years. “I love you,” she whispered, as if trying it out on the air, meaning it but not at all sure that he was
He squeezed her tightly, almost painfully in the strength of his emotion. “I love you, too,” he said. Anna could not
know how much this magnificent man, this intense warrior had longed all his life to hear those words from the woman he loved.
His dreams coming true, he felt the soft touch of her fingertips along his jaw as he drifted into sleep.
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