by Ann Abrams
Fifty Shades of a Princess
a parody
by Ann Abrams
(The fantastical story of a girl called Kate Middlebum who wanted to marry a Prince)
©Not So Noble Books
Table of contents
Introduction
Kate’s first date with Prince Willz
Kate thinks of her first time
Skiing in Kloisters
The ring
Kate asks for sisterly advice
Willz comes to tea
The photographer
Safari
Nose Job
Kate goes clubbing
Leave me alone
Willz rides up on his white horse/Landrover
Pipz and Hezza
Introduction
This is Katherine Markham. The author Ann Abrams has written about me in her novel Mobius. It’s a bit like a White Hotel situation but you don’t have to worry about that right now.
When I was at the private clinic in Italy, in Konrad’s hands, the TV was blaring away – a German news channel actually, about an English wedding – the nurse closed the door, and I turned over to sleep and what follows is what I dreamt.
Everything in this book is completely made up and not true. It is fiction and does not describe anything that really happened. It is fictitious. And the people in it are not real either. Imagine you go to sleep and have a strange sexy dream, this is what I wrote down.
It is the utterly made up and fantastically sexy and comical story of Kate Middlebum’s romance with Prince Willz. They are characters in my dream not in any way meant to be real or based on reality.
The characters in my deranged sleep might remind you of real people but in fact they are fantasies. Like you might have a dream you slept with Brad Pitt, but the person in the dream is not really him, he is an idea in your imagination.
So none of the following happened. It is just my imagination. At worst it is a parody of what we might see on tv or in the papers, and not intended to reflect on or malign the real characters of anyone in the world.
If you enjoy this you can find my full length novel Mobius on Amazon. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mobius-ebook/dp/B008C9J2F0/
But remember nothing you read from now on is true, real, or actually happened. But you could work that out for yourself! This is a comic fantasy and a parody.
Fifty Shades of a Princess
Kate’s first date with Prince Willz
Prince Willz (aka Willz to his friends) watched the fillies parade up and down on the stage, his mouth gaped open revealing the right equipment for munching hay. He was half asleep but could feel a right royal bonono come on when the lustrous Kate Middelbum came to the end of the ersatz runway and swivelled her hips, fugging hell he thought, I can see her knickers. His brother Hezza (aka the ginger ape, the spare, number 2 etc) had tried it on with her and said she was a right middle class hussy and hard to get any real action from, but well old Hezza came on a bit strong, and he was hardly heir to the ruddy throne, was he?
“You were, er, steaming in that, um, fashion show,” Willz said to Kate, and he was right. I mean the dress was see through, and it had showed off what were no more than a bra and panties but mummy had always said to reel them in slow, but first let the glitter of the bait catch their eye.
Willz had dated among others: Arabella Mungpot, Isabella Blowforth, Olivia Fukwah, Flavia Whacup, Rosie Cambell-Leighton, Divina Dunkin-Chap and Davina Chap-Duncan. Mummy had also said to let them sow their oats before they settle down. He wasn’t really that good looking, oh he was very tall with a good bod, but his hair was already thinning, and he had the teeth of a horse, perhaps he was endowed like one too, LOL she didn’t really care about that sort of stuff actually. There was something ineffably and extraordinarily something about him. Yes, he was majorly and hectically something. He was…. princely, he was very, very amazingly princely. And being a prince wasn’t just some random quality it was more, it was generations of duty and responsibility for ‘something very important’. You could tell he was born to it, it was stuck to him like chewing gum on your Whistles dress.
It was impossible to really go anywhere besides houses because there was just so much hassle being the King minus two, or was it minus one, who knows? He was weekending with the Anscrudders and invited her along, which wasn’t actually a date, but was in HIS way, of course he had been rumoured to have left Bella Anscrudders very sore, but never mind. She phoned mummy who said don’t dress too tarty, as they weren’t looking for that in a consort, she said consort! (really mummy!). So she wore a nice pair of tight fitting jeans, her derriere wasn’t quite the prize bell which her sister’s was but she always thought sis could lose a few pounds, and a cashmere jumper with a vest underneath it, and no bra, so if it were cold, well you do the sums.
They went for a lovely walk, it was important to like walking in mud and rain and never complain, to not complain about anything actually, no matter how freezing and soaked and bored you were, and listen to him talking, and not be strident, hysterical and female EVER. She half suspected he was going to rugger her in some little croft house, while his security man watched the door, but instead he went on and on about how he found art history fugging dull. It was actually kind of like fugging dull listening to him talk about dropping out of uni to go fly planes or something. But he got really excited when she suggested he try geography because then he’d know where he was when he was flying over it, and said she was a “bloody genius.” He asked whether there was any Jewish in her, and she said no, but that some of the girls had been at school, and they really were clever. After that he kissed her and his teeth clashed against hers, and he did have a big horsey rough tongue too which he jammed between her nicely even pearly white teeth. And he crushed her hand in his manly paw. And it was dreamy. The security ran them home in their Land Rover when PW told them his feet were fuggin sore.
In front of a lovely crackling log fire on some crummy old sofa which smelled of dog, really top people didn’t like anything new, she must remind mummy of that, PW drank whiskey while she sipped a gin and tonic, no-one besides a date rapist likes a drunk girl after all. The others although they pretended not to, kept a kind of distance from him, like he had his own force field, even the chummy CrEtonians who were earth shatteringly self-confident and would end up making squillions and running the planet. He was the heir to the throne, he was going to be King, he was going to be her prince, and money, talent, or cleverness couldn’t buy you anything but a crummy title of a tin pot country or the country itself.
She was rather disappointed everyone went up to bed about three in the morning after a hilarious game of sardines in which they never found each other. They then played boggle but he couldn’t spell very well. One of the CrEtonians claimed security had done all his A-level papers, but being dyslexic didn’t make you stupid, it was a disease anyway.
She quickly got into her totally luxe brushed flannel pyjamas, the house had the most minimal heating but it was lovely and 500 years old with loads of history of princes and stuff hiding out, and she still half expected him to burst in.
Lights out, the walk and the gin had really tired her out, and she was milliseconds from sleep when the door sprung open and in a babyish whisper she heard. “Wube time.” She saw his teeth glint in the moonlight, rakishly he came forward with what looked like a tube of toothpaste in his hand.
“It’s uh, completely, organic, and not that Duchy original bollocks, Dad says try rapeseed oil, ha ha” he said, and she saw that he was naked with an impressive and regal bearing of his crown jewels.
Kate squirmed under the covers, at last she was going to be a royal concubine or something, but mummy’s warning rang in
her head like the great bell of Big Ben or somewhere, big bell, she tittered internally, but then mummy’s bloody voice came back ‘easy girls don’t get their princes’, well how would she know working as an air stewardess and marrying daddy, but she was usually right, which was so annoying.
As Willz lurched into bed still clutching the tube, she knew what to do, she had brains as well as a tight bod.
“Willz, um, it’s my time of the month,”
“Oh, right, well I wasn’t planning on the red, if you know what I mean, more the chocolate bunny.”
“Um,” she replied, thinking how yucky it was that people did it like that.
“I am sure Royal access is allowed, you know, droit de seigneur and all that rot. Even like normal people do it nowadays, it’s quite PC.”
Kate felt that this discussion was getting rather political and difficult and that this wasn’t what a prince wanted in a girl. Talking about lovemaking was really disgusting. She took hold of the situation with an emergency swallowing of the Royal line. This ended the debate and he was quite satisfied when she accepted a bucket load which made her gag, although she quite dutifully got all her medicine down her, and mercifully he fell asleep without attempting any more back door entry.
She looked at his majestic visage as he snored like a warthog, or her dad, and she knew she would remember this night forever and ever, although she did get up to rinse with some Listerine as she really couldn’t sleep with that vile flavour in her mouth, it was worse than cod liver oil.
Kate thinks of her first time
As she slept fitfully next to the great supine royal carcass, she thought of her first time. He was called James and half the school fancied him and they got away one weekend to her parents’ house, ‘Middlebum Lodge’. Mum and Dad were off selling more Christmas cards and ornaments at some horrid conference, or festival or something, it was so embarrassing that they were like peddlers of horrid tat that sold in places like Clinton Cards, before it went bust or whatever, but still it paid the school fees and she couldn’t help admiring that mummy had been an air hostess and was now comfortable.
She wasn’t called head girl for nothing, joke, she found it cringe worthy and it made your mouth sore and most of them wanted you to choke on it, and actually it tasted disgusting like swallowing sea water. James was big all over and she loved being wrapped in his arms most of all or just chilling out watching LOLZ stuff on youtube.
For her first time she didn’t want to be fugged, literally fugged meaning drunk, she wanted it special. He looked dreamy in his crisp white shirt rolled up to the wrists, his neck was maybe a bit too thick from too much time pumping iron, but he had cool cheek bones, very nice floppy hair, and good skin, unlike some of the CrEtonians who tried to snog her at bops.
In her bedroom which mum had allowed her to redecorate to her own design there were lovely calico drapes, a big armchair for curling up with her laptop, and her brass four poster, which she had wanted since she was little but now she thought it might be a little embarrassing.
There had been just six of them at the dinner party, which she and Emma and Clare had done the food for, a lovely piece of beef which her mum had Ocadoed. Emma ate like a horse, while Kate just had a little well done, and the boys ate so much that she had to cook them sausages in the Aga just to keep them from raiding the fridge, which mummy would freak about.
They’d drunk more than a few bottles of daddy’s good wine, but she’d sipped at hers, although James kept telling her to stop being such a girl and get some more down her. She wished he didn’t have to pretend to be so oafish in front of their friends.
She didn’t want James going down there, I mean it looked gross so why would he want to lap at it like a Labrador puppy, Emma always said how many orgasms she had when some guy went down on her, but Kate suspected she was weird. She had got some special black porny knickers and a bra, which she hardly needed, from Agent Provocateur in Selfridges which would make James totally horny.
She took his big hand and led him upstairs to bed, otherwise he would have stayed mucking around playing drinking games all night. The dimmer switch made the light look like candles. And she unbuttoned his shirt slowly and seductively.
“Bloody hell, we’re going to fu…, make love, aren’t we!” he said, his voice squeaking unattractively.
She put a finger to his lips which is what a girl in a Bond film would do.
She unzipped his bulging jeans and took his jolly sausage in her mouth and hoped he would not finish before, you know, too soon. It was his turn now to undress her, but he seemed to expect her to just keep on sucking as though his willy was an ice lolly on a hot day.
She moved them to her four poster with its high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. She unbuttoned her Jigsaw silk olive green dress, and let it fall to the ground seductively. She was not fat, she was toned, she was thin, her body was good, she had a good little figure although her bosoms could have been bigger, and there was a little fat on her hips that needed crunching away. Mummy said she would marry a prince one day with her looks and character.
“Wow, you look so fucking hot Kate,” he said, not her prince. Her pretty face reddened at the compliment.
Now he did what he was meant to do, and took her bra off. He tried to take her panties off but she wouldn’t let him. She got under the sheets and so did he, and she dimmed the dimmer switch some more and let him slide them off. Instinctively, even in the dark, she went to cover her vajajay with her hand, but he was too quick and stabbed one finger into her semi-slimy cave. Back and forth his digit went creating more friction than thrill.
“Have you got something?” she asked.
“No, no, of course not. I am fine, I even had a test,” he blundered. A little bit of her died.
“ I mean protection silly, you know I want to be safe,” she said bravely, for she had a will to finish what she started.
“Oh right, sorry!” he guffawed and he got up to fumble in his jeans. His white bottom was nicely muscled with dimples in it like something she’d seen in Florence when she went on that drawing trip.
He ripped open the foil packet, as though it were a sachet of salt for his chips he was going to wolf down after rugby, and he rolled on the rubber ring with a sort of self-satisfied panache. She opened her legs, not too wide, and he put his winkle into her treasure chest. She closed her eyes and felt his weight upon her. There was just a little sharp pain, a rubber band snapping, and it was done, no longer cherry fresh, a woman finally at 17 years old, she felt fulfilled. With three more thrusts he exhaled and fell like a sack of potatoes on her, he kissed her neck, and she pushed his face away when he tried to bite her. It was done, and she would be done with him soon enough.
Skiing in Kloisters
“Chalet Virgenia, Kates, good name, good place to get your wings,” said Willz.
It was lush, super luxe.
She had some really super black and white skiing gear and she knew Willz loved her behind in the tight fitting garb, she’d even got a chavvy g-string as Willz thought it such a hoot to pretend they were super chavvy. He called her Kates, his chav wife, which was half good.
Bloody Pipz had been invited too, and there’d be the inevitable jokes about threesomes with the two sisters from Willz and Hezza, and whichever other CrEtonian they brought with them. She could not think of anything worse in the world then her slutty sister with her perfect behind showing her up in the lovemaking department, wouldn’t Pipz just love that to ruin her chance of being Queen.
Skiing was actually a pretty good laugh. Prince W was majorly good, he’d been skiing since he was about one. Kate could keep her end up too, and she laughed heartily when Hezza, the ginger one who reminded her a little of a boy at school that had water on the brain or something, picked her up and dumped her in a pile of snow, Willz then chased Hezza around, and Kate managed to get the freezing ice out of her long underwear. Willz and Hezza chased each other for about an hour and it was quite boring, but of course s
he didn’t say anything and roared with laughter whenever they got near her.
She said she wanted to wear her knickers in the bubbly Jacuzzi with the view of the mountains, which was awesome. Pipz was straight in bum naked, and even in the candle light, she made out Hezza with his eyes wide open like he’d just seen something amazing, for god’s sake, she could afford to lose five pounds, not that the red haired ape would notice.
Willz spoke to her in a low voice, “Don’t fugging embarrass me, get your tits out and get in there,” he really could be quite commanding and regal. She did what he asked, but couldn’t help covering her neatly trimmed vajajay hair as she got into the extra large tub.
The brothers fooled around spraying Krug champagne all over the shop, getting it in Pipz’s eyes, so her eye makeup ran really badly, and she looked so whoreish, it was almost funny. Pipz was drunk anyway, everyone liked to party with her, but they’d never marry her, she’d slept with half of Pop.
Despite all the jokes, she didn’t think Willz wanted a threesome with his brother, or whoever he was, they didn’t even look remotely alike. She sensed even Willz found Hezza a little too much with all his endless practical jokes and japing. Hezza, or the spare, sat pretty close to Pipz whilst shouting, “It’s my farts, it’s my farts making this tub fizz,” she thought he probably was fingering Pip’s not so locked treasure box underneath the bubbles. Pipz had a glazed look on her face and her and Willz and Anscrudder soon headed off for some munchies, which she suspected meant the white stuff, which Willz always avoided.
“Right babe, alone at last!” he said, and she perceived that he rather longed to be with the others, but never mind. He put one of his mitts on her booby. He twisted her nip rather painfully, and she gave him a thin smile.
“So Kates, you know I can’t, and I hate this PC stuff, go in your front bottom, it’s like a national security issue, which is tremendously boring for me, but that’s just the way primogeniture works, born first, so go in the second socket,” it was by far the longest explanation he had ever given.
