0 comments/ 156785 views/ 42 favorites Her Father's Queen By: jaybee "Journal Entry for the night of August 23, 1876. "Word reached me towards the end of the meeting I had been having with the Prime Minister that the unthinkable had happened - the news collapsed me. On their return journey from Hamburg, my wife and my son had an accident. The carriage had overturned, the messenger informed me, and the heir-apparent to the throne, my son, had been killed on the spot. "My wife was wounded. Badly. Her head had slammed into the roof, and she had fallen into a coma. At a nearby lodging-house, she was looked after by the innkeepers and the doctors in a manner, I must admit, that befitted the Queen she was. "If I appear to be emotionless when I write this, it's because the shock has numbed me. In spite of all the misfortunes that may befall a King, he has to keep a straight face - for in that face is the hope and the strength of a nation. But never in my life have I felt so powerless as I did when I saw my unconscious wife tonight. It took all my willpower not to drop to my knees and beg God for small miracles. "In some rational moment, I learnt later, I had already dispatched men to France, to collect my only daughter. Now my only child. She was not to be told of the tragedy until she was in the company of friends - my word was inviolate. "I must be strong. I must be there for my princess when she needs me, her father. I must be there for her mother." The King rubbed his temples gingerly as he finished his entry for the day. It had been a terrible day; nothing had gone right. His daughter, the Princess Marie-Vigneta would be at the palace by ten in the morning; the unconsciously breathing body of the Queen would arrive by five. His body ached, the life gone out, as he reminded himself that his son's body, after being properly embalmed and bandaged, would arrive by midnight. A life had been plucked; another hung in the balance; a third was still unsure of her place in the world. The King sobbed throughout the night, mourning his son and fearing for his wife. Each had been dearer than life, as was the seventeen-year old maiden that was his daughter. He prayed until daybreak that some one would rush in, just to pass on the good news. That the Queen had woken up. For six months, no one rushed in. It was the dawn of the Princess's eighteenth birthday. The country was in celebration, for the birthday of the heir-apparent was sacred; there was no doubt among the people that she would be the next Queen. Princess Marie-Vigneta was an extremely popular face in the country. Graceful, elegant, polite. And in the midst of all the curtsied greetings, one got the impression that she saw everyone else not as royalty contemplating the commons but as an equal meeting with an equal. The perfect daughter for the King who had lost his wife - for indeed she was as good as death, though no one dared say it aloud - and the perfect woman for the country to adore. On this morning, however, the Princess hardly felt up to a bash - doubtless, it would remind her of the previous seventeen occasions when her brother had been there to amuse her and her mother had been there to guide her. It would be painful to look around the ballroom and see the empty places where her brother had once stood, flirting with the nobles' daughters. She glanced at the portrait of her father. He was a handsome man, age not yet having had its say with him, and beneath that tough exterior, she knew - she felt - the sensitivity of the man. Six months had passed since she had become his only family, and he hers, and they had grown to understand each other. Even more, she realized, they had come to look upon each other for support. The thought brought a warm feeling to her heart. They had never been close, her father and she, and like all bad things in life, the accident had spawned a turnaround in their relationship. The young girl blushed as she remembered how her father made her feel... special. She almost wished she were not his daughter so that she could... She shook her head to clear the images that were starting to monopolize her dreams of late. It was wrong, she told herself, but it was so easy to love him. To be in love with him. The roar of the trumpets pierced the evening air, drowning out the voices of the hundred-odd guests of the King. The enormous banquet hall, a 17th century addition to the palace, glittered with the brilliance of a thousand chandeliers, the cavernous dome strung from one side to the other with colored paper. The King, like the rest of his guests, turned around at the sound. The Princess had arrived. King Henry Lucas drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the Goddess who descended down the stairs. Her beauty defied him; he wondered if he were really the father of the most beautiful woman ever. The Princess was absolutely radiant in her blue shoulderless gown, with the diamond necklace, a gift of the King, hung around her long, graceful neck. The smile on her face was as brilliant as the lighting in the palace, and with slow, steady steps, she walked down the stairs to the banquet hall's floor. Her curly hair, just over a foot long, floated behind her like some golden halo on Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love. As soon as she saw her father, the Princess smiled even more. The pearly white teeth contrasted the jet-black of her eyes, a combination that a couple of gentlemen had already termed deadly. The King made his way across the hall, the crowd parting more out of respect than out of command. The Prime Minister followed the King at a discrete distance. "My dear Princess! You look only too beautiful," the King remarked as soon as she was within earshot. She grinned at his compliment, managing to hid the blush on her face. "Why, Your Highness," she replied, bowing, "You are being too kind." "I fear for this country," the King said, almost shocking everyone with the abrupt change in expression. "Such a beautiful maiden must be a delightful temptation even to the most rogue of our enemies." The breath that had been held in fear was let out amidst giggles. Relieved courtiers and their families murmured their agreement. "It is a good thing then, Sire," the Prime Minister interjected, "That I have placed our entire army at the gates - who knows what defense we may need?" "What, indeed?" smiled the King. "Flattery, Gentlemen," Marie-Vigneta replied, tossing her hair for effect, "It will get you nowhere! Now if you are done praising me without cause, perhaps someone would be kind enough to have a dance with me." "Not entirely without cause, my dear! And it shall be my honor to lead you for the first dance for the evening." The guests cheered as the Princess held out her palm. In the manner of a man engaging a lady, the King went down on one knee and kissed the back of her hand. Marie-Vigneta felt her heart beat faster. Much faster. "Oui!" she said as her father stood up, hoping another language would disguise the enthusiasm that she felt. Her father was even more handsome in person, and she knew she couldn't find higher qualities in another man. He would have been the perfect man, but for one blemish that she had always been reminded of; he was her father. "Lead on, old Crown!" The dance was magical, and even though it was their first dance together, there seemed to be there, between them, the connection that is often borne out of months of practice. They moved with rhythm and poise, their bodies melting into each other as they moved as one entity. It was a slow song, and the King realized how good it was to hold a woman against himself. Six months of chastity and faithfulness cannot substitute the feel of man against woman. With an arm around his daughter's waist and the other held in her hand, the King realized how much this girl - this divine belle - meant to him. Her perfume, the scent of a hundred thousand roses, wafted in through his nostrils, lighting in him a flame that he had thought as dead as his wife. For a moment, he was troubled by the effect of his daughter on him, but put it down as his intense desire to see his wife alive again. He knew she would come back one day - the vital signs were strong, but she was still in a coma. He needed her back. Similar thoughts, but of a different reason and inference, coursed through the Princess's mind. She had come to accept the unacceptable a month ago - the truth that she had fallen in love with her father. It was a conscious decision, arrived at not because there were no other men for her to romanticize, but for the simple reason that she had understood him, as he had understood her. She had grown to love the man that had given her life. She loved him with all her heart. In her father's arms, Marie-Vigneta felt safe. His grip was firm, yet gentle - so like him, she thought. She was amazed by the way he responded to every movement of hers; it was almost as if he could read every single one of her thoughts. She had danced with young men before, she had danced with a couple of them more than once, but never before had her partner been so attuned to her steps. Then again, never before had she danced with her father. It was with reluctance that both of them drifted apart at the end of the dance. The King walked back to his cortege of ministers as his daughter, the Crown Princess, was surrounded by excited friends. Their eyes met one last time, and he promised her one more dance before the night ended. It was close to midnight by the time the last guest had been seen out, and although the Princess was usually asleep by this time, tonight was an exception. She did not feel sleepy; not surprising, she thought, for she could still feel the warmth of her father's embrace as he whirled her around the dance floor. They had danced three more songs, and she remembered her father's comments that a lot of young men were disappointed that she chose to dance with him instead. Her answer had been a cheeky peck on his lips. As she relaxed in the bathtub, almost overflowing with the warm water, the young woman closed her eyes and went back into the recent past, when she had danced with the man she loved in a way she shouldn't. The velvet dress lay on the bed, carefully laid out beside the diamond necklace - for the simple reason that she had been wearing them during their dances, the Princess wanted to cherish them. "Journal Entry for the night of February 17th, 1877. "The birthday banquet for my dear beloved Princess went off well. However, there were times when I really missed my wife. I suppose it was the intimacy of the dance that I shared with my daughter, for I can think of no other reason. "I must say that Marie is really growing up into a wonderful woman - one day, I will be relieved to hand over the kingdom to her, for I believe that she will make a better ruler. She is mature for her age, and mixes her statesmanship with her youth and innocence to the best effect. I admit I was quite flattered when she opted my hand for four of the seven dances, and I am sure that there were scores of young men who would have given anything to be in her arms tonight. "I do not know if she was just putting on an act for my sake or if she meant it, but she seemed as if she enjoyed the evening. She must have missed her mother and her brother terribly - God knows I did - and I am also sure that if it hadn't been for her, there would have been no more royal celebrations as long as I am the King - the memories would be too painful to endure alone. "I have come to look upon her as a friend, no less - perhaps more. I do not know how to define my feelings, the more I think about them. I realize that she is my daughter - therefore, a maiden worthy of my highest respect - but my rationale fails me every time I think back to how fulfilling a woman in my arms could be. "I am almost ashamed to put this down in writing, but I hope that the written words would always provide me with that inspiration to keep my feelings for my daughter under control. I must respect her as a woman, but I must treat her as a daughter. I fear for the latter, for sometimes, it is she who rules my dreams." The King stood up and stretched his muscles. Abruptly, he tore the paper off - the admission contained in the words was too risque to ever risk exposure; he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire. He watched it burn. Sleep wouldn't come; he knew that it had something to do with that strange warmth in his heart, a warmth that was his daughter. He couldn't accept it - denial was his defense. Reality was his damnation. Marie-Vigneta had just reached for the towel when the door opened and her father walked in. It was hard to say who was more shocked - the young woman who was naked from head to toe, or the older man who perceived before him his most unattainable desire in all her Maja glory. They just stood there staring at each other, each unmoving, eyes meeting. It was the Princess who recovered her composure first. She wrapped the long towel around her body, aware of a warm feeling spreading across her body that she quickly attempted to quell by telling herself that it was wrong. One does not feel such things about a father, she chided herself. Still, a part of her yearned that it was not so. "I am sorry, Marie. I thought you were asleep... I just wanted to check in on you, that's all," the King started to apologize for his intrusion. After all, he hadn't bothered to knock - therefore, it was his fault. "It's all right, Father," the maiden replied, "I should have locked the door. It's just that I couldn't find sleep - I figured a bath would induce the necessary drowsiness." "I'll go outside," the monarch offered. "Wait! Would you mind waiting in the balcony while I dress? I mean, if it won't be an imposition." "Most certainly not, my dear. Most certainly not. But why, may I ask?" "Nothing," she replied, wishing she could let the towel fall down once more without being too obvious. She had liked the look in his eyes when he had seen her nude; she prayed that it had been love and lust that she had seen. "It's just that we so rarely get some time together nowadays." "Yes," her father agreed ruefully. "The pressures of running a state." She joined him in the spacious balcony less than a minute after he had stepped out. The King was gazing up at the cloudy sky, where a lone star twinkled from among the darkness of the clouds. Not wanting to distract him from his reverie, she walked silently towards her father and linked an arm through his. Without looking at her, he placed an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Princess Marie-Vigneta sighed. How beautiful the world was as she looked at it from her father's side. "That's your brother," the King said, pointing up at the lone star. His voice was not the strong, decisive voice of the monarch, she realized, and instead, it was the sad, melancholy voice of a father who had lost a loved child. She hugged his hand in response, as if wanting to reassure him that he was still loved and wanted by a human soul. "He seems to be telling us something," Marie murmured, more out of sympathy for her father than due to any genuine empathy she felt. "Yes," her father replied, just as softly. "I wonder what." They gazed up at the sky for some more time, savoring their momentary freedom from the anachronistic chores of daily life. The air was humid, but there was a gentle breeze that drew the humidity away from their attention. It was some time before the King broke the silence. "You will make a very fine Queen one day, my dear. I couldn't help but notice how regally suited you are for the role." His daughter blushed at the compliment. She tried to search for words, but they just wouldn't come. "If I should become the Queen one day, Father," she finally said, "You should be by my side." The King groaned inwardly. Did his daughter know what she had just implied? Still, he was her father, and as such, the last person who should exploit her innocence. He called upon all his years of diplomacy to come up with as plain-faced a reply as he could. "I will be behind you, my dear Princess. Your King shall be beside you." Silence for some more time. Princess Marie-Vigneta didn't know what to say - she had no idea how to express what she wanted. And then, as is the way of Fate, she suddenly found within herself that ounce of courage that she had always lacked. It was time to reveal her true feelings. "Why not? Why, my dear Father, can't I be your Queen? YOUR Queen?" It took the King all of two minutes to formulate a reply. He did not want to offend his daughter, and he did not want to take advantage of her innocence. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't ever tell her that she could be his queen. As much as he wanted to, he could never ask her to be his wife. He cleared his throat. "Well, you see, my dear, there are laws against it. It's incest." "Laws!" she spat out with a contempt that he found uncharacteristic. "We make the laws. You are the King; it's your duty to make laws. To correct them. To alter them. For God's sakes, if you want me, all you have to do is ask." Abruptly, her voice changed; she started to sob. "I am sorry, Father, but I am in love with you. I am sorry. I am an unworthy daughter." The King cringed at the sight of his crying daughter. If incest was wrong, an inner voice reasoned, how much more wrong was the hurt he was inflicting on her. All for no fault of hers. It was the moment of reckoning for the King - could he be as brave as his daughter and reveal his love for her? Or would he just walk away from the whole affair? He made up his mind. He caught his daughter's shoulders and turned her around, gently. She had her head buried in her hands, the sick sounds of her sorry sobbing painful to hear. The King placed a hand under her jaw and slowly pushed upwards. He would wait until she had stopped crying; she stopped, but her eyes were still full of tears. One trickled down her cheeks - he flicked it away before speaking. "I am sorry, too, my dear princess. I am right, though, when I said that you will make a better ruler than I. For you have the courage to say what you want to say, instead of being a coward like me who likes to hide behind the shadow of laws. "You inspired me, my darling. So I ask of you now. Will you be mine?" It was like the rising of a new dawn over calm seas - her eyes started to sparkle, her lips parted in a smile. "Pardon, Sir?" still unsure of whether her father had proposed to her or not. The King went down on one knee, as he had almost two decades ago, in front of her mother. "Will you be my Queen?" Princess Marie-Vigneta couldn't believe the reality as it was offered to her. It was beyond her wildest fantasies, far in excess of her most hopeful prayers. She knelt down in front of her father. "I will, if you deem me worthy enough." Suddenly shy, she looked downwards, at the floor. She held out a trembling hand. As if on cue, the two of them stood up at the same moment, he holding his daughter's hand. He gazed at the petite structure of her face until their eyes met, and then, by some unspoken suggestion, she tilted her face as his moved towards hers. Her lips were soft, sensuously so, and the King relished the feel of her warm, fragrant mouth against his. It was the treasure that he had craved - grown to crave - over the last six months when they had sought and found solace in each other. He knew it was not a love born out of need that he shared with his daughter. He knew it was a love born out of love. Shyness did not permit the young maiden to make the first move, and the King took it upon himself to taste her before she tasted him. Her lips parted smoothly as his tongue sought - and was offered - entry into the delicate cavity of her mouth. He traced the contours of her teeth and her gums, before he started to tease the tip of her serpent. Her Father's Queen Pretty soon, the two tongues of father and daughter were dancing a mad rhythm of love and life. They had their hands wrapped around each other, and he could sense that she had nothing on underneath the gown that she was wearing. He drew his hand along the outline of the crack of her ass, noticing with pleasure that the cloth was damp. He could feel the heat emanating from her virginal hole. So caught up in their kiss were they that neither of the two lovers noticed it when it began to rain - the observation came only later, when they had finished their first kiss. The Princess looked shyly at her father, kissed him on the tip of his nose and then, giggling, ran from his arms into the dry bedroom. The King stood outside for just a couple of seconds more, allowing the drizzle to wet him as he thanked God for the gift that he had been given. He rushed in after his new Queen. Princess Marie-Vigneta had her back to him, a white expanse of skin exposed by her having pulled all her hair over one shoulder so as to towel the glistening sparkles of water off. She could see him in the full-length mirror as he approached her from behind, slowly letting his hands onto her hips as he craned his neck in to kiss her nape. Marie arched back into her father's body as she felt his mouth kiss her skin, the touch as erotic and amazing a thing as she had ever experienced. Her knees were starting to go weak, and she was conscious of the heavy thumping beat of her heart. She let her hands reach over her head and cupped his cheeks, gently rubbing against them as he kissed his way down to the top of her dress. The buttons of her dress, in the style of the day, were in the front. The King, not even looking up from his oral caresses of her skin, did not seem to exercise any control over his hands as they flew from button to button, undoing them in a matter of seconds. As soon as the button just beneath her breasts was undone, the gown slid down, past her smooth legs, past her ankles, to settle as a circular pile at her feet. Marie-Vigneta moaned loudly as her father's kisses continued downwards, towards the small of her back while his hands started to systematically massage her breasts into submission. He teased her nipples, encouraged by her moans of pleasure. She responded by moaning even more. The King traced her back down to her waist, and then turned her around. He had had only a momentary glimpse of her nude self; now, in the intimacy of their promises, he was able to drink in the sight of unadulterated beauty that his daughter was personifying. He particularly liked the way her nipples stood out prominently, defying every one as if to say that they could never be subdued. Being a man who could resist few challenges, the King lowered his face into his daughter's bosom. He placed a bud between his teeth, gingerly clamping down on the darkly hued pink nipple with an equally toned areola. Marie had her hands around his head, pushing him even more into her chest. The large walls echoed her moans as she arched her head back in abandoned joy. As soon as he was done with one breast of hers, the King carried her over to the bed and placed her delicately on the satin bedspread. In the blink of an eye, while his daughter reclined on her back and watched, he whipped off his nightclothes and jumped on top of her willing body. He took into his mouth the other breast. It had taken Princess Marie-Vigneta all her willpower not to orgasm the first time - but as her father's ceaseless ministrations of her breast increased in intensity, the young woman could hold on no longer. Her body jerked violently as she came, her uncharted womb spraying out her juices. The experienced King lost no time in using his hands to facilitate her orgasm... "Don't you know it's not proper to leave a pregnant woman all alone in bed when she wakes up?" I jumped at the sudden interruption of my reading. Feminine hands hugged me from behind, the strong scent of the woman who was carrying my baby wafting in through my nostrils. I allowed for a moment of the lazy embrace, then held her hand and circled it around my head, leading her to my front. She was naked, the body fresh after the hour or so of sleep that she had had. "I am so sorry, baby," I apologized as she sat down on my lap. The tent of my shorts almost entered her pussy, and she grinned at me as she felt it. She straddled my waist, as if she was hell-bent on getting my hard-on into her, shorts et al, and threw her arms over my shoulder. "Humm! What were you reading, Daddy?" I caught my daughter's waist and pulled her as close as the six-month large belly could allow. I kissed her on her lips languidly, and we just sat there tonguing each other for some time before I answered her question. "It's an old manuscript I dug up from your grandfather's collection. Apparently, it dates back to the time when our ancestors were the rulers." "Cool," she said, "But that doesn't quite explain the hard-on you've got below me, unless of course you were thinking about waking me up." I explained to her, as briefly as I could, the plot of the account, written in third person. "Apparently," I deduced, "It must have been a courtier or someone in the royal service who wrote this - the events are too well-detailed to be conjecture, but the explicit love depicted points to a person with the gift of the ability to convert imagination into words; it is too prosaic to be an autobiographical work." My daughter Annie took the book from my hands and threw it onto the seat of the next chair. "Well, lover boy," she said huskily, "We've got one more hour until Mom and Gramps get home from mass. Any ideas?" "Many," I replied, grinning so wide that the sides of my mouth started to hurt, "The question is, where do I start?" Annie stood up, the necklace with the cross on her neck a reminder of the obscene fact that my daughter faked her morning sickness just so that we could make love once again. I wouldn't complain - hell, I don't even know if I could have kept my incestuous hands off her even in the house of the Lord. We walked hand in hand the few steps it took to get to the bedroom. It had been a big library in my grandfather's time, but since then had been divided into two - the bedroom where we were heading, and the study wherein I had been reading. My daughter laid herself flat on the bed, spreading her legs for an offer I couldn't refuse. I started to lower my face to her warm snatch, already wet, but she protested. "Not again, Daddy! You just drank my entire stuff an hour ago - I need some nourishment too, you know." She pointed to my erect dick, sending the clearest of signals that she wanted me to enter her. If a father can't oblige his daughter, then I ask you, whom should he oblige? In return, I pointed at her bulging stomach. "In that case, YOU get on top of me." She grinned as I laid down beside her, and lost no time in hoisting herself onto my cock. It slid into the warm confines of the dripping pussy, careful not to be too rough and get kicked out. Annie rocked gently on top of me, no doubt savoring the feel of flesh against flesh as I was. She wasn't as tight as she had once been, but at seven months, you don't expect a pussy as tight as a virgin's. It felt just as sexy, if not better! I blew my load inside her in less than half an hour, during which time she had already shuddered to peaks twice. Exhausted after the third one, she collapsed on top of me, and kissed me gently. I fondled her breasts lovingly, two globes that had already started to swell, and she moaned as she ground her pelvis even harder against mine. I slid underneath her until I was positioned directly beneath her tits, and started to suckle on them, one by one. Automatically, she moved onto her back, giving me greater access to the hard nubs atop her firm mounds. I took care to see that I wasn't putting any pressure on her belly; I was just as concerned for our child as my daughter was. Just as I brought her off with my tit-sucking mouth for the fourth time, I heard the unmistakable sound of a big car pulling into the driveway. Damn! I hadn't expected the Mass to disperse this early! Consoling my recovering daughter with a kiss on her forehead, I walked into the study, where my clothes had been dumped by the door as soon as my wife and my parents had walked out. I put on my pants, not wanting to bother with the underwear. Naughtily, I decided not to separate my clothes from my daughter's - I wanted to flaunt the active love-life that my daughter and I were sharing. It's so much better to call it a love-life rather than a sex-life. Sex-life implies... well, sex. What my daughter and I had was love. We made love everytime we even looked at each other. We made love even with just our eyes. Still, it would be unwise to leave them by the door - it was too risky, for someone could trip and fall down. "Coming," I shouted as the chimes of the doorbell rang out, signifying the rest of my acquiescent family at the door. As I dumped the rest of the clothes, my eyes fell on the manuscript I had been reading. Just out of curiosity, I picked it up and turned to the last page, searching for the author. There, below the last line that ended with "... the new Crown Prince was born exactly nine months after the King married Princess Marie-Vigneta," was the scrawled signature of its author. "Marie-Vigneta."