Chapter 8: Strange Bedfellows

Booming laughter filled the big office like helium pressing the wall of a balloon threatening flight and nearing explosion. Henry Igor Miller the Fifth, or Prince Hal--soon to be Henry V once his dad finally kicked the bucket--extinguished the image of the threesome, two Joes and a Gina, from his state of the art laptop. The endless vigil would continue elsewhere in the Connecticut castle grounds. Well paid and trusted minions had the boring task of observing the FITZ and their company of misfits and ex-slaves sleep.

"What's so funny, Prince?" asked his young wife, awaking on the couch where sleep had overtaken her while she waited to perform her wifely duty when he finished his work.

"That band of merry oddballs just got odder," he explained to the delicate pale flower, and took her frail hand. Standing, her nearly six feet stature brought her eye to eye with her husband. Her proud, aristocratic bearing belied her internal weakness. Like many of the family, hemophilia ran rampant through the incestuous blood line. Jokes about the poorest of the poor, hillbillies, marrying cousins or even siblings in their isolated world may have basis in fact. The richest of the rich ironically took serious such family intermingling. Who else could they trust to share the marriage bed? Constance had emerged from the womb of Henry's father's sister, the fifth of six children, twenty years earlier.

Amused by the newest member of FITZ, watching the torrid action had made Henry horny. He led his wife to the elevator just outside his office and up one floor to the hall of many bedrooms and into his bedroom, glancing back at the master suite where his father lay dying. "If only the old fart would let go," thought Henry. Not that he didn't love and respect the man. The insanity eating away at his father's mind had transformed a brilliant ruler into a silly idiot.

Once through the door, he slammed it shut. "Off with your clothes," Henry commanded.

Constance trembled as she pushed the thin straps of her silk nightie from her shoulders and let the fabric drop to her feet, revealing her soft, pale, voluptuous nakedness: moderate bosoms crowned by small pink nipples; womanly hips ample for child bearing and a sparse nest of pubic hair at low center, wheat colored like the long, thick and wavy tresses on her head. The half shell Venus could have been modeled after her centuries before.

Like Miko, his power made her wet. Unlike Miko, it had been a recent discovery. All her life she dominated those around her. If a man attempted courting, she made him cower away, disgusting her. Only Lillian at boarding school had been allowed entrance to her bed. The fact that the petite spitfire dyke challenging her dominance enabled the affair had not registered as her sexual weakness. When the young woman with the tight little body broke through her resistance and seduced her, a wonderful meeting of hard and soft flesh, the bed became more a battleground for dominance than a place of love. Constance enjoyed losing the battle as much as winning. The sex brought Constance her only excitement in her boring world until the cousin she secretly lusted after asked for her hand in marriage. She replaced her late and unlamented and barren cousin in his bed. She would provide the Miller heir to the throne.

Not a real throne, but the head of a deviously complicated multi-national conglomeration as old as the nation. Its power plays in respect to governments equally as old. Battles had been fought in Europe and Asia and America to benefit Legacy, now HMLI or Henry Miller Legacy, Incorporated or "Himlee." Interests in winning the battles sought not only more riches, but an agenda of Lutheran conservatism. This agenda remained secret as did the source of the family, their Germanic heritage. At times when Germany became friends with the US, the truth leaked out. Henry Miller became Heinrich Mueller. Most times though, England or France became a solid ally and it would be Henry or Henri as appropriate.

What had become their agenda presently? Disgust with the corrupted souls in America and Europe demanded dominance. They wished to rule the world, or at least the world they felt worthy of them, the world of white people. The brown and the black would become colonized again. The yellow would be negotiated with. They may be Godless heathens, but they had power in numbers and a disciplined intelligence which garnered a careful respect. Also the Miller men had a legacy of lusting after Asian women, desiring their exotic beauty and their apparent well bred subservience and the enthralling and entertaining and powerful intelligence hiding within.

Constance discovered her husband's lust for Orientals. The day after Henry destroyed Constance's virginity—the loss of it eased by Henry's sister visiting a couple nights before the wedding with a dildo and precautionary medication in case Constance bled too much, the sister being a physician as well—Constance discovered her husband staring at his monitor enthralled by a beautiful woman of Indian and Asian heritage being brutally subjugated by a tall, thin, admittedly handsome Negro. Subjugation came both physically--he fucked her hard in her anus—and verbally—calling her a cum slut and a bitch and worse. Lost in the visuals and the sound, the earpiece in his ear leaking loud enough for her to hear, he didn't notice her entrance. She watched with him and watched him stroke his thick hardness poking out of the fly of his cotton pajamas.

Though a little sore--his deflowering had brought him places inside her never before invaded and his strokes had been vigorous—the brevity of the consummation lessened the soreness. His fingers inside and at the top of her pussy and kisses on her mouth at least brought natural lubricant. But too quick releasing his seed, orgasm for her barely hinted its existence. Watching him stroke that cock so recently and hotly inside her and watching the Asian woman who reminded her of Lillian, one of a very few minorities at her school, a Japanese, and the Negro so ably dominating her, she masturbated as well. Fingers diddled her clitoris and twisted her nipples, both through fabric. As she neared climax, she removed her panties and swung around his chair and grabbed his cock and guided it into her needy cunt and sat down on her startled husband's lap, sending his cock deep.

"Oh fuck, Constance!" he moaned.

"Please fuck me Prince!" she exclaimed without necessity since she began rising and falling on his lap.

Feeling the abundant wetness and heat and the lively flesh tightly surrounding his cock, he thrust against her falls. His hand grabbed her nightie covered breast hard. She pulled off the nightie violently and moaned when his hand mangled her naked flesh. Within the fuck, she managed to remove the earphone jack, sending the violent fuck and nasty words from the computer through speakers. He hurriedly quieted the sound several decibels.

"I'm your cum slut," she murmured, her words bouncing as she bounced.

"You're my wife," he disagreed.

"Sometimes your fucking whore," she pleaded.

"Yes, bitch," he decided, his pleasure intensifying. "You're my cunt. My cum receptacle. Every hole. My cum holes. Only for. My pleasure. You horny. Bitch!"

He came. She came too. Their flesh forcibly mashed together elongated the pleasure. The commingling of throbs within her created the most intense sexual moment in Henry's less than adventurous career as a lover. His wife's too.

In the loving haze of post orgasm, she steered a long leg over his head warning him, "Watch out." Leaning far back, he managed avoiding being kicked by a millimeter. Straddling him with his cock still inside, though dwindling and ready to melt from her hot center, she kissed him softly and joyously. He reached past her and turned off the computer before hugging her soft body against his muscled chest.