American Princess
Copyright© 2025 by Wolf
Chapter 1: Disappearance and Discovery
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Disappearance and Discovery - Princess ‘Carrie’ Caroline disappears, but for Jim she becomes a visitor who captures his heart. They start their adventures, dodging the public, authorities, and then abductors. Her new life sex, swinging, polyamory, and some wild parties, all while building a new career. The princess, Jim, and new friends fall in love and enjoy unusual experiences and adventures. Much sex.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Celebrity Group Sex Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Anal Sex Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism Royalty
ASSOCIATED PRESS: Friday. Police and secret service personnel remain in a frenzy over the sudden disappearance of visiting royal family member Princess Caroline. They remain hopeful that British Princess Caroline will be found today after vanishing in the middle of the night from her heavily guarded hotel suite in downtown Washington. The beautiful, well-known, and popular young Princess is on a state tour of several major east coast cities, and was scheduled to open a wing of a new hospital named after her late grandfather...
I had no idea about the level of fear and fright that would find me in less than fifteen minutes, or how their cause would change my life in major ways forever.
I scanned the lounge and looked at my four buddies seated around the dimly lit table: Paulie, Don, Billy, and Dave. We’d met after work in the lounge of the upscale Washingtonian Hotel nearly four hours earlier.
Our gathering was to welcome Dave back to town – a fraternity brother who was part of our ‘pack’ during college. We’d remained friends since graduating college together nearly a decade earlier. He had moved farthest from the D.C. area, ending up in Denver, but was back on a quick business trip for the first time in years.
I stood, stretched from sitting too long, and announced, “I’m heading home. I have to work tomorrow. You guys keep burning the midnight oil, but there’s not much action here. Next time let’s come on the weekend. There’ll be more chicks here then. Thursdays are dead. Thanks for getting us together. We’ll do this again when you’re back in town, Dave.”
I got a chorus of goodbyes and fist bumps from my four friends, and some teasing for leaving the hotel lounge so early – it was eleven p.m. I chugged one last swallow of the beer I’d been nursing for the entire evening, and headed from the bar across the lobby of the hotel to the elevator for the parking garage and my car.
I don’t think I’d stayed out this late for six months, or even before that on a couple of hot dates that I’d had before Marjorie had moved in with me and declared that she was my ‘official’ girlfriend. We were early risers, so we tended to go to bed early.
Marjorie had been gone a month by then, initially declaring that she was confused and no longer my girlfriend. She was upwardly mobile, and had decided that Kenneth Bower might help her ‘find herself.’ The bastard had offered an incentive to win her away from me – a two-week vacation in Cancun that he’d pay for.
Marjorie did allow as how we’d had a great romance and fabulous sex life, and that she might like to ‘visit’ me periodically; a euphemism for wanting me as an occasional fuck buddy. Since Marjorie was a hot fuck and I still had feelings for her; I told her that I welcomed the continued but changed relationship, although I hadn’t seen her or talked with her since she left. Thinking of her made me sad because she’d moved on. I still loved her, and I wondered how she’d liked the Cancun fuck fest with Kenneth.
One three-letter word summed up Marjorie – HOT. She was one of the most stunning women that I’d even seen, let alone known or had as a girlfriend for six months. She was tall and silky, always dressed to the nines, and was friendly and welcoming to everybody that she met. Oh, well. I hadn’t dated anybody since she left.
I took the hotel elevator up to level three of the parking garage, and walked to my car, mindful of my own security. I’d unfortunately had to park in a dimly lit section of the car park. I turned into the aisle between my car and the next, got in the car, and locked the doors as I started up. A few minutes later I headed north on Georgia Avenue heading home from downtown Washington.
I’d barely driven five minutes through the exceptionally light traffic downtown. I came to a stop at a red light. Suddenly, a female voice from the backseat said, “Please don’t freak out or get all flustered ... or do anything bonkers. I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I just needed a ride and a place to hide. You didn’t lock your car, so I just got in and lay down back here.”
Besides leaping upwards so I almost hit my head on the roof of the car – held in only by my seat belt, I jerked a few times and fortunately didn’t hit anything as the car lurched forward in my reaction. My adrenalin surged to the ‘red alert level – death is imminent’ level. I immediately went into fight-flight-fright mode big time. My heart rate shot up to two- or three-hundred beats per minute, and my blood pressure spiked nearly rupturing my aorta.
I shuddered, “WOOOOOOOOooooo! What do you want? I don’t have much money. Take everything, but don’t hurt me.” I decided this was not a time to display my brave face, if I even had one. Just about everyone said to give a thief whatever they wanted so that you could live to see another day.
“I only want a ride, you silly man. You’re just giving me a ride. I’m ... escaping.” The female accent was unmistakably English and not American.
“Where to? Don’t hurt me. I’ll take you anywhere, and I promise I won’t say anything – I promise I won’t call the police.”
The female voice giggled, “I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m going to ... wherever you are – the further from downtown, the better. Just drive, and don’t get a traffic citation. I need to be far away from that hotel and someplace where I can hide until they stop looking for me.”
I figured she’d just sliced up her last victim and left his bloody body to die in the hotel. She was escaping the long arm of the law. My brain dithered about how to escape the situation. I started looking for ways to run the car to the side of the road and leap out, except the neighborhood I was in did not invite doing that. I’d be jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
The female voice from the floor of the back seat asked, “Are you a nice man?”
I timorously responded in a rapid voice, “Last I looked? Why are you hiding back there? Did you rob someone at the hotel? What did you do? Are you wanted by the police?”
“None of that, I’m a thoroughly nice person escaping a bad situation that has held me captive for ... years. Please help me. I’m at your service, but please take me with you to wherever you’re going. I’ll pay you ... well, eventually. I don’t have any money with me right now. I just need your help - desperately.”
A fraction of my brain allowed the fact that this situation was not threatening. I asked in a shaky tone “Do you have a name? I’m Jim.” I still worried about being garroted by my unexpected passenger, but she seemed to want to hug the floor mats in the back.
She replied in a muffled tone from the floor, “My given name is Caroline, but my friends call me Carrie. You’re not a James?”
“Formally, yes, James, but I never use it. My mother calls me James and always has when she was angry at me. I’m friendly Jim – Jim Westerly.” I started to relax a little more. The girl’s voice didn’t sound threatening at all.
I asked, “Do you have a weapon?”
“No. It’s only me back here.” I breathed easier, but wondered if she knew karate and could snap my neck in a microsecond. Then I realized that if she did, I wouldn’t feel but a second’s worth of pain.
She explained, “I’m on the floor because I don’t want any traffic or security cameras to see me. I’ll explain when you get to your destination. Please just drive to wherever you were headed and please act normally. I promise I’m not a threat, that no harm will come to you, and that I’m not going to rob you ... or anything, but please be kind and help me. I promise that I’ll reward you in some way Mr. James Westerly.”
I glanced back as we passed under a brightly lit intersection. On the floor of my old sedan’s backseat, an attractive mid-twenties girl cowered as she smiled up at me from the floorboards with her head against the right-side door. She’d partially covered herself with a sweatshirt and jacket I’d tossed in there weeks ago.
I couldn’t possibly imagine anyone wanting her for anything other than as a hot girlfriend. She looked more scared than I was, clutching the jacket around her shoulders.