“Yes Boris I like you fuching me,” she agreed.
“Then you will marry me instead?” he asked.
“No probably not, for Count Prizen loves me,” she insisted.
“That is a pity,” Boris admitted, “But when I am king I shall take you as my mistress.”
“Well in that case I might just as well marry you,” Ekaterina agreed, “You’re no great shakes as a lover but at least I get to be queen one day and you don’t stink like a horse.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“But what about Count Prizen?” Ekaterina demanded.
“Has he a big cock?” Boris asked.
“How should I know?” Ekaterina replied.
“Sophia needs a big cock, she keeps wanking herself with a broom handle,” Boris suggested.
“All Count Prizen wants is a link to the Royal Family,” Ekaterina insisted, “I am a cousin, but I have no wealth, he has wealth, he has a big house, I can love a big house.”
“Right, but can you love me?” Boris asked,
“No,” Ekaterina admitted, “You are boring Boris, nothing but a, Oohh, boring, Agghhh,” she gasped as annoyance led Boris to fuch her rather roughly, “Oh fuch me Boris!” she cried.
“Do you like that?” he asked, “Are you sure I am not hurting you?”
“For heaven’s sake shut up and fuch me!” Ekatrina pleaded, as Boris bored into her crushing her clit with his thrusting and sending warm waves of pleasure coursing through her veins.
“Ohhh Boris!” Ekatrina cried, and quite shocked herself when she realised she was not actually faking.
“Oh Ekatrina!” he gasped and all too soon he was shooting his wad into her once more.
“I am fuched,” Boris admitted, “Competely and utterly fuched.”
“I think I am too,” Ekatrina admitted as she went in search of the candle to finish herself off.
“I think I love you,” Boris said.
“You just like fuching but yes I will marry you be because you don’t stink!” Ekatrina replied, “Where the hell is the candle.”
“Here madam,” said Aachen from the shadows where he had been lurking.
“You pervert!” Ekatrina exclaimed.
‘Crack!’ went Aachen’s jaw bone as Boris finally lost it and floored the ageing pervert with a badly aimed upper cut to the solar plexus which hit him squarely on the jaw.
“Ooh Boris!” Ekatrina exclaimed and rushed to embrace him, “You did that for me!”
“Yes,” Boris lied.
They lay together in each others arms until morning.
King Harald woke them next morning, “Well fuched I trust?” he enquired and they blushed, “Good, Aachen said you broke his jaw, and refused to let him bum you, is this true?”
“Indeed Father,” Boris agreed.
“Good,” King Harald confirmed, “I never doubted his word, so I shall have him hung at dawn, unless?”
“No, dawn would be good, and Ekatrina and I are to be wed.” Boris announced.
“Knew you would see sense,” King Harald agreed, “So that leaves the field clear for Sophia.”
“You evil conniving, nasty old,” Ekatrina protested.
“King is the word you are seeking,” Harald suggested, “Would you rather I fuched you, or that stinking oaf Count Prizen?”
“That’s a tough question,” Ekatrina exclaimed, “Boring versus stinking versus old.”
“I could have you sent to the whore house,” King Harald suggested and when he saw the look in Ekatrina’s eyes he added, “When you have delivered Boris at least two lusty sons.”
“Then we have a deal!” Ekatrina agreed happily wondering just how quickly she could have twin boys and get out and have some fun.
And so it was, Ekatrina married Boris and Count Prizen married Sophia.
And they all lived happily for at least three weeks.