"I want YOU... to spread this picture around as widely as I'll spread my legs for American cock."
Diana, Princess of Wales, snapped her suspenders and looked into the camera. Her eyes and smile didn't show it, but under the hot lights, she was absolutely livid.
It didn't matter that her pictures would go published by Playboy under the name Tracy Vaccaro. For her, having to undress and pose half-naked like some trollop was bad enough. Her station demanded better treatment. Beautiful dresses, fancy dinners, polite conversation. Not degrading herself for the pleasure of horny idiots.
An irritated crinkle formed on her lips and near the bridge of her nose, as she slid the straps off her boobs to reveal her hard pink nipples. Pinching them brought forth a moan, and a smack of parting glossy lipstick. Pawing at her gloriously soft tits offered an entrancing show. Sinking her fingers in, massaging their fullness, emphasized what she had. Feigning a needy whimper, she followed the cue cards.
"That's right. I, Princess Diana, would love for everyone to know I'm a real totty for Americans. The very sight of their massive bell-ends turns me into a cheap pillock."
Cheap. That word perfectly described her wardrobe, from her rhinestone earrings and oversize flag bow tie to her press-on nails. It made the rest of her feel likewise, her flawless breasts devalued by their closeness to dime store toys. Even her posh accent sounded like porn theater. Her face was fake. Her voice was fake. Her poise was fake. Everything about her, a performance meant to make her appear more dignified than she really was underneath, now exposed for the first time.
That's the image they wanted of her, anyway. A scandalous pretender who secretly knew her place and relished any chance to pursue it. She gave them what they wanted, too, fully aware she could deny her actions and claim the sex tape was a tasteless porn parody starring this Tracy woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to her. It beat having evidence released of those sordid affairs she dare not remember during taping.
"Americans are better. My royal British twat can't handle how big they are. That's why I take them... in my mouth!?"
Diana froze as two well hung men emerged from curtains to each side of her. Staring, she simply took in the gesticulating dongs in her periphery and let her brain catch up. Her hands slowly slid down to them, stroking them stiff, getting them pointed at her person.
"Ahem. Right," Princess Diana restarted. "I have a big mouth and need to fill it. A true red white and blue traitor to the crown such as me knows I can't be satisfied with anything other than American. I'm too much of a decadent slag for anything less. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pledge my allegiance to the abundance of your colonies the only way I can."
She hesitated. Slinking to her knees, Diana pursed her pucker at the dick tip to her right. She might have sat too stunned to act. She might have found the courage to move forward. The man didn't leave her with the choice. He thrust, and she choked on the full might of this Yankee's doodle. His superiority became apparent while she blew him, undoubtedly a lesson she would take to heart, or at least cunt, after a long night.
Royal Treatment: Diana, Princess of Wails
"I want YOU... to spread this picture around as widely as I'll spread my legs for American cock."
Diana, Princess of Wales, snapped her suspenders and looked into the camera. Her eyes and smile didn't show it, but under the hot lights, she was absolutely livid.
It didn't matter that her pictures would go published by Playboy under the name Tracy Vaccaro. For her, having to undress and pose half-naked like some trollop was bad enough. Her station demanded better treatment. Beautiful dresses, fancy dinners, polite conversation. Not degrading herself for the pleasure of horny idiots.
An irritated crinkle formed on her lips and near the bridge of her nose, as she slid the straps off her boobs to reveal her hard pink nipples. Pinching them brought forth a moan, and a smack of parting glossy lipstick. Pawing at her gloriously soft tits offered an entrancing show. Sinking her fingers in, massaging their fullness, emphasized what she had. Feigning a needy whimper, she followed the cue cards.
"That's right. I, Princess Diana, would love for everyone to know I'm a real totty for Americans. The very sight of their massive bell-ends turns me into a cheap pillock."
Cheap. That word perfectly described her wardrobe, from her rhinestone earrings and oversize flag bow tie to her press-on nails. It made the rest of her feel likewise, her flawless breasts devalued by their closeness to dime store toys. Even her posh accent sounded like porn theater. Her face was fake. Her voice was fake. Her poise was fake. Everything about her, a performance meant to make her appear more dignified than she really was underneath, now exposed for the first time.
That's the image they wanted of her, anyway. A scandalous pretender who secretly knew her place and relished any chance to pursue it. She gave them what they wanted, too, fully aware she could deny her actions and claim the sex tape was a tasteless porn parody starring this Tracy woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to her. It beat having evidence released of those sordid affairs she dare not remember during taping.
"Americans are better. My royal British twat can't handle how big they are. That's why I take them... in my mouth!?"
Diana froze as two well hung men emerged from curtains to each side of her. Staring, she simply took in the gesticulating dongs in her periphery and let her brain catch up. Her hands slowly slid down to them, stroking them stiff, getting them pointed at her person.
"Ahem. Right," Princess Diana restarted. "I have a big mouth and need to fill it. A true red white and blue traitor to the crown such as me knows I can't be satisfied with anything other than American. I'm too much of a decadent slag for anything less. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pledge my allegiance to the abundance of your colonies the only way I can."
She hesitated. Slinking to her knees, Diana pursed her pucker at the dick tip to her right. She might have sat too stunned to act. She might have found the courage to move forward. The man didn't leave her with the choice. He thrust, and she choked on the full might of this Yankee's doodle. His superiority became apparent while she blew him, undoubtedly a lesson she would take to heart, or at least cunt, after a long night.
Little did Princess Diana know that her actions would lead to similar stunts expected from other royal women in years to come.