The Virgin Queen

For the first time in what felt like an age she was entirely alone. No murmuring of voices, no one fawning from her attention, no petitioners craving her judgement, no eyes following her every movement. Just the quiet peace of silence.

It was the paradox that Elizabeth had failed to appreciative during all the hours she had spent imagining the future that lay before her. That she could spend her days surrounded by people, each clamouring for her favour and attention. Yet somehow she always felt alone.

Her ladies had been dismissed. The only sound disturbing the sweet silence was the sounds of the logs crackling merrily in the fireplace.

This room was her sanctuary. True it was relatively small, but in that regard it was different to almost every other room in the palace. They were all designed for an audience. But this was her space. Entirely her own.

It was sparsely furnished. A large bed and a night stand the only pieces of furniture. The fireplace dominated one side of he room, the fire bathing the room in an orange light.

It was late October, the late autumn weather had turned foul and cold. She had remarked on it only that very afternoon. Yet the fire was tantalisingly warm.

The silence might be sweet. But the loneliness was bitter.

How many of her people had the solace of their husbands and wives in the these small hours. Someone to share their troubles and anxieties with. This simple thing that even the poorest of her subjects had the freedom to enjoy, yet were denied to her. Their queen.

She had imagined it all so differently. In her dreams there had been him. Always him. With those broad shoulders, and deep, hazel eyes.

When they were in public, she kept the mask of her office firmly in place. She was Queen, he a courtier.

But when she was alone, truly alone, she was only Elizabeth. Free to choose. To do as her conscious and heart dictated.

Her long fingers traced the patterns of her nightgown. What would he think if were to see her here like this? More tantalising still, what would he do?

Would he want to see what lay beneath? Her heart raced at the thought.

She hoped he would. She had lost count of the number of times she had imagined peeling away his clothes to reveal the forbidden fruit within. Ripe and ready to be plucked.

She hoped that similar thoughts occupied him mind, as he watched her across a crowded room. Or as he lay awake at night.

Grasping her nightgown, she lifted it up and over her head. Her red curls falling back over her shoulders.

Tossing the nightgown aside she stood naked before the fireplace, basking in the heat of the flames, letting them warm her skin. Closing her eyes she imagined it was the warmth of his body that she could feel against her nakedness. That it was the warmth of his breath that caressed her neck.

She had seen him without his shirt once, at Hatfield, many years ago. He and some of the men of the household, playing around the edge of the lake, cooling off in the summer heat. It was a memory that she had long cherished, and revisited often. It had only lasted a moment, a fleeting stolen glance. How she longed to see more.

It was true she had never known the touch of a man. But nor was she naive. She had heard and seen enough to know what a man kept beneath his hose, and what passed between men and women in their beds.

She had imagined, on more occasions then she should have, what would happen should she ever have the opportunity. If duty and obligation could ever me made the bend to the will of her heart. In those imaginings it was always Robert.

Elizabeth had imagined undoing his hose, pushing them down to reveal his manhood. Being able to touch that most intimate part of him, to hold him in her hand.

In her minds eye, she pictured his hands on her waist, turning her round. Holding her body against him, feeling the hardness of him pressed against her backside.

Tracing one finger down her neck, she imagined his breath there, his lips placing sort kisses on the exposed skin.

Her fingers traced a meandering path down her shoulder. Then Elizabeth moaned softly as she cupped her own breast. They were small, and pert. How often she had wished for the more impressive bust of some of her ladies. She took the other in her left hand, gently massaging them both.

His hands were so much bigger than hers, rougher, more manly. How she longed to feel them where hers were now, to allow him the freedom to explore her body.

Taking her nipples between each of her thumbs and forefingers, Elizabeth marvelled at the hardness of them. Rolling the tender buds gently them back and forth, she gasped in delight at the small pulses of pleasure that it sent through her.

In her mind, it was Robert's arms that were wrapped around her. His fingers that were teasing her, making her yearn for more. She cocked her head to one side, offering up her neck to the attention of his lips, craving a kiss that would never come.

She moaned, as much in frustration as pleasure. With her right hand she drove a purposeful path down over her smooth, flat belly. Then running her fingers through the coarse, red curls that framed her womanhood.

Her breath grew deeper and heavier as she anticipated what was about to happen. Slipping her hand between her legs, she cupped her sex, taking a moment to marvel at the heat coming from it.

How would he have her? That was a question she had asked herself more often then any other. Over the years she had come up with a multitude of answers. Playing each over and over again in her mind. In one of her favourites she had him seated on her throne, with Elizabeth in his lap, her back against his chest. Her courtiers looking on as she delighted in that which they had so long denied her.

The hours she had spent alone, imagining she was free to do that one thing she had sworn never to do, to place herself at the mercy of a man.

She pushed the despair from her mind, focusing instead on the image of him standing there before her. With those powerful arms and piercing eyes that made her feel weak.

She had imagined the smooth toned muscles of his chest and stomach. Tight and ready to be put to use. Then as her eyes dropped lower, there was his manhood, raised in salute, just for her.

Something deep within her stirred at the mere thought of it. A longing that she could only admit to herself in her quietest moments.

God how she wanted it, how she wanted him. More then all her fine houses, all her jewels and fine dresses. Almost more then her crown.

"Robert", she murmured to the empty room.

Elizabeth pressed two long fingers against her entrance, gasping aloud as she slid then inside. She began to work them slowly in and out, murmuring her appreciation in soft moans. Her body, craving to be touched, responded. Rolling her hips in time with the rhythm of her fingers.

In her mind, it was his fingers that were exploring the most intimate parts of her. The very thought of it was glorious.

Her fingers quickened, her left hand caressing her breast. As she pleasured herself her moans were mingled with the crackling of the wood in the fireplace.

Sweet lord, but if it felt this good when touching herself, how much sweeter would his touch be. She gasped out in pleasure as she worked her fingers still deeper into her sea.

Her heart was racing, her breaths short and sharp. Her whole body was trembling as it struggled to contain the pleasure coursing through her.

A sudden burst of bliss made her cry out. Her legs opened wide as she pitched forward. Her hand flying from her breast to the mantelpiece to stop herself from falling.

Still her fingers worked, reluctant to abandon the pleasure they were bringing to their mistress.

Elizabeth sank to her knees, surrendering to the sheer force that was consuming her.

In spite of the pleasure she was bringing herself, she want more. More then just her own fingers. More even then his.

She pictured his manhood, big and proud. Imagined it pressing against her womanhood, sliding inside of her, filling the space her fingers now occupied.

"Please," she pleaded to the empty air "please."

She could almost feel his strong hands around her waist. Pulling her body back on to him, while he thrust back against her. Driving himself deep inside.

There was nothing between them now. No rank, no titles, no obligations. As his manhood filled her, they were as one. A man and a women joined together in the act of love.

Elizabeth's fingers were frenzied in their attention, desperate to bring her the physical sensations to match her fantasy. Still it wasn't enough. The tender bud between the legs was aching to be touched. She sought it with her free hand, whimpering as her fingers brushed against it, her body shuddering beneath her own touch.

Her moans grew louder as she satisfied herself. She gasped loudly as the pleasure mounted. Her body was responding to her touch, pushing back against the fingers that massaged her clitoris. The muscles within her were clenching around her fingers.

She could no longer hear the the crackling on the fire. Her groan and gasps deafened her, the pleasure drowning out all her other senses.

His moans were mingled with hers. Deep and rumbling. He needed this as badly as she did, had longed for this moment. He took her harder and faster, giving physical force to his hunger for her.

She responded in kind. Rocking her hips back and forth, driving her body back against his manhood. Or was it her fingers? She didn't know. She didn't care.

All that she knew, all that mattered to her was how good it felt.

"Ohhhhh" she moaned. Giving in to the pleasure, all pretence at regal authority gone "ohhhh Robert."

She was close, so frustrating, delightfully close to her climax. Her fingers urged onward it, rolling her clitoris back and forth, plunging deep within her. Craving it and dreading it in equal measure.

She tried to fight it, struggling to suppress the growing urge, even as her fingers urged her onto the inevitable conclusion.

"Now" she could have sworn she heard him breath into her ear. "Now."

With a shuddering gasp she reached her climax. Pressing her fingers as deep as she could, she lost herself to the overwhelming power of her orgasm. Still she continued to work her clitoris, determined to stretch out this feeling for as long as possible.

Her body twitched and shuddered through the climax, as Elizabeth, gasped, struggling to catch her breath.

As the feeling subsided, she slumped sideways laying on the rug in front of the fire. All the energy with which she had so enthusiastic pleasured herself suddenly gone, leaving her tired and drained.

The fire crackled merrily, bathing her naked body in an orange glow. Yet Elizabeth suddenly felt cold.

For he was not here. He would never be here.