NEVER TRUST A BLONDE
Jane Seymour gladly obeys Anne Boleyn's every command. But is the ambitious blond just biding her time? Please comment nicely!
Rain drips down the window panes, making the wet November day seem dark and gloomy. Half-asleep on the enormous bed she no longer shares with the king, Anne Boleyn hardly hears the gentle tap on the door.
"Your Majesty, let me help you out of your gown. Silk wrinkles so easily, and fine French lace can rip and tear."
"What does it matter?" Anne rolls over on the pillow, frowning up at the beautiful young lady-in-waiting with the big blue eyes and honey-gold hair. "You saw the way the king walked past me this morning. It's like I no longer exist!"
"But you still have all your lovely gowns, and your jewels." The soft-voiced blonde sounds soothing and sensible. Her hands are firm and soothing too. "Don't you think the king would take them away if he didn't want you to have them?"
"Not so long ago, the king would rip the clothes from my body, and have me right here on this very bed." Anne can't resist a naughty smile, enjoying the way her bold words bring a blush to the cheek of the lady who is undressing her.
"Such a waste," the blonde says, in a frosty tone of voice. But her blushing cheeks give her away.
"What's your name, girl?" Anne can't help grinning as she slips free of her gown and catches the girl's wide-eyed stare.
"My name is Jane . . . Jane Seymour, Your Majesty."
"You're not afraid to look, Jane Seymour. Are you afraid to touch?" Anne's eyes are taunting the girl. Lying on the bed, the naked queen deliberately cradles her own small breasts, letting Jane see how nicely they fit in her cupped hands.
"I will . . . I will . . . I will draw a bath for Your Majesty." Jane's voice is ragged, her breath coming in deep gasps. Her full, round breasts are just a bit bigger than Anne's, and they rise and fall as she struggles to suck enough air into her lungs.
"You will take a bath with me," Anne commands, enjoying the way Jane's heaving breasts seem to struggle against the stiff confines of her bodice. "And you will obey me as though I were the king himself. Do you understand, Jane Seymour?"
"I will obey," Jane whispers, lowering her eyes and shyly fluttering her long, golden lashes. "I will obey in every way."
Anne feels marvelous after her bath, thoroughly sated and gloriously relaxed. Nothing is more exhausting than really good sex. But when the fun is over, Jane is crisp and efficient, vigorously toweling the queen dry with brisk hands before wrapping her in a robe and tucking her back into bed.
"Put away my morning gown," Anne murmurs, sinking deep into the soft pillows and welcoming the pull of sleep. "Make sure my evening things are ready when I wake up. Want to see Henry at dinner. The king still loves me. Loves me . . ."
"Whatever you wish, Your Majesty." Jane's sweet smile fades the moment the forsaken queen gives in to slumber. Moving quickly and quietly, she straightens up the room, putting everything back in its proper place. The icy blonde only pauses briefly to hold the crumpled morning gown up to the mirror, imagining how good it would look on her.
