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In the presence of royalty
Prologue
A wry smile broke out on my face. Having made up my wish list for 2012, I found myself confronted with a dilemma of sorts. I was going to make this a “no regrets” year, so I’d decided that I would pluck up the courage to see Christine McQueen (amongst several others). The difficulty was that Christine is a very busy lady and I was doubtful of how my trips to Sydney would pan out over the course of the year. My only hope would be if the punting gods would smile upon me and allow our calendars to somehow magically align.

Synchronicity
As luck would have it, I just happened to be browsing through the PG listings and noticed that Her Royal Highness was touring Melbourne in early-March. Could this be? How long has this been posted? Have I really stumbled upon the greatest opportunity of my life? So, I shot a PM off to Amy (or Heidi or Hannah or one of the PA’s who help run CMQ Management), hoping to secure a booking. Waiting, waiting, waiting. 3 or 4 days go by and no answer. Hmmm … not like Amy or any of Christine’s PA’s who handle the enquiries – I’ve always known them to be prompt, professional and courteous. Putting it down to a possible technical glitch that may have not delivered the PM, I decided to drop a mail from my personal email instead. In light of the 3 or 4 days that elapsed, however, I was afraid my chance of a lifetime may have been sabotaged by an IT glitch … which would seem like the cruellest of ironies, given that I run my own IT consultancy. Not expecting a reply till the next day given the lateness of the hour, I was surprised that Amy responded within 4 hours, deep into the night. I still had a window of opportunity. I pounced on it like a kitten on a ball of wool. And not knowing whether this would be the one and only time to see the Queen, I asked for the VIP package no less.

The lead-up
A week or so before, I was all nervous and checked that the hotel arrangements were okay. Then the news that Christine had won the AAIA Best Escort award. Now, I needed to get her a celebratory gift. So, off I shoot another PM and this time it goes through and I get a response. No chocolates, no wine, but a choice of scented candles or something from Peter Alexander. Given that Glasshouse candles (the type Christine likes) are not only large-ish, but also come in glass holders, the thought that it needed to go with her in luggage was going to be a problem. So, a trip to the Peter Alexander store was made. Have you ever felt really weird looking through the women’s section of PA as a single guy? Yup, that was me. I eventually found the perfect gift – a set of 3 knickers in a “brief case” (yes, I noticed the pun as well) about the size of an A5 paper.

The day itself, I was a nervous wreck. It was raining most of the day. I was worried it would affect Christine’s travel. I was afraid it would mess up her clothes. I was worried I’d made her put up with this shitty, shitty weather.

The session
Right on the dot … knock knock. I opened the door and the vision that greeted me was, umm, was err, well it was …



Stunning, elegant, poised, beautiful, hypnotically enchanting. I stood transfixed there for a second. I felt this wave of warmth envelope me as my manners obviously took temporary leave of my being. In the doorway was the Queen herself, the magnificent, the one, the only Christine McQueen.

Coming to my senses, I gathered myself and let Her Royal Highness in. Taking her coat from her, I took in the vision of this statuesque beauty in a long flowing black dress that covered just enough to be modest, but with the correct deft touches of expert hands, could be manoeuvred to expose her ample breasts. Having had a wine open to calm my nerves beforehand – which, by the way, was a useless strategy now that I was in the presence of greatness – I offered Christine a glass, which she graciously accepted. Doing the perfect impersonation of a klutz, I knocked over another glass in the sink and summarily added to the breakage costs. We settled on the couch to chat and we started to talk about all manner of things. Christine admitted to being nervous about meeting me, no doubt having researched my exploits through my reviews. I didn’t dare tell her that I was so nervous my testicles had replaced the tonsils I’d had removed at the age of 7. Partly because I was playing my best poker at this stage, and partly because I was sure Christine wasn’t expecting an eunuch for this booking.

As we got more comfortable and the conversation got more intimate, the next thing I knew, we were locked in a DFK that seemed almost magical, almost as the room and everything around us just faded away and we were whisked away to a mystical place ...

Moments later, Christine was stripped down to her pink thong and I was completely starkers, and the little general had made several dozen close-up inspections of Christine’s tonsils. I was encouraged to take several photos of her literally swallowing the little general, which I did. There is something unbelievably stimulating when you look down and see the little general being sucked to within an inch of his life, and those mesmerising blue eyes of Christine looking right back at you knowing how fucking fantastic this felt. I was led to the bedroom where the royal bag produced a small assortment of pink apparatus, and these were laid out within easy reach of the bed. We lay on the bed and resumed the DFK position, and as I reach down to perform the “Yellow Pages jig” (let my fingers do the walking), Christine guided me on how best to achieve the right results with her. My ego was suitably stroked when I managed to get her over the line a couple of times through manual stimulation.

At some point, HRH got up and began to suck on the little general again, and then I felt the sudden snugness of a raincoat go on. Gee, that was deft! In the cowgirl position, the sight of Christine looking down into my eyes as she rocked up and down on the shaft was mesmerising. Small rests in between weren’t really rests as someone had obviously been doing their kegel exercises! Feeling those vaginal walls squeeze the little general simply served to stiffen him more. RCG was next and in the midst of it, a familiar buzz and one of those OMG sensations hit me. It was all I could do to ensure that I didn’t lose the load right there and then.

Obviously my determination in holding back the torrents of pleasure simply made HRH more determined to coax the load out of me. Christine then anchored her calves under my laps in the RCG position and leaned forward. As she did so, she pulled her butt cheeks apart and said “just opening up my arse for you, my dear”. She reached for some lube and began the John Hopoate manoeuvre, and invited me to take over. First one finger, then two, another drop of lube, and then her anal passage was well and truly relaxed. Reaching behind her for the little general, he was guided down the Hershey Highway and we gradually got used to the sensation. As the pace slowly increased, I sensed Christine getting more and more aroused and before long, we were simulating a piston engine at 900 rpm. Well, seemed that way to me anyway. A different buzzing sound and a much thinner probe was introduced, and before long, it had joined the little general. Perhaps it was a torch to illuminate things for him. It was the catalyst to get HRH over the line again, and it was a good one too!

Once the waves of euphoria had subsided, Christine hopped off and the look of lust-filled determination was unmistakable. I’d seen this look before on quite a number of women’s faces and every single time, it was basically an ultimatum – “give me your cum or risk castration sans medical equipment”. I usually comply with these demands, and it wasn’t long before Christine was determining if I’d heeded her advice on her PG profile about swallowing etiquette. “Well, that was round 1, let’s get ready for round 2”. WTF? Does she think I’m a friggin Xbox or Playstation with a reset button? Suffice to say that the rest of the booking was part magic, part dream, part fantasy, part raw truthfulness in sharing, part special intimacy, part connecting of the souls. I can see how powerful men would fall for such a beauty, and they will continue to do so. Incredible does not even scratch the surface.

When I was asked if I wanted a shower, I glanced at the clock and realised that our time had not only gone, but Christine had been very generous in going over time. Where had the hours gone? Yes, multiple hours. So, we got up out of the bed and showered. When I got out of the shower, Christine had one of the knickers from the set of 3 that I had given her as a gift. It looked perfect on her. I had gotten the right size exactly. Mini high-fives inside my head.

Parting is such sweet sorrow
As Christine got ready to leave, we engaged in another series of passionate kisses and I suddenly felt like I’d known her all my life. I felt like saying “Please don’t go”.

But go she had to. After all, she is the Queen, and you don’t get to ask her to stay, you merely give her the option and be totally dumbfounded if she does. And as I gazed out the window, the drizzle had stopped and a handful of rays of sunlight were breaking through the clouds in the last few minutes of daylight left in the evening before dusk settled in. A smile crept onto my face, one that would stay there for at least the next day or so.

Epilogue
As I woke up and surveyed my surrounds, I wondered to myself if I’d really seen Her Royal Highness yesterday or if it was just a very vivid dream brought on by an over-enthusiastic imagination. And as I logged on to my PP account, there was a note there from Christine, thanking me for a wonderful experience. Wow! I’d really seen the Queen. And how gracious was she, thanking me. After all, I’m just a humble shagger. And the beaming smile returned to my face ….

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