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He liked the Duchess; they got on very well sexually. They rarely talked. Twice in fact had they talked properly. The one time on the plane between Carcassonne and London, when the co-pilot hadn't arrived, he wasn't essential for the short trip; she asked if she could sit by him. Impressed Kinghorn felt, by his command of her aircraft. She only had the one; it had been in fact her fathers. He noted her elegance then as she sat in the seat, and how she put on the head set. And how she had waved her hair, and lifted her arms to put it on, he smelt her beautiful smell that seemed unique to her, or perhaps he though in retrospect to her perfumer in Grasse. He noted at that time three things seemed to emanate from her. She was liberated, she celebrated life in her own sophisticated special way, and she was an explorer of humanity for truth and ultimate happiness. This took him to the second conversation in London. Soho in fact. A strange choice he thought for a Duchess. In a. Adrian grabbed her blonde hair and yanked her into the room, slamming and locking the servant door. She lay curled up on his floor, her nightgown wet with warm piss that dripped down her leg. Victor watched from the bed amusedly, never having been fond of the kings family considering his immense jealousy of the queen. Adrian slapped his daughter hard across the face, fuming as he tore the dress off her to expose her virgin body. “Moronic wench, how dare you disturb your father at this hour? Only a whore creeps into a mans room, foolish child. I cant let a brat go unpunished lest you wind up like your treacherous mother.” He growled, lifting her to her knees by her hair. King Adrian slammed his cock down the young royals throat, ignoring her tears and cries as she thrashed helplessly in his grasp. Victor chuckled and waltzed over to the pair, slapping the princesses arse hard enough to leave a welt. “Oh darling, She looks just like her mother. Can we please make her our toy”.
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