His Royal Penis

All Speculation Ends Here:
Exclusive Photos of Prince Edward’s Penis

Apparently, Royals really are just like everybody else—when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. Though none of us here at Royal Bitch Dot Net have ever been on a 170-foot yacht, we’ve got to imagine they have bathrooms. It begs the question—what was Prince Edward doing pissing off the deck?

Though in the photos it appears Prince Edward is slightly larger than average, it’s believed that His Royal Highness is a shower not a grower. Rumor has it that embarrassment over his penis size is what compels him to require signed Non-Disclosure Agreements from any and all women in whom he has the slightest romantic interest. In fact, a source close to Bella “Not-a” Swan tells us Prince Edward presented Esme Platt’s ugly half-sister with legal documents less than twenty-four hours after meeting her. Tell-all books written by Princess Elizabeth’s former lovers notwithstanding, we have to wonder what His Royal Highness is trying to hide.

COMMENTS (showing 8 of 1298)


Eh. Still bigger than his father.

My Narcissistic Alias

Those pictures of Prince John’s penis weren’t real. These on the other hand…wow.

Monarch Shutterfly

The pics of his father’s cock were absolutely real! A friend of mine took them. Sometimes he still has nightmares about all the hair.

His Royal Gayness

Even if it doesn’t get much longer, it’s still thick and juicy. I’d love to have that in my mouth! Yum!

Lady In Waiting

I’m never swimming in the Atlantic Ocean again.

Assman 11

He holds it weird.

Troll E. McCavetroll

Didn’t you know? Royalty holds their johnsons with their pinkies out. At least, that’s what they do when there’s no one around to hold it for them. “The Royal Penis is clean, Your Highness.”

Loves Me Some Fat Dick

I’ll clean it for him!

“I have to say, your facility comes highly recommended. The security at the entrance to the parking garage was impressive and that I can drive right into the building is a huge plus for me. It makes it easier to dodge the paparazzi. After my sister announced her engagement, I had maybe one or two paps camped outside my flat. Now I can’t even go for a run without being followed.”

I recognize my voice; it’s what I’m saying that seems unreal to me. My life has actually come to this. As annoying as it is that I have to join an exclusive health club to have any chance of working out without being photographed, I have to admit this one is impressive. Angela, the membership director showing me around, has been discreet and accommodating. Just as I’m thinking this place is too good to be true, she leads in me into the weight room.

I stand dumbfounded by the door, not able to fully process what I’m seeing. It’s not His Royal Heinous’s presence that surprises me, or even that he’s drenched in sweat, wearing track pants and a t-shirt that reads, “Finish your beer. There are sober children in India.” It’s that seeing him as he is now—standing behind a weight bench, laughing as he spots a guy who’s lifting—he almost seems normal.

Too bad I know better.

“Come on,” Edward says. “I need three more—unless you’re willing to admit that IED got the best of you.”

With what appears to be great effort, the guy on the bench completes three additional reps.

Edward smiles. “Now that had to feel pretty good.”

“If you say so, Sir. I think I’m ready to call it a day.”

Sir? Seriously? His Royal Heinous won’t even let his workout buddies use his first name?

“Probably smart. You don’t want to overdo it. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of the weights.” Edward turns to watch his friend leave and notices me standing by the door.

He goes from smiling to poker-faced in less than a second.

I’m not sure what to say to him, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not supposed to speak until spoken to anyway. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel small, so I do what etiquette expects of smallfolk in the presence of royalty—I put my right heel behind my left foot, bend my knees, and keep my mouth shut.

He remains silent.

As uncomfortable as this is, part of me is glad I ran into him here. I haven’t seen him since the morning I snooped in his apartments, and though it’s only been a few days, the more time that passes the more awful I feel. Not only does this chance meeting get it over with, the fact we’re not alone saves me from what could otherwise be a nasty confrontation.

“Isabella,” he says finally. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“No, Your Royal Highness. I’ve never been one for health clubs, but now that running has become…well, somewhat problematic for me…”

I’m not easily intimidated. I can’t be; I’m the boss’s daughter in a male-dominated industry. There are far too many people who would be happy to exploit any vulnerability on my part, and stumbling over words is definite sign of weakness. But something about Edward’s expressionless gaze makes me feel like pond scum and, though I know what I want to say, I can’t seem to make my mouth cooperate. It’s not because it’s obvious he’s angry with me—I’m well aware of the fact that I’ve more than earned his ire—it’s because for reasons I don’t fully understand, I find myself wishing he wasn’t.

Thankfully, Angela steps in. “Ms. Swan is thinking about becoming a member, Your Royal Highness. I’m giving her a tour of the facilities.”

“Is that so?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

“In that case, I’d be happy to show you around.” He turns to Angela. “I’m sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Sir. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” She gives me a discreet wink as she leaves.

I stare after her in disbelief. Seriously? Does the entire world actually believe he and I are an item? Sighing, I turn back to Edward. He’s glaring at me, his face every bit as hard to read as it was before.

Here we go again.

I square my shoulders and meet his gaze. It’s our usual game, but this time I’m too afraid of losing to care if I win. I take a deep breath and remind myself that while I might have gone to business school instead of charm school, there’s one thing I can do every bit as gracefully as my sister.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you crazy?”

Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of the weight room into the corridor. His grip is tight and his pace fast; that I’m still dressed for work makes keeping up with him a bit of a challenge. We pass a room of cardio equipment and two pools before my curiosity gets the better of me.

“Where are you taking me?”

He says nothing, but it doesn’t matter. The sign on the wall answers on his behalf.

“Uh uh. No, Sir. When Angela said you could show me around, I don’t think she realized the men’s locker room was on the agenda.”

Just as I’m about to bolt in the other direction, he opens the door to a steam room.

“Hello?” he calls from the hallway.

When no one answers, he drags me inside with him. I stand there seething as he pulls a key from his pocket and locks the door behind us.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Sir?”

“I should be asking you the same thing! What the hell were you thinking, starting a conversation like that where someone could overhear it?”

“As if this is any better!”

“This is much better—it’s private. Assuming you refrain from your typical shrewish ranting and keep your voice down, we don’t have to worry about transcripts of our conversation ending up online.”

“You can’t be serious. It’s…” I glance at the thermometer on the wall. “110 degrees in here! My clothes are already sticking to me. It’s only a matter of time before one of us passes out.”

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway. Before I can make a run for it, he tosses a couple of towels at me and locks the door again.

“Problem solved.”

“No, Your Highness. I require more than two bath towels to feel decent.”

His smile is pure evil. “What do you mean two? One of them is for me.”

If we weren’t in a steam room, I’m fairly sure the smoke coming from from my ears would be visible. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of seeing me lose my cool—even if I am drenched in sweat.

“Come on,” he continues. “You can’t expect me to remain fully clothed in here? You said yourself it was only a matter of time before one of us passes out.”

I just glare at him.

“What, are you disappointed I’m bothering with a towel? I thought you might be.” He sighs. “You realize this is no one’s fault but your own, right? Had you signed the NDA, I’d have no problem letting you see my…er…scepter.”

I roll my eyes. “As if I haven’t already seen it.”

“You know, if you’d just say what you need to say, we could be out of here by now. But once again, you seem determined to make this harder than it needs to be. Bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine whine. This is how you apologize?”

After all this, I think he owes me one, but I’m not going to argue with him. I just want to get the hell out of here.

“I’m sorry I snooped in your apartment, Your Highness. There. I said it. Now would you give me the goddamned key so I can leave?”

“Gladly.” He retrieves the key from his pocket and tosses it at me. “Catch.”

Except I don’t catch it. The key flies past my head and falls between the slats on the seat of the bench behind me—the slats that are too close together for me to reach between them. I drop to my knees to try to get under the bench, but I can’t; the bench is built into the wall.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter.


“The key! It fell down inside the bench.” I rise to my feet and start banging on the door. “Help!”

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He comes up behind me and grabs my hands, flattening them against the frosted-glass wall. “Think about this for a second. We’re in the men’s locker room, remember? Any club member who hears you is going to wonder what you were doing in here with me in the first place. If you’re okay with giving the tabloid press even more reason to harass you, bang away. They hound me no matter what, so I don’t care one way or the other. But if you don’t want this getting out, the best thing to do is wait until closing time and yell when we hear a janitor.”

I sigh. As much as I hate the thought of being stuck with him for the next few hours, I hate the alternative more. Defeated, I back away from the door and plunk myself down on the bench.

“Here.” He turns to the controls on the wall and shuts off the steam. “It won’t be comfortable, but we won’t suffocate—and the sooner you get out of those clothes, the better.”

I snort. “Not gonna happen, Sir.”

“Suit yourself.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head.

At the first flash of his skin, I turn my body so I’m facing the wall. “You aren’t…I mean…”

“What happened to all your bravado? The way you’re acting, you’d think you were a skittish virgin who’s never seen a man naked.”

Just like that, he pushes me over the edge. I cover my face with my hands so he won’t see me cry, but it’s a wasted effort. The floodgates open, and seconds later I’m a blubbering mess. Of course I feel weird seeing him naked—I’m physically attracted to him, and I hate myself for it. So I sit here, even hotter than I was when we first came in but too scared of what I’m setting myself up for to take off any of my clothes. I’m still struggling with what to do about this when I feel his hands in my hair.

“Don’t worry,” he says in a whisper. “This isn’t sexual. I know I’ve taken liberties with you, but I do hope you trust me on this. I’d never forgive myself if you allowed yourself to become ill out of fear I’d take advantage of the situation.” He gathers my hair together and rests it on one of my shoulders before tugging on the collar of my suit jacket. “Off with this.”

My muscles tense up as he pulls the jacket down my arms and off my body, but I don’t try to stop him.

“There,” he says. “That’s got to feel better, doesn’t it?”

I nod, still facing away from him. I hold my breath, expecting him to start unbuttoning my blouse. Part of me even wants him to.

Except he doesn’t. He wraps his hand around my ankle and slides one shoe off, then the other.

“Come here,” he says, tugging on my foot.

I slowly turn my body to face him. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of me—barefoot and shirtless, yes, but still wearing his track pants.

My eyes focus on his chest. For a pothead, he sure is ripped. Who am I kidding? He’s ripped for an Olympic swimmer. All of a sudden, it’s even hotter in here than it was when I still had on my jacket and shoes.

“Breathe, Bella.” With his hands cupping my face, he brushes his thumbs across my cheeks. “I get that you don’t trust me. I’m going to yell for help.”

The last thing I need is more media attention.


“Sweetheart, you can’t sit in a steam room wearing wool pants.” He puts one of the towels on the bench beside me, pushes himself to his feet, and moves to the other side of the room, facing away from me. “I’m going to stand over here with my eyes closed, and I won’t open them until you tell me.”

I’m trembling as I peel my clothing from my body. Almost immediately, I start to feel better. When I’m down to my bra and underpants, I wrap the towel around my body. I take a deep breath and brace myself for whatever’s coming next.


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