She Rocked the Queen’s Guard—and the Crown Jewels
Jenna Beck arrived at Buckingham Palace not to watch the changing of the guard—but to cause it. Rocking a little black dress under a royal-red coat, she sidled up to one of Her Majesty’s finest and gave a salute so flirty it could’ve caused a diplomatic incident. The poor guard didn’t flinch, but his pupils dilated and his jaw clenched. Jenna leaned in like she was about to ask for state secrets—or just directions to the nearest eligible bachelor with a BBC accent and BWC swagger. A tourist dropped his phone. Somewhere, the Queen’s portrait turned pink.
Sausage Was Served, and So Was Sass
Next stop: breakfast. But not just any breakfast—this was the first BWC Tour stop, and Jenna was starving. Dressed like the Union Jack had molded itself to her curves, she wielded that sausage like a scepter of seduction. The waiter fumbled his teacup. “Fit for a Queen,” the sign read—and never had truth been written so boldly in chalk. She didn’t even need to bite into it; her smirk alone could scramble an egg. The British public weren’t ready for this kind of spice, but Jenna Beck wasn’t here to be mild. She was here to rule.
She Came for the BWC and Left With Corgis
By midday she was sprinting through a royal park, tongue out, laughing like a Bond girl gone rogue—with a sausage in hand and an army of corgis in pursuit. The Queen’s dogs had never followed anyone that fast, but Jenna’s dress alone was enough to start a parade. Union Jacks fluttered like surrender flags. Tourists applauded. One corgi tried to hump her ankle. She didn’t slow down. Jenna Beck had conquered London without breaking a sweat, claimed her breakfast, and made off with royal backup. She didn’t need a crown—she had the banger.
