Her Majesty’s Toilet Ch. 01

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After a full day of touring the Queen’s estate and speaking with her staff members (or, more accurately, watching as they serviced their lady with silent, adoring expressions), nighttime arrived.

It was my first evening acting in the official capacity of Ambassador to this country and I was determined to make a good impression among the wider political circles of the Queendom.

Not that it would have mattered to any members of this insulated, exotic land, but I wore my most formal attire by the standards of the United Council and thought I made quite a neat picture on my way down the grand staircase to the state dinner.

The Queen certainly had prepared a lavish spread, giving me – and by extension, the country I represented – the respect we merited on the occasion of seeking an alliance between our two nations. The banquet hall was filled with merry tables of local (and powerful) figures: politicians and wealthy merchants and healers and academics, all who had turned out to show their support for the budding friendship (and trade) between us.

I had found the Queen a particularly gracious host during my first morning and afternoon in the Queendom, even if it was still taking me time to adjust to the local customs.

As I intend to bring this journal to the capital with me at the end of my stay here, that it may better serve as a travelogue, resource, and guide to the exotic traditions and social nuances of this place, I am prepared to explore and reflect on some of the more outlandish practices. I feel a little like an anthropologist in a foreign land, trying to preserve the knowledge of such strange places beyond our own comfortable homes.

The most important item to note is that the citizens of this country worship their Queen. Not only does she function as a political and symbolic figurehead of the country, as well as wielding great power in her own right, but she also adopts a sort of spiritual role in which she is treated with the reverence of a divine being.

The citizens consider favor or attention from her to be a blessing, even at times when our own citizens might not see her gestures as very benevolent or gracious. But trust me when I say that the people of this nation respond powerfully to their Queen, and shower her with love and affection, when she deigns to “bless” them.

This blessing most often takes the form of something like liquid baptism. One of the primary tenets of this Queendom is that the monarch – and the whole royal family by extension – has the ultimate right to relieve themselves wherever and whenever they like. It is their ultimate prerogative to choose the nature and context of their output.

Because of this fact, the citizens of the Queendom believe it is the ultimate blessing for their Queen to relieve herself on them.

When she parades past in the streets, they line up on both sides of the road, lifting their arms, opening their mouths, begging for her to grant them benediction. When she does in fact stand in her regal carriage and direct her stream outward, they all run headlong into the streets, dancing and laughing and celebrating.

Of course, I am getting a little ahead of myself here. I still had not witnessed this experience firsthand, but had gleaned its nature from the travel writings of Turelius the Sage, who wrote extensively about the traditions of the previous monarch, best known as Prince Philip. After my experience in the gardens and the stables, I was eager to see the Queen choose and bless someone, and to learn a little more about this unique custom.

When I entered the banquet hall, pageboys immediately escorted me to the high table to sit at the Queen’s own side. She wasn’t seated yet, as she naturally took her place after everyone else had arrived, so I struck up a lively conversation with the gentleman on my other side, who was just as interested to hear about life in my own home country as I was to hear about his.

I kept glancing at the doors to make sure I didn’t miss the Queen’s entrance, but there was no chance of that: the room got completely, reverently silent when the double doors opened and she appeared, clad in only a smile.

If our own Prime Minister had appeared to a formal dinner without a single stitch of clothing, there would have been an uproar at home: half the room yelling themselves hoarse, and the other half applauding. Here, there was only a deafening silence as the Queen descended to her seat, gazing out benevolently at the assembled audience. Every single face in the room looked rapturous to see their Queen shimmy her slender frame down the stairs.

“It’s been too long since we had a dinner that celebrated the old ways,” she announced, still standing, when she reached her seat right next to me.

I was eye-level with her pubic thatch, a little bustling of hair that seemed to shine and catch the light, and trying not to stare as she opened the dinner with a speech. Her breasts were pertly round, her hips gratifyingly wide, and her demetevler escort entire body exquisite. She didn’t have to wear jewels to look radiant. We all hung on to her every word.

“It’s delightful to have an excuse to return to old traditions,” said the Queen. “And delightful to have someone to show off to again. After 500 years of isolationism, we are learning through our relationships with those around us that we need to open our borders if we are to share and disseminate ideas that will advance the world. There is much we can learn from other nations of the world – and much that they can learn from us!”

A little cheer arose at her words, and she continued, emboldened. “So let’s give them a show of what it means to call the Queendom home!”

She sat down, satisfied, at their applause, and turned to me with a perfect hostessing smile. “Are you enjoying your stay so far, my dear?”

“Yes, very,” I said, trying to keep my eyes on her pretty face, feeling very conscious of how nude she was below it.

“Lovely. You have your journal here to take notes? Ah, yes, I see it next to your plate. I hope you will make good use of it – there should be lots to observe tonight which may seem, ah…foreign to you.”

“I am excited and humbled to witness it, Your Highness.”

She winked at me, then picked up her water glass. “Cheers,” she said, draining it.

I turned to her – in my country it is considered polite to angle the body towards the other person and make eye contact when making toasts – and in the process, stubbed my foot against something soft under the table which also said, “ow.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, gathering the cascading tablecloth in my hands and trying to pull it up to peer under. At first I assumed perhaps a young child was wandering around under the tables, exploring out of sight of some parent of governess, and I was horrified to have kicked someone unwittingly.

Imagine my surprise to find, not an errant child, but a near-naked servant crouched under the table. He was wearing only a collar around his neck, and was bare down to the waist, where only a small loincloth covered his groin.

“Are you okay?” I asked, surprised, and he nodded, but even when I spoke he never took his eyes off the vision in front of him: the Queen’s naked lower half, seated in the chair, remained under the tablecloth and accessible to him. But he never reached out, never touched her…only stayed rooted, kneeling, in front of her.

Evidently my kick hadn’t hurt him that much, because I suddenly realized he was sporting a sizeable erection under the loincloth fabric.

“I see you’re meeting my staff,” the Queen said, smiling at me again with that look that implied mischief and delight.

“Uh, in a manner of speaking,” I said.

“This is Minot,” she said, gesturing to the collared servant – or was he a slave? – and continuing, “He is one of my most loyal assistants.”

The devotional look on his face – and the raging hard-on – seemed to support her statement.

“Ah, what is his purpose here?” I asked.

Already my brain was trying to piece together the clues, to figure out the customs of this place. I thought at first perhaps he was there to eat food that dropped down from the table. After all, the Queen kept human ponies, so why not dogs too? Then it occurred to me that perhaps his function there was a sexual one, and I was a little excited at the idea of him pleasuring the Queen under the table while I sat by her side.

Even all my reading, all my knowledge about the Queendom, did not prevent my surprise when I found out the truth.

“Would you like to see?” the Queen asked.

“Yes,” I said, because I wanted to see everything I could in this strange new land, and I didn’t know what to expect.

I certainly wasn’t expecting the Queen to prop her feet in the chair and squat in her own seat, thrusting her pelvis forward.

“I try to stay well-hydrated on important days like today,” she said, turning to me. “It’s just so important for the people to receive assurance that the Queendom is strong. And…” she sighed a little and her eyelids fluttered. “Honestly, I’ve been holding it for so long because I wanted to give you a good show tonight.”

Her back arched and suddenly she was urinating a powerful stream of liquid directly in front of her. Under the table, Minot lunged forward. With a practiced air, he caught the flow in his mouth without letting a single drop spill onto the varnished floors.

“Ohhh, what a good boy,” she moaned. “Yes, that’s it, drink me up.”

I could see Minot’s throat working as he rapidly swallowed, but he never closed his mouth, always keeping it waiting while she relieved herself into the opening.

He stayed at a distance at first, and I could see the liquid as it shot forcefully from between the Queen’s spread legs. She kept up a steady stream, and she certainly must have been nearly bursting, dikmen escort judging from her moans of relief and the volume of output.

But as the strength of her flow diminished, Minot drew closer and closer until he was settled between her parted legs. There, he placed his mouth directly over the surge, covering her entire maidenhood.

At this point, his own eyes closed and he sucked and swallowed, looking as dreamy and content as a nursing child.

“Ahhhh,” shuddered the Queen, and she was clearly still pissing, judging from the way her body slowly relaxed. “Ohhh gods, there’s nothing like this feeling. It truly is heaven-sent.”

“You were heaven-sent, my Queen,” said Minot, raising his head just long enough to say this, and get splashed a little by the reserves of her relief, before turning back to his task of draining her by the dregs.

“Mmmm,” she squirmed. “Minot really does know how to use his tongue.” She turned to me and winked. “That’s why he’s one of my favorites.”

I wasn’t sure why, but it was at this point that I became conscious of feeling very warm.

Part of it was certainly shock and alarm; even though I had read stories of the orgiastic revelry in the festival streets, I had never realized the implications of what these traditions meant for the mundane aspects of life, too.

The fact that a woman could relieve herself right at the dinner table! And into the waiting mouth of a servant! Granted, this was a particular and peculiar case of divinely-granted entitlement, but even Minot’s fawning and clear signs of arousal showed how much he enjoyed it.

I thought about his wet mouth clamped down over the Queen’s core, sucking and drawing out the golden liquid, and the pleasure and relief of the Queen as he received it. I thought about the sharp spray of liquid she had gushed forward and how he lunged to catch it.

The Queen was glowing as Minot bathed her clean with his tongue. “Good boy,” she said, patting him again. “I’ll tell you when I need you again.”

He sat back on his heels, satisfied, and wore a smile of dreamy pleasure. I realized that the front of his loincloth was damp and sticky, and the erection had subsided.

So it appeared that his pleasure was so great at drinking the liquid blessing of his Queen, he had not even required physical stimulation to achieve his own end. Instead, he had finished directly there, kneeling under the table, drinking deep from the private draught of Her Majesty. A few droplets fell to the ground from under his loincloth, corroborating my assumption.

The gentleman on my other side had also watched the proceedings, but when I turned to him, his face didn’t reflect heat or uncertainty, as mine surely did: instead, he wore a wistful and longing expression.

“What I wouldn’t give to receive that,” he sighed, shaking his head, before returning to his food.

After that first display, I was excited to see the next; my anticipation was so great that it was difficult for me to concentrate on the proceedings, but luckily the Queen had amusement and not politics in mind for my first evening. She arranged a great number of performances and entertainments, which perfectly allowed me to watch while dwelling on what I had already seen. I was trying to think of questions I could ask without appearing rude; there was so much I still wanted to know about this fascinating tradition.

The Queen, to her credit, was a gracious and inspiring host. Right as the human ponies were ascending the stage with their trainer to perform for the assemblage, she nudged me.

“I’m about to go, again,” she said. “Would you like to watch?”

I did want to, and told her so.

This time, the Queen stood on top of her chair, the better to draw a larger audience of eyes. On stage, the trainer stopped still, yielding the performance space to her monarch.

“A toast,” announced the Queen, “to the present, and to the future!”

Everyone cheered, and Minot dragged the Queen’s chair a little further away from the banquet table – I realized there was a line forming next to it, comprised of not only more collared servants but also merchants, politicians, clergymen, and common townfolk. All of them had lined up to receive the Queen’s toast.

She planted her feet in the seat of the chair, spread her knees wider, and with an accompanying sigh of relief, began to urinate freely.

Those in the line began to step forward, one at a time: each citizen turned to their Queen, opened their mouth, and took a mouthful of her warm piss before moving on. Like a fountain, she gushed, and they stepped up to her to drink.

She relieved herself into 10, 20, 30 waiting mouths before her stream ran ragged and Minot stepped forward to drain her.

“That was incredible,” I told her when she was seated next to me at the table again, and she gave me a gratified expression.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I hope your countrymen elvankent escort feel the same about our strange habits.”

“If they don’t, it is due to ignorance and misunderstanding alone,” I told her fervently. “My goal is to clear up misapprehensions about the Queendom’s traditional practices – with any luck, after I publish these travel journals, you’ll have more tourists than you know what to do with.”

“That would be nice,” she smiled, and returned to eating.

I took a sip of water from the table and shifted in my seat, and it occurred to me that I also had to pee. I hadn’t even considered that necessity, despite how much I was reminded of it all around me. I didn’t even know where the bathrooms were.

So I gently reached out to touch the Queen’s smooth, naked arm, and I asked her, blushing a little, where I might go to relieve myself.

“My dear,” the Queen said with a shocked expression. “Oh, I do apologize for keeping you waiting so long, and it must be my error for neglecting to make a thing perfectly clear. I made the mistake of assuming you knew what the rights and function of a royal Ambassador are in the Queendom, as I remember being quite impressed by the depth and breadth of your learning about our culture already.”

I was slightly confused, and waited for the Queen to make herself clear.

“Now, you do not have to feel pressured or compelled to make use of our traditions – I can certainly have my attendants prepare more appropriate facilities for you if you require them – but the option to use your Ambassadorial privilege is available to you, so I would like to explain what that entails.”

“Yes, please,” I said, still feeling confused.

“As an official Ambassador visiting the Queendom, I have granted you all the rights of the royal family.”

“All…rights?” I repeated.

“Yes. Your right to relieve yourself wherever and whenever you choose. Your right to use the common people for your own noble purposes. Your right to -“

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted rudely. “Do you mean, Your Majesty, that …that…” I looked down to the collared young man on the floor.

“Minot is mine,” she said, smiling amiably. “But you can certainly have your own companion.”

At that, she snapped under the table and immediately a handsome young man slid to his knees in front of me.

Amazed, I peeked under the tablecloth more fully and realized that there were other servants under it, stationed at intervals down the long high table, which – I realized now – were for the most important and powerful members of Queendom society.

Some of them were indeed exercising their rights now, and would continue to throughout dinner: I didn’t know how I hadn’t noticed so many people sighing, relaxing in their seats, moaning, and with eyelids fluttering. One man three seats down was receiving a genital tongue-bath from an adorably wide-eyed female servant.

“It used to be the tradition to relieve oneself on the ground, and have the servants clean it up,” the Queen remarked mildly. “Even in the time of my father and grandfather, that was the typical practice. But when I ascended the throne, I decided to change things: it makes more sense not to leave a mess at all, don’t you think? And now that we grant royal privileges to those who weren’t born in the royal family – and those privileges can be inherited – I knew we were facing a real possibility of creating a problem we couldn’t clean up, if we had upper class citizens making their mark on the community, day in and day out. So we train our people to contain the mess, by making use of certain human receptacles. It’s not a perfect system, of course, but it’s certainly helped beautify our city.”

“What is, the…ah, the protocol, your majesty?” I asked, and I blushed furiously when my eyes met those of the handsome servant crouched in front of me.

“State your need or intention, whether grandly or in a private whisper,” she said. “Why don’t I demonstrate? I can still produce a few drops.”

The Queen leaned forward toward Minot and said, “I need to piss, my darling.” Then she looked at me expectantly.

I looked to the young man in front of me and, hesitatingly, said, “Excuse me, but…I need to relieve myself.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he told me. “Just tell me where you prefer I position myself.”

I looked to the Queen and she nodded. “Certain people have personal preferences. You may choose full spray, which leaves him sodden. You might want to aim into an opening from a distance. You might prefer less mess, which requires him to drink directly from the source. Or,” she winked. “Perhaps a little extra tongue action? However, he won’t touch you without your permission – you must give your consent for him to approach you.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling nervous but emboldened by the casual behavior of those around me. “In that case…I would prefer less mess. I consent to be touched. Um, do you have experience with this…?” I trailed off, realizing that I didn’t know what to call him.

“Pilot, my lady. And indeed I do. I trained for this role for many years, and left my apprenticeship over six years ago.”

“So then…might I trust you to tailor the experience as you see fit?” I asked. “It is my first time, and I do not know all the …specialties.”

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