Zayla and the Perverted King

Author's Note: If you're reading or re-reading this, this is a revamped version of the same-titled short story I posted here long ago. I finally had the time and motivation to flesh it out, so I did. A lot was changed since I already have a slave story published, this one has more opposite kinks- dubcon, femdom, farting, and light scat - that take place between the titular characters. This is also more of a slow-build kink/romance story so if that's not your thing, feel free to skip. As always, enjoy!

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Far far away in a medieval land was a kingdom called the Holloway Kingdom. It was a marvel of staggering opulence, tall marble castles and noble roads glittered with gold--a fortune due partly to strategic alliances but largely to the formidable reign of the late King Garrett Bartholomew Holloway II.

King Garrett was a wise, competent leader whose reign spun a golden age of peace and prosperity. He was so beloved that when he tragically passed away, people of all classes--from the highest Noble to the lowest Serf--joined together to mourn his death.

Many wondered who would take the King's place and carry on his legacy. Fortunately the Monarchy did not have to look very far, for the King had a 19-year old son.

Daniel Marvin Holloway was a charming well-educated lad who bestowed traits of a promising leader. But his vice for women and wine clouded his better judgment, and the Monarchy feared that the reckless teen would be the Kingdom's downfall.

As it turned out, therewasa first son--one far more qualified to take the throne--but recognizing him invited a political turmoil that no one in the Holloway court was willing to face. So to the Monarchy's utter dismay, Daniel remained next in line.

The Monarchy expected their hands to be full dealing with the youngest son yet they could not know their troubles were about to be magnified. For Daniel would meet a beautiful girl, with a kindred spirit and even more...troublesomebackside. Her presence would forever change the fabric of the Kingdom as they knew it.

This story does not begin with the late King, nor his rebellious heir, nor the fretful Monarchy. It begins with a girl. A young servant girl by the name of Zayla, whose tale begins right within the walls of the royal palace.

****

Six Months After King Holloway's Death

Zayla Koori quickly devoured the remnants of yesterday's supper, a mutton stew delicacy thick with pungent herbs and rich brown gravy, served alongside a salty mash of turnips and pottage. With only seconds to spare, she worked diligently, licking clean the sides of the plate, then her plump lips, wiping the telling residue with her pocket handkerchief. She could have indulged in such fare forever, had it not been for the unending duties that came with being an eighteen-year-old maidservant in the Holloway Kingdom

Femininity, Propriety, Duty.

That mantra played in her head, as she covered the plate in her hand and slipped into line with the other faithful servants.

The ten servant girls stood arranged across the royal palace's great ballroom, carrying a steel tray in one hand and a crisp cream lapel in the other. Despite their prim attire and pristine composure, the atmosphere was thick with nerves, for the ladies were rehearsing for the biggest event of their lives: the grand coronation dinner of the country's new King.

"Point those feet, ladies!" ordered Mistress Sonia Sodderbottom, her hooked nose turned up, her purple shawl and pearl necklace marking her authority. She was a sergeant, and the girls her young soldiers. On command, ten pairs of clogs tilted in unison.

Or, at least, that was the intent. But when Zayla attempted the same, the bust of her dress moaned, her thighs clamped, and sweat beaded on her face as she strained to point her chubby feet together.

She could have blamed the tightness of her clogs or uniform, but the mutton stew, slow-cooked gravy, and turnips she'd had for breakfast were the likely culprits. A girl of her size and proportions required a hearty meal--even if that meal was a gas-inducing delight that was sure to go straight to her ample bottom.

A sideways glance assured that her struggle went unnoticed. The Mistress was fixated on the head servant girl's, Nellie's, immaculate pose, bobbing her head in approval.

"Excellent job, Nellie! Now ladies, back to your original positions, and this time perform a curtsy and hold it with your trays for ten seconds."

Zayla sighed. Now came the hard part. The other girls performed their curtsies with ease, their slim, creamy legs bending like graceful ballerinas. Zayla however could practically feel her sturdy mocha thighs chafing at the thought.

Femininity, Propriety, Duty.

Her friend Monyette whispered next to her. "You okay, Zay?"

"Yes..." Zayla squeaked, flashing a weak smile. "I-I'm alright." She was, in fact, not alright. But she didn't want her friend to worry. Enough people worried about her as it was. "J-just the new uniform, is all."

Monyette shot her a dubious look but nodded her head. "Well I'll be right behind to spot you, just in case."

"Thanks." She replied. Inside, her heart was pounding. At best she would bust another button on her dress in her attempt to curtsy, but at worse, she'd curtsy right into a stumbling heap on the floor. A disgrace to her peers and the "sanctity of servitude". She wouldn't hear the end of it from Mistress Sodderbottom.

"Don't bother trying to help her. " sneered a snooty voice that belonged to a light skinned maidservant with green eyes and luscious hair. It was Sira Sloan, her archnemesis. "She's useless."

Zayla narrowed her eyes. "Why do you even care so much, Sira?"

"Because you always ruin it for the rest of us." Sira snapped. "It's a curtsy, not a somersault. But I suppose your fat arse wouldn't know the difference."

Oof. Sira's words were a punch to her gut, but unsurprising. It was no secret the petite girl didn't like Zayla, for the simple fact she was different - thick, curvy and dark-hued - as opposed to slim, petite and fair like the others. Big girls as unsightly as her didn't belong in the front lines of maid service with the rest of them.

"Don't mind her, Zay." Monyette chided. "She isn't worth the trouble."

"If only Zayla here had the same aptitude as her sister. " Sira smirked. "Then she wouldn't find herself in such trivial troubles."

The spirit of 'Femininity, Propriety, and Duty' was starting to ebb from Zayla. She'd had it. "Well at least this fat arse knows how to stomp on a flat, miserable one like --"

"Zayla Marie Koori, do you have something you'd like to share with the group?"

Zayla froze, wide-eyed, as Mistress Sodderbottom said her name loudly enough to turn heads. The sergeant advanced.

"N-no, Mistress Sodderbottom." She bleated. "I was just...getting into position."

"Alright then." Mistress Sodderbottom said, arms folded, lips pursed. "Let's see."

The room went still. Panic washed over Zayla. She swallowed and looked at Monyette, whose expression was just as terrified. All eyes were on her.

"Y-yes, Mistress."

And so, she did. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head, bowed her legs, and sucked in her stomach as much as possible to curtsy, praying that her ankles wouldn't give out from the heavy tray in her hand.

Miraculously, she held her pose. She didn't fall, and even better, she was curtsying. She was actually curtsying!

"Well, would you look at that... Carry on, then Miss Koori. " Simple as that, the stone-faced Mistress turned away. Zayla felt a surge of relief. Monyette winked, and Sira rolled her eyes. The rest of the girls carried on, her victory fresh in the air.

And then... Zayla exhaled.

No--erupted was more like it. A soft wet toot escaped from her rectum, and her belly bulged reflexively, splitting open her skin-tight uniform. Black buttons went flying. Her cloche-covered plate clattered to the floor, spilling cold slimy food everywhere.

Pffrrrttttt! brrRRRfffRRRttt! Rrrrrrrriiiiiippppp!

A riptide of wetter stinkier farts followed--- the savoury remnants of ripe onions, gravy, and digested greens from Zayla's morning meal.

The room was a collective of hysterical shrieking and crying. Except for Zayla, every girl covered her nose.

Zayla bit her lip. "Oopsie."

Mistress Sodderbottom's gaze was lethal.

"ENOUGH!" The Mistress shouted. The shrieks slowly but surely died down. Someone went to open a window.

"This is precisely why you all are instructed to eatafteryour duties," she huffed, her eyes narrowed at her. "Tell me, ladies, what is the motto that a female servant of the Holloway Kingdom lives by?"

"Femininity, Propriety, and Duty." The room robotically answered.

"Yes." The Mistress said, her eyes unwavering on Zayla's. "And what was exhibited just now was neither of those things." The words cut Zayla like a knife.

"Does anyone know why that is our motto?"

Several voices chimed in but ultimately Mistress Sodderbottom answered for herself.

"Because it is the maidservants - us - who shape the crown." She paced the room. "Since King Holloway I's reign many years ago, we female servants have been the backbone of this kingdom, keeping it up and running. When a servant puts on this uniform, she is swearing to uphold the order, prestige, and legacy of the Kingdom... "

While the Mistress launched into a lecture on the history of the servants, a group of kitchen staff members arrived to clean the mess. One of them, a beautiful dark skinned woman with long ethereal braids, was Zayla's mother, Mauricia. Zayla quickly averted her gaze as her mother inadvertently listened to her lecture.

"...Which is why it is important for each and every single one of you to be at your best for King Daniel's coronation ceremony tonight. It is your duty to remind the people why the Holloway Kingdom is so hallowed in the first place."

The Mistress paused. "Now tell me, what is the punishment for a servant who reflects poorly on the Kingdom?"

"Expulsion." Sira quipped, all too eagerly.

"That is correct, Miss Sloan. Expulsion from the court is the fate that afailurefaces."

Zayla swallowed hard. When she looked back at the floor, it was immaculately clean, no trace of her blunder from before. Cutting through the tense silence, Mauricia stepped forward and spoke calmly to the headmistress.

"I deeply apologize, Mistress Sonia." Her eyes were humble, but her voice had the strong cadence of someone with authority. "My staff and I will see to it that this won't happen again."

She offered no look or mention of Zayla, and Zayla didn't know whether to feel better or worse for it. Her mother was a quiet woman who raised her children with a silent reverence -- like her own mini-domestic staff -- and she always wanted to please her; here was no different. She felt small in the frame of the two formidable women.

Mistress Sodderbottom nodded. "Let's hope so, Chef Mauricia. It'd be a shame if one of your daughters were to have to face that fate."

Silence. The darker-skinned woman bowed again, then motioned for her crew to follow her out of the ballroom, her words--or lack thereof--hanging in the air.

Mistress Sodderbottom then turned to address Zayla, her face bent so close Zayla could feel her breath.

"I suggest you shape up quickly, Miss Koori. Tonight's ceremony is about ushering in a new wave of leadership that our country is depending on. And sloppy mediocrity will not be tolerated. You may have hidden behind your mother all these years, and even your sister, but they cannot help you now. You're an adult. Tonight you either represent us as a pious, dutiful, ladylike servant...or one no longer. Do I make myself clear?"

Zayla choked back tears. "Yes, Mistress."

"Splendid." in her clipped tone. Then in her sergeant voice. "Ladies, rehearsal is over!"

The fearsome woman sauntered out, with the other girls following suit, careful to avoid looking her way. She thought she heard one soul murmur, "Poor Nellie, her and her mother have to deal with her." as they walked out and that broke her. She swallowed a tear and turned away, not looking up to wave Monyette goodbye, only waiting until the ballroom was empty before she allowed herself to weep.

She was useless, just as Sira said. Without her mother, the head chef of the palace, she would be nothing. Her mother had worked hard to raise their family up from poverty into this respected royal position, in the hopes that her and her sister would live and marry well. Her incompetence was a threat to their posterity.

Try as she might over the years, she had acquired no skills or prospects. The art of servantry was a stranger to her and boys barely glanced her way, favoring her slimmer, fair-skinned sister, the ever-talented Nellie. Her sister was the living embodiment of femininity, propriety, and duty. What she tried and failed miserably to do, Nellie and other girls did effortlessly.

So, she continued to enjoy what she did know how to do, which, bless her poor soul,. Eating delightfully grande meals that her Mother made gave sordid relief to her gassy bottom and her hollow heart. At least a slice of apple crumble didn't chastise her for failing a curtsy. With food, she had her dignity.

Well no more. Tonight would be different. She would no longer be the gassy servant girl who couldn't hold her weight. She would prove to everyone she was worthy of a place here.

But first, a new uniform...

****

"So, the carpet will roll out here...the servers will enter from there...and I was thinking of a vase right here to capture the ambiance of the castle as the guests walk in. What say you?"

Daniel listened as Chancellor Peasington droned on. The four of them--the Chancellor, his older brother Luther, his co-advisor Lord Marvin and himself--scaled the perimeter of the castle, performing the tedious goal of finalizing the decor for his coronation ceremony.

He hated it. Though not yet officially King, he was already tired of the duties the title entailed. Every minute spent on trivial affairs was a minute he could be spending deep in the well-endowed bottoms of willing noblewomen.

Fortunately he had Lord Marvin and his brother to shoulder the mundane tasks he cared little for.

"A nice portrait of your family, framed in gold trim, would look excellent on this wall," Lord Marvin murmured, tapping his foot. "It will tell the country, 'we are still together, as one.'"

"Or we could commission a nice statue here. " Luther suggested. "Father always loved a good bust."

The banter flowed in one ear and out the other. Daniel looked out over the hall's balcony, hoping that a short-skirted girl might pass by to entertain his eyes.

"How about you, Daniel? Daniel...?" a concerned voice finally pulled him back.

"Hmmm?" He blinked his eyelids slowly to meet the Chancellor's.

The Chancellor let out that exasperated sigh he reserved for the young King Daniel. Some royal officials would be offended by the thought of serving a hedonistic 19-year old bridled by nepotism, but the stout, balding veteran was used to Daniel's delinquency. He craned his neck up at the teen, veins protruding from his ovular head.

"Your Highness, are you intoxicated?" He sighed.

"Only with the lust for a tender woman." Daniel teased, breaking into a grin. His lustful prayers were answered as all eyes drifted to the beautiful Lady Heather approaching them.

The sway of her hips as her red heels clicked down the hall, the way her white hose clung snugly to her creamy thighs, making a path to the moist heat between her legs -- it was all an enchanting spectacle. Daniel licked his lips, his gaze running up the length of her hourglass figure - a pleasant reminder of why he enjoyed sneaking off to enjoy the noblewoman's company. She winked boldly at him.

His brother snickered, and Lord Marvin merely shook his head.

"Lady Heather, I trust your mother is aware you are wandering these halls instead of attending Miss Adams' School for Ladies of Decency?"

Lady Heather's face turned bright pink at the Chancellor's sudden interjection. "N-no, Chancellor Peasington. I shall be on my way."

"On your way, you shall." The Chancellor watched as Lady Heather scurried off like a scorned cat with her tail tucked between her legs. Daniel groaned dramatically.

Luther, however, smirked. "Scaring away Ladies must be the Chancellor's favorite pastime, isn't that right, Peasy?"

The Chancellor narrowed his eyes at the twenty-eight-year-old. "Prince Luther, my duty is to advise the King to lead this country, and that requires no distractions. With your Father dearly departed, it is now my duty to advise your brother. What a shame that a burned whore cost you the throne."

Luther's face paled. He sucked his teeth and mumbled something under his breath about 'egg-headed kingsmen'.

Daniel howled, clapping the Chancellor on the back. "Wow, so you do have it in you, Chancellor! I didn't think I'd see the day!"

The stern, beady eyed man huffed. "Daniel, this is the most important night of quite possibly your whole life. The country is relying on you, now more than ever, and your eye is wandering. The Kingdom's future depends on you, or have you forgotten?"

"Chancellor, I don't possess the acumen to care for all this. This decor talk is something for a woman to attend to. Father would have--"

"Your father is no longer with us." A heavy silence fell. The Chancellor sighed.

"Your father was a great man, and I gave thirty years of happy service to him. But as his advisor-in-chief and as yours, I am not here to babysit. I am here to enforce the rules, and royal rules state it is paramount for you to be present in all meetings, all appointments, and--"

"All special gatherings scheduled for the King, by the King, or as set forth for the King. Yes, I know." Daniel finished, reciting the code with a weary breath.

"Why, yes." The Chancellor stammered, taken aback by Daniel's flawless recital. He looked at Lord Marvin and Luther, who shrugged. "Look, let's stop here and reconvene later. But tonight, I hope you will be spry and ready for your coronation. This meeting is adjourned."

The quad dispersed but not before Lord Marvin reeled Daniel to the side.

"Worry not, Daniel." He whispered. "I know the Chancellor's nerves are high tonight, but he's just looking out for you. We all are."

Daniel nodded, at ease with the man he was partially named after. "I appreciate it, Marvin. I only hope the rest of the kingdom will too."

Alone and out of earshot, Chancellor Peasington looked up at the ceiling, wringing his hands as if in prayer. "Lord, please help us all."

*

Daniel needed no further instruction to leave. He broke away from the men, slipping into an empty hallway overlooking the ballroom below and pinched his forehead deep in thought.

He was not fit to be King and was upset that he'd been forced into this predicament. Why him? He had an average noblemen's education and no desire for the throne. Yet, the Monarchy had settled on him, forcing him to grieve and assume his father's fort all at the same time.

The only thing that kept him sane were his vices: a glass of white wine, and the comforting warmth of a plump, big bottomed woman. Something about the firmness of a woman's wide rear seated on his cock did things to him. And if her scent smelled...spoiled, well, even better. The musk, tangy aroma of a solidly built woman could lead a blind man to freedom.

Tonight, however, would be his final night as a free man. Gone would be the days of wining and dining fine, frisky noblewomen. His freedom would cease, his days devoted to the ministries of the Court. He'd become a sexless boring tut, arranged to be married strictly for the political sake, perhaps to start balding and puttering like a young Chancellor Peasington in the making.