Zayla and the Perverted King

The Kingdom's coronation banquet was packed. Crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant light on the crowded ballroom, illuminating the high-ranking nobles and lords who'd arrived in their finest silks and jewels. The entire room looked like a gathering for gods, but tonight, all eyes were fixed on the one mortal deity: King Daniel Marvin Holloway.

Zayla was blown away by the blinding wealth in the room, but her heart truly stopped when the King stepped onto the dais. The young monarch looked ethereal as he addressed the crowd, swearing his solemn oath to the throne. His mussy blonde hair reflected in the sheen of his crown, his eyes gleaming the same hazy green as the jewels set into his sash.

Blinding wasn't a strong enough word for it.

"Ah-hem, table on your right is waiting," Sira snapped, abruptly shoving a hot tray into Zayla's hands.

"Sira!" Zayla recoiled as the steel dish nearly seared her skin. "You could have burned me!"

"Oopsie." Sira smirked, sauntering back toward the kitchen.

"Oooh, she gets on my nerves!" Zayla hissed under her breath. It was moments like this that made her wish Monyette was by her side to defend her. But her friend had been pulled into the kitchen while Zayla was to serve the royalsmen; and per her mother's orders she was not to eat a lick until the dinner was over.

She'd specifically remembered because her mother had told her this while baking her famous lemon custard for the royal event, Zayla's favorite. She knew deep down her mother was right but inside it ached her knowing that she would have to wait tables all night in the presence of delightful food that she could not indulge in. It felt like she was being punished for having a ...thorough digestive tract.

Hearing this, Monyette had taken pity on her and let her vent about her emotions. The truth of the matter was, she was fretful of disappointing her colleagues, but even more so she feared the retribution from Mistress Sodderbottom. If anything were to happen in the name of her flatulence she could be exiled right then and there. For a young girl like her with no real world experience and no probability for prospects, exile was as good as death.

She straightened her new uniform - a spare one that was a size too small but thankfully flattered her form. Taking a nervous breath, she strode toward the cluster of nobility.

"Your three-course meal, sirs." Zayla announced, with a bow of her head and curtsy.

She lifted the cloche, revealing the hot, fresh dishes: The first course, a dramatic centerpiece of a roast boar's head, dressed with red wine and parsley; the second, a rich hare's stew, thickened with breadcrumbs and seasoned lavishly with saffron, cinnamon, and cardamom; and finally, the third, a simple custard pie, finished with coconut sugar and lemon for a tart kick.

Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it all.

"Many thanks." replied the mustached gentleman in the center, his black wiry hair framing a pallid face.

'He must be Lord Marvin, the King's co-advisor.' Zayla mused.

She bowed again towards the younger man sitting next to him, who was eyeing the pie as if calculating the maximum slice he could cut without appearing greedy. Zayla couldn't help but smile with pride at the admiration for her mother's work.

"My brother will pay his respects twice over to the cooks who prepared this spectacular dish." Luther said, winking at her.

"The King." Lord Marvin cut in sharply. "You will address him as the King."

"My apologies. " Luther replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. Then he turned to Zayla. "But seriously, madam, to whom do we owe this exquisite feast?"

"I'm blushing. Thank you all for your kind words. The meals prepared are the work of our Head Chef, Mauricia --" A guttural rumble broke her words in half. Zayla clutched her stomach.

Luther and Lord Marvin exchanged a concerned glance. Zayla shook her head quickly, willing her protesting stomach to be quiet. She'd forgotten in her excitement, she'd had a few generous taste-tests of that lemon custard pie, and now it was catching up to her.

"As I was saying, you can thank Head Chef Mauricia --"

Rreewwer.The grumbling turned into a thick undeniable gurgle -- a gurgle that could not wait for small talk and pleasantries.

'Oh no, please, now is not the time for me to have to pass gas.' She would curse the Skies for making lactose on an empty stomach of all things her weakness, but that would be a judgment for another day.

"Is everything quite alright, Miss?" One of them asked. Who, she didn't know. Their voices were becoming a haze in the thick fog of her mind.

She scanned the room frantically for an available washroom but there were none in sight. No servant washrooms were located in the ceremonial ballroom. Skies.

"If you'll excuse me, gentleman. My sincerest apologies." Before any objections could be made, Zayla bounded out of the ballroom, through the double-doors, and into the dark, shallow hallway of the royal residence.

Her heart leaped into her throat. The remnants of the lemon custard were growling, bubbling, and grumbling in her stomach, threatening to erupt onto the fine, carpeted floors. Her poor rectum was tingling. Where in heaven's name was the maiden's washroom?!

The cool blue lights and shallow archways made it impossible to tell which rooms led where. Each door she hobbled to seemed surrounded by a din of voices -- wealthy nobility that she didn't dare want to intrude upon. Down the hall to her left, she spotted a small room in the alcove of what appeared to be a secluded wing of the castle, adorned with lavish, intricate patterns.

A maiden's washroom!

"Thank goodness." She gasped. Her arsehole flexed as she sprinted toward the door. It was unlocked. She slipped in without a second thought.

The room itself was small, dark, and simple. Upon closer look was a small, unglazed window to let in a cool breeze. Fresh rosemary leaves were strewn on the floor to mask the expected stench. A silver pole hung on the right, with strips of unused cloth and freshwater to wipe oneself clean.

The "toilet" was a small square aperture in the wooden bench, fixed over a long chute for an adult body to lean over.

Or rather a small adult body, because the hole looked about half the size of Zayla's tush.

"Oh dear." Zayla whispered. This was definitely not a washroom for servants but something much fancier and pristine. She was used to the chamberlain's privy, an ugly hole in the floor that, while foul, could easily accommodate her generous posterior. This aristocratic seat was impossibly small.

Her stomach, however, didn't care for contemplation. It was demanding to empty her bowels of the sweet-and-sour dessert. She pulled her garments down to her ankles, squatted over the hole, and began to push.

Zayla gritted through her teeth as the first log left her body into the hole with a soft wet 'Plop'. It was a big one that sent a volume of pressure to her tight anus. She could feel the ridges of her arse pucker and flex as her stool clawed for a way out. She squatted lower and spread her cheeks apart hoping to relax her muscles.

If it weren't for the uncomfortable position this would actually be nice. The cool air felt pleasant on her tush. A succession of plops followed, some soft and stunted, but most firm and long.

Her stool emitted a sour, lemony odor and passed through her puckered star like mud passing through a pipe. Pee dribbled from her pink folds, teasing her release, and she crept a hand to her pussy to speeden the process, shivering at the flash of contact on her clit. She moaned as the dribble hissed into a stream, and before she knew it, her fingers were feverishly rubbing at her now swollen clit for that sensual release.

"God, I should just finish relieving myself and get out of here...But this does feel really nice." She moaned aloud. The scent of the rosemary leaves instilled a refreshing coolness on her bottom that contrasted with the heat on her clit, and only made her fingers want to work faster for her climax. She threw her head back, strumming her clit faster and faster until...

Pffrrrttttt!

brrRRRfffRRRttt!

brrRRRfffRRRttt!

Zayla looked down in horror as her stool suddenly erupted into soft liquid chunks, spraying the floor. It sounded like a volcano, but it was much more dastardly. It was like a thick hurricane. She clung to one side of the wall for balance, when the piece of wall -- a brick of wet clay -- tore apart in her grip.

'No no no...this can't be happening.'

All because she'd feasted a little too heartily on the sweet treat on an empty irritated stomach. Now she was paying for it -- with her arse waging war on the Nobility's bathroom.

When her bowels finally roiled to an end, she doubled over, exhausted. She didn't dare look down, where the seeds of her reckless carnage were scattered, instead darting around for cloth to wipe. The cloth was unrecognizable by the time she wiped her filthy bottom, along with the rest of the room, but she didn't care anymore. She just wanted to head back to her quarters, scrub herself down, and sleep.

Slipping her undergarments back on, she tiptoed out of the room, down the dark gaudy hall from before and tried to retrace her steps.

But she had taken only a few steps before she was stopped.

"Intruder! Stop right there! On the ground!" The guard halted her. His voice was big and brooding. Zayla stopped in her tracks, her heart racing in her stomach, sweat beading down her back. She slowly turned to the guards with her arms raised, and knelt on the ground as instructed.

"Please...I know this looks bad but --"

"Silence!" The two men took her by both arms and tied her to a makeshift post on the floor of the room she was in. Bent over, arse out, legs splayed, arms behind her back, she could hardly move.

"No...this is a misunderstanding, I didn't mean to intrude into anything!" Zayla pleaded, though the pillow muffled much of her speech.

"Silence! The King will be the judge of that." The second guard spat. Once they felt she was tightly secured, the two left and shut the door, submerging her in total darkness.

She tremored, wishing that this was all some big misunderstanding and she'd be vindicated somehow. 'Please...please Lord.' she begged. She hoped her begging wouldn't fall on deaf ears.

********

The coronation ceremony had gone well.

After the formal concessions and royal monologues, the moment finally came for Daniel to be crowned King. A royal guard strode down the rolled out red carpet to dress him with a sash that read out his full title, 'King Daniel Marvin Holloway, Highness of Lordliness and Might'.

Not long after, he was bestowed his crown. The same purple and green-jeweled crown that his Father once wore - that was now being passed to him - felt heavy on his head.

With the night coming to an eventful close, he gave his final address.

"Thank you all. Tonight means more than words can express. I know that I have big shoes to fill. But I promise to lead with dignity and class as our leaders before, and to continue leading this country into greatness. I stand before you, not just as your King, but as your Brother, Protector, and Lover of this Country. I vow to honor, protect, and uphold all that has made this country great. Thank you, and goodnight!"

The crowd burst into applause. Daniel gaped at the sheer number of people - farmers and knights from neighboring vassal towns, and commoners and colleagues who were in attendance, cheering him on. Their eyes twinkled with hope for this new administration.

"You should be very proud," The Chancellor said, once he'd bowed and taken his seat at their table. "Your father would be, if he were here."

"Him and your Mother." Lord Marvin agreed, ladling the roast stew meal that had been served prior. "They would be elated to see the son they raised become a man, tonight."

Daniel nodded, a mix of emotions warring in his head. "Thank you, Chancellor. Thank you both." His hands quivered. He felt the weight of the crown, the last thing he had left of his father, pressing into his soul. It seemed the people were no doubt eager for him to lead and fill his father's shoes. But was he truly ready?

"Are you all right, Daniel?" Lord Marvin asked.

"Peachy." He replied, though the croak in his voice and readjusting of his necktie said otherwise.

"I know some things are tougher than others." Lord Marvin leaned in, lowering his voice. "Believe me I know. It was tough for me when I watched your father give his last dying breaths. But eventually you'll see that this experience is a rite of passage that will only make you stronger. You'll understand someday."

"Feels more like a sentencing than a rite of passage." He mumbled under his breath.

Lord Marvin's brows creased, but he said nothing of Daniel's remarks.

Thankfully, a spectacle disrupted the tense discussion.

"Let me th-rough!" A woman shrieked, trying to wrestle out of the grip of two burly royal guards. The petite woman, with her bejeweled bifocals, flamingo jumpsuit, and candy-floss hair, was a sight to behold at the ballroom entrance.

Wary looks from the seated guests darted in her direction.

"Oh dear god, no," the Chancellor moaned. "Lord Marvin, didn't we put all the gossip reporters on the no-attendee list? How on Earth did she get past the gates?"

"I fear that not even a grenade could stop Patricia Poddington from getting past these gates." Lord Marvin snorted. "We better attend to her now, Ernest, before she blows our men's heads off."

"Oh," the Chancellor whimpered. Reluctantly the puttering man stood and turned to face Daniel. "This conversation isn't over. You stay seated, Daniel. Lord Marvin and I will be right back."

The two slipped away into the void at the entrance. Daniel sank back into his seat and rolled his eyes. Already, he was being stifled by the royal life.

Moments later, two different guards approached his table. Their foreheads were slick with sweat.

"Forgive us, Your Highness. " The first spoke. "But there's been a disturbance in your personal quarters. A trespasser, if you will."

"A trespasser?" Daniel repeated, his expression dulled.

"Yes," wheezed the other guard. "One of the maidservants was seen leaving your quarters without supervision. It appears she used your garderobe, and made a foul mess. The stench is diabolical."

Daniel's cock stirred. Afemaletrespasser. "Foul, you say?"

"Oh yes," chimed the first guard, who managed to catch his breath. "We detained her in your room so that you may commence the proper disciplinary action...if that is alright with you of course."

Daniel looked around, marveling at the cosmic irony. On his first night as King, he was being served a woman's hefty bottom on a platter, to deal with as he pleased. The thought of sniffing her stench--her royal transgression--was an opportunity he could not refuse.

He stood up, "Take me to her. At once."

********

Minutes passed waiting in ominous silence. Zayla was restrained to the floor, legs and arms tied, shaking from head to toe.

She had heard the harsh stories--the maidservant beaten for stealing a bath cloth; the cruel, perverse punishments handed down by high nobles for less. She feared her sentence would be handled in a more crude manner: a brutish nobleman having their way with her, stripping her of her title and perhaps her virginhood. She would be forced to flee the castle in shame as a spoiled woman. Petite and wide-reared as she was, she couldn't help but fear that her healthy backside would be mistaken for experience.

Her heart leaped when the doors opened. A tall sashed figure strode in, his gait emitting pure dominance, the gleam of his jewels exuding a wealth she'd never seen before.

She figured it was an elite whose room she'd hobbled into but she heard a whisper of voices at the entrance.

"Apologies again, your Highness. We did not anticipate a servant bursting into your personal quarters."

"No matter. Thank you gentleman. I will take it from here." The figure replied. She felt a heated gaze on her shivering bottom and when she peered closer her heart skipped a beat, for she recognized the face. It was the new king!

His Highness of Lordliness and Might, King Daniel Marvin Holloway, walked into the room. The doors closed behind him and his eyes raked over her: a mere servant girl, bent over, backside exposed, tied on his floor.

His crown glory.

Her sphincter clenched. His cock twitched.

Daniel continued his perusal of her body. Truth be told, he hated his title, it seemed pretentious. But it suited him well in this sense.

His guards had done well, restraining her ankles and wrists for his full access. Her smooth chocolate skin glistened, even in her overalls, and her deep chestnut back flared out to ebony, thick thighs and a cute puckered posterior that made the King think thoughts he probably shouldn't.

All of her enamored him.

The only problem was he couldn't see her face.

Best if he didn't. She was just a treat for now, something he could act his desires on until he was forced to betroth a proper woman.

For now he could enjoy her backside. His cock swelled in his trousers as his eyes never left the girl's healthy bottom.

He bent down on one knee and slowly lifted her frilly dress, exposing the slightly ruffled worn cotton of her undergarments that was typical of a lowly servant. He felt a slight twitch in his nether region knowing what he was to reveal.

Pulling her drawers to her ankles, he revealed a thick, juicy backside with a cute, pink bumhole. Her two chocolate cheeks jiggled gently for him.

He pulled down her dress until it drooped to the floor, exposing her perfect naked physique. She shivered in his hands and in response he roamed his hands over her back and down her legs, to warm her. She stilled.

Good. He wanted her still and ready to smell. He parted her cheeks and inhaled deeply, burying his long, narrow nose between them---only to take a staggering step back.

Good Heavens.

If glory was what he'd smelled earlier in the day over the ballroom balcony, then this was the Holy Trinity: the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit of the most acrid odour assaulted his nostrils. It was a strong tangy and fermenting scent, some mix of spoiled milk or sour cheese with a sickly sweet undertone, only ten times stronger than what he'd ever smelt. A musk, rancid sweetness he could only presume was a byproduct of a bad digestive trout, but sweet nonetheless.

That such foulness could come from between two beautifully thick feminine thighs was beyond him.

"Mmmm," he took a deep, greedy whiff of the concoction, his member straining in his britches.

"S-sir?" Zayla was trembling badly, confused. She'd felt a huge volume of pressure in her cheeks and then moaning. Wait, was that the King moaning? Was the King moaning from her arse? Was the King's face...in...her... no, no no, no, no!

"S-sir, please, I...my bottom..." she whimpered, feeling a wetness between her legs. His hot breath, combined with her earlier custard pie consumption, was spelling trouble for her bowels.

"I was told you made quite the wreckage to my toilet," He moaned, nuzzling his nose between her ripe cheeks. "They said you made a foul mess. How right they were."

What in the world?! Surely he wasn't actually admiring the stink back there!

She made a futile attempt to push his face away from her backside, but earned a hard slap to her buttocks in response. Instantly she blushed.

Determined, she continued to writhe and squirm, spreading her legs just enough so his face wasn't quite sandwiched in. She could not defame herself in such a way. Almost there... just one... more... shimmy...

Pffffffrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrttttttt!