Zayla and the Perverted King

"'Stay seated,' I tell him. 'Do not wander where you are not inclined,' I tell him. And does he listen to me? No!" The Chancellor huffed, pacing the polished palace floor. The gray hairs upon the stout councilman's neck bristled with fury.

Standing at the helm of his master chambers was the young King Daniel, who watched in silence as the Chancellor delivered his tirade. Beside him, Lord Marvin wore a grave expression on his face--a mask of mute resignation to his counterpart's deep disgrace.

Skies.

"Five minutes." The Chancellor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I left you forfive minutes. And in that short time, you managed to summon a castle-wide manhunt. Have you any idea how worried we were?!"

"I was told by two guards that--"

"You were given the choice to either attend to the matter straightaway, or wait for further counsel. You knew better than to refuse the counsel!" the Chancellor rebuked, sweat lining his flustered brow. "Those foolish guards, I shall deal with later. But as for you, Daniel, you are King now, and you must obey when your council gives you direction. Tell me I am not alone in this, Marvin!?"

Troubled eyes fell upon the co-commander.

"It was... not the wisest choice you could have made upon the night of your coronation." Lord Marvin swallowed, his gaze shifting reluctantly to Daniel's. "We feared the worst for you."

"It was but for a moment," Daniel bit out. He knew he had erred greatly this time, yet he believed his cause was just. Now he was being patronized for daring to step outside the rigid boundaries the Monarchy had imposed upon him. "How am I to be a good king if I may not even do something so simple as leave a chamber on my own accord?"

"A good king must learn to become a good servant first," the Chancellor sighed. "A servant to his people and to his Kingdom. And serving the best interests of the Kingdom requires learning how to take directives from your council. As your closest councilmen we can only do that if you grant us the ability to do so."

He turned to the other two men in the room to back him up: Lord Marvin and Prince Luther, who was seated upon an ornate sofa in his private chamber. Lord Marvin bowed his head in agreement. Luther merely yawned.

The Chancellor frowned. "And just where were you when all of this chaos was transpiring, Prince Luther?"

"Enjoying my lemon tart and minding my sweet affairs." Luther stretched lazily across the sofa. "I am neither the king nor a nursemaid."

Lord Marvin rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks to you, twenty stewards scoured the castle in search of your younger brother. Thankfully Daniel is unharmed, but it could have proved much worse for him. A true trespasser might have come and done him grievous harm. We are already bearing the financial cost of the damages of that night."

"I am sorry. Truly," Daniel interjected, lowering his head. He hated to see his men bickering with each other over his perceived incompetence. "You both are right, and I will endeavor to not make the same error... But, just out of curiosity, what measure of damage are we speaking of here?"

The Chancellor's eyes gleamed. "Oh, just about thousands in damages to your garderobe, not including a broken refuse chute and a backed-up drainage tank that may take weeks to restore! That servant girl may as well have driven a war machine right through this room!"

At this, Daniel's body tensed. "But we shall still grant her clemency, yes? She meant no malice in bursting into my quarters. I am certain of that."

"Oh, I am sure." The Chancellor huffed. "But well-intentioned or not, she has now burdened us greatly. On top of an already burgeoning royal budget, we must use allocated funds to repair your garderobe!" He sighed, turned away, then turned again. "Not to mention, I received a most lengthy diatribe from Mistress Sodderbottom regarding her service these past 18 years. She has a polarizing history of transgression within the kingdom."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that she is a liability. Apparently, she incurred damages to the palace's washing chambers and has been, according to Mistress Sodderbottom, 'terrorizing the female maidservant staff' with her...active posterior...'ere now. Because she was a minor at the time, the infractions were dismissed. Now that she is of age, just penance is due." The Chancellor dusted his shoulder pads. "It would be remiss to keep her in our employ any longer."

"No!" Daniel blurted out. When Lord Marvin and the Chancellor returned a quizzical gaze, he relaxed himself. "I mean... that is too harsh a judgment, is it not? You said it yourself, she is but eighteen. Her family has been with us her whole life. If we cast her out, we are no better. If we wish to lead with grace--we should at least grant her the opportunity to prove herself."

The Chancellor pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Lord Marvin, and the two formed a close huddle, launching into a cacophony of hushed whispers.

Finally, they separated. "Very well then," the Chancellor said. "Since you are the King now, and desire to use your power to grant her clemency then we shall grant this. Under this condition: You have four weeks to take this servant under your wing and have her work in the castle. If she does not prove herself a true servant of the kingdom within that time -- which should be the same amount of time that the garderobe will be repaired -- then the original penance of exile will stand. Wewillfollow up on this. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal!" Daniel beamed, running to shake the Chancellor's hand with fervor. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Chancellor, you shall not regret this."

"Seems Peasy already has," Luther smirked from his seat. The Chancellor groaned.

********

Zayla drew a deep breath as she fretted with the straps on her maiden's raiment.

After the events of the previous night, everyone else held her at arm's length. Only Monyette had come to her straightaway to inquire about her state. No other person dared to speak to her. Not her sister Nellie nor her own mother, who usually shielded her in her own silent manner. She was only met with a look of somber disdain.

If there was any doubt, it was now certain in her mind. She was an outcast. A liability, a stain upon the servantdom of the royal palace. Even to her family. She had erred grievously, and the only thing standing between her and banishment were the untested words of the young King Daniel.

Daniel. She shivered, recalling the events of that heated night before they were interrupted. Had he truly been rapt with her? Enough to reach the peak of pleasure? And had she truly welcomed it?

She did not know what to make of this. In a strangely absurd way, she was flattered that there was a soul who did not find her bottom repulsive. And he just so happened to be the most powerful king in all the land.

Yet she could not wholly give him thanks, for she had no idea if this penance of 'grounds duty' was to be her salvation, or a just due for all her flatulent misdeeds.

Now she waited, anxious in her chambers, to learn her fate.

The door to her quarters creaked open, and in walked Mistress Sodderbottom, her shadow a trenchant, looming force.

"Your sentencing has begun," she said with eyes cold as stone, her lips curled. "Let us go."

Zayla stood up and followed the Mistress as she was led to her ruin.

********

After laboring down several flights of stairs, the two finally came to a dark, dusty corridor. What greeted her was not what she had expected.

There were no windows, working bellows, nor lamps in good repair. The air was thick with dust and cobwebs, and the perilous hall led to an isolated area scattered with rusted weapons, coffers, knightly arms, and other sundry items.

"This is the dungeon," Mistress Sodderbottom stated flatly. "It lies on the lowest ground of the palace, and thus any labor done here is termed 'grounds duty'. You shall sweep this floor until it is spotless, every day until your sentence is reconsidered. I shall inspect you often to ensure you hold to your task."

Zayla looked on. The entire place looked like an abandoned charnel house, swathed in a single, monotonous gray. Curtains that might once have been golden were now a sickly shade. She stifled the urge to retch.

The clock on the wall read a quarter till eight, which meant that she'd be bound here all day.

"But there is no sun, no window, no lamp here for me to track my labor. And I have no mop, no duster," Zayla protested. To cleanse a place so dreary as this was impossible!

The Mistress looked about the room until her gaze settled on a decayed broom hanging by its moth-eaten bristles.

She snatched it up with a sturdy hand. "Here," she said. "This shall serve you well enough."

Zayla's face faltered as she took the crude tool in her hand. "May I break my fast first, at least?"

A repulsed look settled on the Mistress's face. "That gluttonous appetite of yours is what landed you here in the first place! Now, no more delay. Get to work!"

Before Zayla could utter another word, the woman's heels were already departing towards the exit, plunging her into utter solitude.

She sulked. The bristles of the broom whimpered as she began sweeping, fanning the dust motes into a thick cloud. She coughed as the cloud plumed in her face.

She was effectively exiled, having to work in such conditions, and her Head Mistress was clearly setting her up for failure. But still, she carried on. If nothing else, it motivated her to prove her worth. She hadn't broken her fast since the previous night, so the bright side was she could not sink herself into deeper trouble than she was already in.

With some creative thinking, she discovered other cleaning instruments nearby--a hand duster, some gently used rags, and a long fork for lifting heavy objects. That helped her to work quickly and efficiently on an empty stomach. After a considerable span of time passed, she leaned against a cold mantlepiece, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow. The labor had taken its toll. Her muscles ached from exerting herself over every inch of the dungeon, from the mantles to the stone floors, and the chests stacked high, begging to be tidied. She had swept up, down, and in-between every crevice. Now, she needed rest and fresh air.

She spotted a sliding glass in the wall that acted as a crude casement to the outside world and yanked it open, breathing in the fresh air.

Sunlight, finally. It was perhaps this fresh air and shimmering sunlight that gave her reprieve but also turned her attention to a particularly dark area of the dungeon she had not yet noticed. She stepped closer until her eyes were able to discern it: a steel, concave box set into the wall, with a raising and lowering pulley mechanism.

A dumbwaiter. Its hinges were a green rust, and it groaned with the song of the wind. It looked hazardous to clean.But that did not stop Zayla. It only proved more of a healthy challenge to take. She knelt forward, assessing the deep corners and dust-covered hinges, and with her duster in one hand and rag in the other, she sunk herself into the abyss.

It was much deeper than she first thought. She sank lower until she was about waist deep into the belly of the dumbwaiter, where she was able to get into every nook and cranny. The rag she was holding was long enough to allow her to sweep, and so she did just that, capturing the grime and dust in its folds.

When she tried to withdraw, however, nothing happened. It would not budge. Or rather she would not budge. She was held firmly in place, lodged halfway inside the dumbwaiter. She strained against the brass lips of the device, wiggling, pushing, and then sinking into a futile panic. It was no use. She was trapped. Her bottom stuck out high and desperate, allowing no air to pass through or around it, while her upper half was lodged within the dumbwaiter itself, whimpering.

"Hello! Please help me! Anyone!" No answer.

If Mistress Sodderbottom saw her like this, she would surely earn whatever chastisement she received. She simply wanted to be free. 'Oh, I have done it now. Please, I hope she comes to inspect me soon. Even if she must scold me. I can't let this be how my fate ends.'

********

At long last after a stretch of agonizing silence, she heard what sounded like footsteps approaching. She sighed. For a moment there she had thought her pleas had been in vain, as she had briefly drifted off. Her heavy eyelids fluttered open as she listened for movement in her direction.

"Hello?" She whimpered hoarsely, then cleared her throat. "Hello! Is anyone there?"

"It seems you have found yourself in quite a quandary there."

Zayla froze. This was not the Mistress's voice. She knew this voice well. "S-sir?"

"How I have missed that tremor," Daniel crooned, stepping within inches of her. Her bottom started to quiver, and she did not know if it was from arousal or fear. "Do you often find yourself in these predicaments?"

Daniel had come down only to check on Zayla and deliver his proposal. Yet he could not help but feel excited by his discovery--her vulnerable presence once more a sign the universe was looking out for him.

"I-I was cleansing the dungeon as part of my duty." She blushed, clearing her throat to prevent her voice from trembling. "I became stuck attempting to clean the dumbwaiter."

"Cleansing the dumbwaiter? A most fitting task, considering the plight you have landed yourself in," Daniel said cheekily.

Zayla burned scarlet. Arrogant bastard! "I am not dumb!" She protested. Her bottom jiggled with her words, and she cursed herself for her predicament suggesting the contrary. "I just...thought I could cleanse the device in this way from the inside. I suppose not."

Daniel did not bother to argue with her, but now that he had her attention, he was thoroughly intrigued. Only an amateur would try thrusting their entire body into a dumbwaiter to clean its contents. It was more than foolish; if the thing were fully functioning, it could have been fatal for her and her comely bottom. And he would not have that.

She thought she heard the back of her dress unzip and the stroke of a hairy palm on her lower back. "Hey, unhand me! I am not some common harlot!"

"Of course," he replied coolly. "I am just unzipping your raiment, so I may free you."

Oh. Well, that did make sense. Her cheeks flushed with heat. "My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to...please proceed, then."

He reached for the zipper on her dress, pulling down the thin material. Her waistband seemed to loosen.

"Can you wriggle free now?"

Zayla tried to wiggle her hips out and shook her head at the lack of motion. "No, still nothing."

Well, he had tried. He snorted at the manner in which her body jiggled towards him, her voluptuous cheeks bouncing in the musky air.

He traveled his other hand up her dress, revealing her slightly damp smockings.

"I know you wonder why I am here," he whispered softly, tracing a finger up her smockings, pulling them down to expose the apex of her pleasure. "And why I chose to aid you the other night."

Zayla drew in a sharp breath as his fingers inched closer and closer to her womanhood. She hoped he did not notice how wet she was becoming. "Clearly not out of the sheer goodness of your heart." she huffed.

"Clearly not," Daniel smirked. "But I know what it is like to be expected to fail. I wish to aid you... to give you a proposition, if you will."

Zayla softened. A proposition? "Such as?"

"Such as, what if I extricated your sentence? Brought you into my personal retinue, and had my finest servers and butlers train you to serve? Four weeks of being taught by the best of the best. You could regain your Mistress's good graces, and you would not face the threat of exile. Think of it as a probationary servitude."

She paused at that. A probationary servitude. Her aching core paid these words no mind, dripping with arousal. But her scrambled brain was trying to process this riddling information.

"What do you gain from this?"

Daniel chuckled. "You already said it. You."

Her inner muscles clenched.

"Sir--"

"You have not given me your name yet." Daniel interrupted, teasing two fingers along the opening of her passage. It was pink and glistening, practically begging him to stroke her tender bud. The thought that he had eagerly licked her taint the night before without having known her name brought a devious smile to his lips.

"Zayla," She whimpered under his throbbing touch. "My name is Zayla Koori."

"Zayla?" His fingers caressed her bud, rubbing the pink bead in slow, beguiling circles as he tested her name on his tongue. "Such a lovely name. You enjoy it when I touch you this way, do you not?" Another sensual stroke of her bud for emphasis. "You came nearly undone the other day before we were interrupted."

"Oh." Zayla bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. His fingers were working miracles on her pussy. She was a creature of trembling need beneath his touch, her bare bottom grinding needily against him for more. She gasped when she felt the firmness of his member through his breeches, a thick rod of iron on her cushion.

"You are so close," Daniel whispered. He could feel her stomach heave as he increased his intensity, petting the coital flesh with two, then three fingers. He used his other hand to undo his pant buckle and let the air rush upon his stiff cock.

"I want more of you," He breathed, kissing the soft flesh of her ebony cheeks as she ground against his fingers. "I possess a diverse appetite, as you already know, and I wish to explore it further, with you. That is, if you let me." He inhaled, smelling the faint aroma of her behind, a ripe blend of tanginess and spice. The smell singed his nostrils. "Simply more of this, is all I ask. And I shall aid you. What say you?"

Zayla could scarcely catch her breath, her mind a thousand tiny explosive, chaotic ribbons bursting at the seam.

It sounded too good to be true. She would be his underling, his personal project, given four weeks of rigorous professional training to prove her worth as a servant. And the only price she would pay was with her behind -- literally.

How did she know he would be of his word? He seemed genuine but then again he was one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world; men like him had no reason to owe allegiance to lowly girls like her.

Which then begged the question, just how depraved was he? His fascination with her bottom must have been diabolical if he had to make this peculiar arrangement in secret. First it would be sniffing and licking her bottom, then it would be something much more salacious that she wouldn't even repeat. She was but eighteen and a virgin, inexperienced in the world of courtship and sex. Were she to refuse him, would he punish her himself? Send her away to some brothel house where other 'untalented, spoiled and lowly' women went? Would she live to regret entertaining him? She would carry the double shame of being exiled and being deflowered, not a penny or job to her name. Never to show her face to her family again unless they went to visit her and her sad brothel life. If they chose to visit her at all.

On the other hand...she had no one else left to turn to. Her mother was too embarrassed by her to protect her now and put her entire family's positions on the line. And her dearest friend Monyette could not help her talk her way out of this. Her only hope was in this charming king with an appealing proposition and odd obsession for her most foul parts. Even if it involved being made to be the King's personal play pet, for four weeks... she had a chance.

A chance that she could prove herself. That she could be deemed worthy to serve. Worthy to be loved.