Lydia’s reign was brief but notable. Borne of a lower noble house, but not royalty, her hand was given at eighteen to a prince, Wade, who was second in line to the throne. She protested as a matter of course, for she was loathed to leave her friends and lovers, and the prince was almost twice her age.
As a young gentlewoman, the princess-to-be had experience but was not experienced. Her peers clumsily mounted her and she, as clumsily, lay mounted. She occasionally spread her legs to advance her father’s standing, and while those men were not clumsy, usually, neither were they satisfactory. Fortunately, most of them didn’t bed her but rather bent her: over a table, over a chair, or, if they had some imagination, over their knees. She had considered concealing a slit in the folds of her skirts so they wouldn’t have to make the effort to flip them onto her back.
However, her father was a man of principle, and did not allow or compel his daughter to fall to her knees for anyone until after her betrothal – a cunt was one thing, a mouth quite another.
And so, Lydia became a princess who on her wedding night, freshly bathed and naked, dropped onto her knees with both newlyweds pretending that she was pure. She ooo’d and ahh’d and slobbered over her new husband’s cock, which was not a bad cock, she thought, and perhaps one day, she might grow to like it.
Then the prince’s cock did something she did not expect – it withdrew from her mouth and spat its royal jelly upon her face. With her eyes shut and mouth agape, the princess should have been mortified but instead, her cunt did something she did not expect: it sang and rang without the benefit of implanted flesh.
The princess’ new master looked upon his artwork as his phallus fell and regarded her as she did something that he did not expect. Instead of wiping it all away in disdain, she massaged it across her face as if it was a salve made from the finest emollients.
Love is sparked in many a lustful way (or perhaps better, lust is sparked in many a lovely way). “Husband, would you do that again?”
~~~
At first, Prince Wade couldn’t get enough of discovering the different places to cum on his bride: a scratchy armpit, between the shoulder blades, underneath a lifted tit. If there was a crevice to be found, they found it, and she always rubbed his cream deep into her pores. However, his enthusiasm waned over time even as hers grew, leaving her unfulfilled and him exasperated.
And so, the prince allowed, maybe encouraged her to seek other men to share in her hysterias – after his needs were met first. Important men such as himself, after all, had important matters to which they must attend, matters that transcend the neediness of their women. But when the princess’ many, many indiscretions became less than discreet, she was commanded to do something else with her nights – and his knights.
The wretched princess sulked. She argued that she had never been on her knees before anyone but the prince and that no sword but his had ever (after they had wed), ever been sheathed between her legs. “What harm is there in me unifying your guards, servicing them as you cannot, and, in return, they service your wife?” she asked. “Have you not told your soldiers to spill their seed where they may, for tomorrow it might be their blood? And is cum on my flesh not preferred over cum in my cunt?”
The harm wasn’t so much that Prince Wade had heard her calling out for the hot sleet of life to rain down upon her, the harm was that everyone had heard, too loudly and too often. He had enough of her woes and reminded her that a divorce would not come with a merciful beheading but rather a casting into the streets.
“My Lord,” the princess schemed as she disrobed, “Perhaps all I really need is your massive peg in my whorish hole to rid me of these unseemly, truthfully unwanted fancies. Come fuck me as you please, or fuck me to please me, or fuck me to punish me but, my darling, I do need to be fucked.”
“I have other matters to attend to.”
“Of course, my love,” she taunted, “but if, if these matters that are hard in your head are soft in our bed, then you must know that I would be willing to suck and yank on you all day, if need be, to get it hard enough, just enough, to stuff into my lowly, lonely cunt. Perhaps having a little of it there for a little bit would be enough for me.”
The prince roared out his indignance (as there was nothing ‘little’ or ‘soft’ about him), stripped away his pants, and with only a few strokes presented his wholly engorged sweet meat and sugar plums, filled with creamy goodness for her that was only a few nibbles and licks away.
“My cunt doesn’t deserve your seed. Cum on my face? No? My tits? No? My belly? My arse?”
“Silence, weird whore of a princess!” The prince grunted and spilled himself deep inside. Before she could move or speak, he swung one of her legs across the other. “Now keep your legs closed until you give me an heir!”
Since this was one of those times that the prince unreasonably insisted on filling the space between her legs, she patiently waited for him to leave before she scooped and squeezed out her prize, loving her body with her fingers and hands and his spunk.
~~~
Princess Lydia didn’t think of herself as a whore, she thought of herself as a woman who had needs and if her husband wouldn’t satisfy her then she had every right to find satisfaction elsewhere. However, being cast out would probably force her to in fact become a whore and so she took extra steps to cover up her dalliances.
Prince Milo, her husband’s clueless younger brother, had a problem that Lydia turned to her advantage. The only times that the palace wags stopped gossiping about Lydia was when they prattled about Milo’s disinterested bride, Princess Ella, and how all of her personal time was spent with her handmaidens, none of whom had an interest in obtaining husbands for themselves.
Milo was easily convinced that he would not really be cheating on Ella, since cumming on Lydia rather than in her could not be considered as sexual relations. One brother was like any other to her and they stole away when and where they could to expose her bosom, nestle his cock betwixt her tits and pump his cum onto her face and chest.
Lydia stopped abusing Wade’s guards and advisors as she was ordered and found other men – men who could be intimidated into silence. Her seminal needs were once more getting met without her husband finding out. However, the queen’s informants were not as easily fooled.
One day, the queen summoned the comely princess, who curtsied low, afraid to look. The queen lifted her face with a touch of a royal finger under her chin. “You have the loveliest complexion,” she sighed, “and we both know why, don’t we?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Come. Sit.” The queen returned to her throne as the princess settled her skirts across the steps. “All those men – this is not about their cocks, exactly, is it?”
The princess’ cheeks reddened and she turned away.
“Daughter, they all have cocks and we all have cunts and to blush at that is a silly waste. I don’t understand you myself – such a messy business if you ask me – but I’ve been on this Earth long enough to know that whatever rings a woman’s bell, rings it.” She gestured toward an attendant who escorted the other three princesses into the chamber. “Listen now to what your sisters have to say.”
“We can no longer have you taint the reputations of the women in the royal family,” scolded Princess Reina. “What the people think of one, they think of all!”
The queen silenced the indignant princess. “There is no need for you to put on airs here and now. We all know that you will be queen one day and it is right that you should not have to fight for respect. What you have failed to say was that since you’ve already given the future king several heirs, you have a magnanimous offer for your sister.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, of course.” She held her head high and told her sister-princess that she may seduce her husband, the heir apparent, as often as she would like: “For the good of the family.”
“For the good of your cunt, I might think. May it sleep for a night,” added the queen.
“You may borrow my man as well,” Princess Ella interposed, “but not so often that he neglects me.”
“Please, your handmaidens’ tongues are in your cunt more often than your husband’s cock. Bells are indeed rung in many ways.”
“My husband has told me many times that he would like to splash his seed upon you,” added the youngest, Princess Trea. “But please don’t steal him away, as he is a good man who is always good to me and I do truly love him.”
“You see, there are four healthy royal cocks for you now, so there is no reason for you to be soliciting others. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The three more-acceptable princesses left so that the queen could finish her conversation with Lydia. “Your sister who will be queen was correct regarding their royal reputations. This ends now. I would consider offering the king himself to you but that opportunity does not arise often these days, I’m afraid.”
“I understand, Your Majesty.”
“A trollop begs for cock. A queen never begs. She doesn’t need to beg. Be a queen.”
~~~
Ever available, Lydia stopped begging, difficult though it was. Her husband rewarded her with less contempt and his brothers rewarded her with ropes of imperial spunk. All three of her sister princesses became satisfied that the family’s standing was one of note and not notoriety. Somehow, the cum-soaked princess had harmonized with the royal family. She knew it and held her head high for it.
The king and queen had taken a liking to their second son’s wife. Princess Lydia truly wanted to become statelier and so would hang onto the queen’s every word. The King loved that he could make ribald suggestions and jests in her company which she answered with an appreciation of his wit while still projecting an appropriate modicum of modesty: “Oh, my, my king, the things you say!” They often invited her to tea and recitals, and sometimes they invited her husband.
The queen confided in Lydia that soothsayers had long said that the king would outlive her, and now her physicians concurred. “The king loves you and so you will tend to his needs after I am gone.” That night, the king returned to his bed after he feebly sprayed what spunk he could muster on his new paramour’s belly. Lydia had been waiting for him, naked in a bed far from the one she shared with her husband, the prince cuckolded by his king.
Plans and arrangements had been made by the queen, who passed quietly several months later. Prince Wade was happier with his newly gifted seventeen-year-old consort than he ever was with weird Princess Lydia, who bedded alone, conveniently near the king’s chambers. After an appropriate period of mourning, Wade divorced his princess who was subsequently wed to the king. The union was blessed by the church, the court, and the people of their kingdom as everyone knew that their beloved late queen had wished for it.
At first, Queen Lydia’s life was grander than she had ever imagined but then her spunk supply dried up. Nobody, especially the princes, dared to defile the king’s new bride, leaving her with the wanting, watery seed of the once-virile ruler. The sad queen nonetheless took her new duties seriously to pay back the faith and support of the woman she replaced and gained the love of their subjects.
Princess Reina suspected that Lydia might try to keep the throne when the old king would someday pass, ruining her chances to rule through her husband Prince Aldous. She was never cruel, but she and her sisters withdrew the comradery they had built.
It came to be that Reina had a change of heart one night when she saw a cloaked Lydia sneaking through the palace. “A nighttime stroll, sister, perhaps to accost some unwary merchant for a taste of his wares?”
“Yes, if you must know, yes!” cried the young queen. “Damn my former husband for making me into what I am and damn you for reveling in my misery!” Reina did not expect that response to her taunt and was made speechless.
“Have you never experienced the joy of a meaty cock pulsing in your hand rewarding you with its outcry of love upon your flesh? Its texture? Its aroma? Its taste? Sister, help me! If this is what being queen is to be then I would give it up in a heartbeat for one last debasement of my face!”
It was then that Reina realized she had nothing to fear and embraced her wretched sister. “Return to your room. I’ll find some way to lessen your suffering.”
Lydia impatiently paced in her room and was about to escape again when Reina came to her with a wide, shallow chalice.
“For you,” she said. “Wade and Milo and Aldous and Jeffery in one cup, milked by the hands of your sisters. Take it and rest and we’ll find some way to make you whole and happy again.”
Reina left before Lydia could reply. She hesitantly touched the thick contents and watered the still-warm seed with her tears. She inhaled its pungency and flicked her tongue to capture a taste. Carefully setting her treasure aside, Lydia stripped her clothes and woes and sprawled on her bed.
After another sniff, another taste, Lydia dipped two fingers into the creamy mixture and smeared some across her cheekbones. She dabbed some under her nose and then painted her lips, licked it all away, then painted them again. She coated her nipples and then re-coated them after a pinch and a twist. Her hand was shaking when she placed a tiny bead atop the swelling bead above her cunt.
Unable to restrain herself, the cum-starved queen emptied the cup on her face and tits, rubbing it all in with one hand while fucking herself with the other. She stuck her nose into the bowl and licked it clean before tossing it aside, fingering her way to one overdue orgasm after another.
Princess Reina quietly returned later that night and retrieved the empty chalice while the cum dried to a dull sheen on the lulled queen.
~~~
With her melancholia lifted, Lydia thanked Reina and the others, adding, “I’ll beg no longer. I have the means and I will find my own ways to satisfy my wants without offending my husband.”
The queen’s most trustworthy handmaidens were charged to discreetly gather a daily dose from men in the palace. Spunk in a cup was not as good as spunk hot from a cock but it was usually enough to appease her and sometimes to satisfy her.
Lydia began to travel and as she did, new roads followed ahead of her. She journeyed as queen by day to the delight of the commoners but camped at night as an unknown woman to the delight of many an uncommon man.
Winter bound Lydia home. She befriended two brothers-in-arms who gratefully gave away their hot, fresh cum as thanks for the occasional private hour. Princess Trea often invited Queen Lydia to have tea with her and Prince Jeffery, omitting the tea to whack her young husband off for her and her sister's benefit. “Don’t leave me,” she would plead, “You are so good to me. I love you so much.”
On Lydia’s birthday, the princesses and their maids presented her with a heavy flagon.
“Wine?”
“Better,” they all giggled and left. Cum, spunk, jizz, seed, whatever it might be called it was the stuff of life and the stuff of Lydia’s life – and an entire flagon of it.
She was understandably late to sup with the king who forgave her and afterward gave her his present. “So wet already – did you peek at what your gift was to be, you naughty girl?” he jested.
“A girl can only hope, my love!”
The king was pleased with how well he had tamed his young queen but as he aged, the queen became more cunning and daring. After Reina told her what it took to fill their gift, Lydia struggled to relearn her studies of numbers. This many men for a flagon, how many for a cask, a drum, a barrel, a …
~~~
Many years had gone by since Aldous and Reina had ascended after the king’s death. Lydia readily stepped aside as she had promised – as she had wanted. The dowager queen was loved by the people, in part because of the fine roads she had built.
The kingdom’s menfolk had expected the call for the annual pilgrimage which was always made when summer melded with autumn – a harvest before the harvest. Some brought their wives, mistresses, concubines, or servants but most traveled alone. Tournaments, feasts, and other amusements that appealed to the rougher sex abounded throughout the capital but prostitutes were notably, forcefully absent from the streets (although they did have their place).
Landowners, merchants, and noblemen were given their due respect when they issued their tithe, which was collected by the daintiest hands, and mouths, into the finest cruets. However, as far as the widowed queen was concerned, one dram of tribute was as noble as any other, and all were mixed together in the same unadorned jars.
Grunts and moans emanated from the tents in the courtyard and fields as the kingdom’s ballocks were emptied into wide-mouth jars. Those who had a coin or two to spare could buy a helping hand and many wives and daughters earned those coins to the annoyance of the professionals. Wagons crisscrossing the fields were filled with the jars, which were deposited in the nearly empty root cellars until later that evening.
~~~
The tub had been wheeled in and filled; its contents were kept more than warm by small flames underneath.
Hairless from the nape of her neck to the tips of her purple-painted toes, Lydia inched away from her discarded robe toward her bath. The pungent steam, the dancing candlelight reflecting off the still, shimmering surface never failed to exhilarate her. Her heart thumped in her chest and throbbed in her neck and her temples. She pressed herself to take regular, deep breaths.
Two handmaidens waited in the shadows. One, a veteran of the dowager queen’s ritual, had retrieved the robe without removing her eyes from her, licking her lips in anticipation. The other wrinkled her nose and fought covering her nose and mouth. “Is that filled with what they say it is?” she whispered. While her companion was clearly stimulated by the manly musk, the nauseated woman wanted to retch over the indescribable stench.
Lydia dipped her fingers in and out of the bath and spread them apart, watching the goo form a web between them before it broke apart and dripped like strings of honey back into the tub. Cupped hands broke the surface barely enough to slowly, slowly fill them, and she drank the ambrosia therein. She tipped her hands, fingers down, and watched the syrupy film drip away while she absently swiped her tongue over her mouth.
The handmaidens scurried when their queen held her arms out. They grasped her wrists and arms to keep her steady as first one foot, and then the other disappeared into the opaque bath. The opalescent mud, with streaks and globs of yellow, closed in around her legs without any signs of ever having been disturbed. She flicked her attendants away and paused, arms still raised and squished the mud between her toes.
She bent and squatted to splash and swirl her bath up onto her legs, lovingly coating her thighs and her buttocks, avoiding for the moment getting too close to her cunt. Soon, she troweled and shoveled the mud into her passage, shivering as her fingers touched all of the places that needed to be touched, and she let forth with the most un-regal of whimpers, then giggles, then sighs.
Lydia cooed as she reclined into the mud. To the observers, the bath appeared to be undisturbed, but her jerking shoulders betrayed the underlying movements of frantic hands wandering all over her body. She arched her back and lifted her painted breasts high above the bath, pointing her long, hard nipples beyond the vaulted ceiling. Without warning, she fully submerged herself with a “gloop” and the bath went unperturbed.
The attendants paid heed lest something unwanted would happen to their mistress. The more inexperienced of the two was anxious to move, but the older one held her back. “Wait.” After an eternity of seconds, the queen emerged, gasping for air and coughing out what she had inhaled. Her hair was saturated with the milky goo and she couldn’t open her eyes under the heavy coating that was hugging her face.
"More," she said, blowing a cum bubble.
The handmaidens were confused.
"MORE!" she demanded while squishing through another orgasm.
One maid ran out and grabbed the first man she could find. She told him to keep quiet and do as he was told. "And don't peek!" she added while covering his eyes with her knickers.
Next to the bath, she yanked down his pants and wanked on his cock. Lydia's eyes were glued shut yet knew where to turn. Most of the man's load was blocked by the spunk strung between her parted lips yet somehow she was satisfied and submerged again.
She flipped herself onto her knees with her arse above the bath and finger-frigged herself as she lapped up the bath like a cat laps her milk. It wasn’t long before she dunked her head, screaming out her muffled climax into the pearly bath. Reclining again, exposing only her mouth and nose, she might have dozed.
Later, much later, her final climax came and went. The love of her subjects filled her pores and every hole and crevice of her body. She climbed out, shedding infinite layers of majestic velvety cream en route to her bed.
“Your Majesty, what of your bath?” the one handmaiden dared.
“What you will,” she replied without looking back.
They summoned the awaiting help to wheel the tub away, where a crowd of maids and matrons shared in the mysticism that was the queen’s bath.
Lydia lay on her side, hugged her knees to her sticky chest, and wept before she slept.
~~~
The Royals lived happy lives, and Reina and Aldous reigned well. Lydia was an ambassador to the people and to other lands. She bonded with Milo, whose wife Ella had similarly bonded with a duchess’ daughter. Trea would often lie to watch Lydia suck Jeffery. Aldous’ libido never lessened and so one queen’s cunt was much the same as the other’s to him. Wade always had important things to do but would splash his splooge on her face now and then for old time’s sake.
And they all lived happily ever after.
