‘A woman, if she is a good stock, will become a wife. A wife is for procreating with. A man will lay with his wife – or rather lay on top of his wife – and they will become one for the purposes of reproduction. In modern parlance this is referred to as sleeping with her, though most nights husband and wife will sleep alone.’
It is the evening of my nineteenth birthday, and my mother is delivering to me a speech, one that she has clearly prepared, or that has been prepared for her. This is not a conversation. We don’t converse. It is a speech, and I am its audience.
I brave a question.
‘But, mama, how does a man become one with a woman.’
‘He enters her, my child, via the hole between a wife’s legs.’
The hole between my legs is small, I think, and surely could not fit the finger of man, or anything else for that matter. I dare not, however, ask another question.
This speech, I soon learn, is to prepare me for news of marriage. I am, apparenttly, to marry the newly crowned bachelor King. He is only eighteen, and truly should not have become King unmarried, however the death of his father came as a surprise to us all. I was, I am told, quickly found, though that isn’t to say that it wasn’t a goodly choice. Mama is very pleased; this will make our family far more important than it might have ever seemed possible.
So, I am to marry: I am to be laid down upon; I am to become one with a man – and the king of all men; I am to sleep alone.
All of this news has come as a complete shock to me.
Later in the evening, once I am in bed, alone, as I learn I will be most nights for the rest of my life, I consider the hole between my legs. It has, until now, served me no purpose, and elded me terribly. I place my finger at the entrance to the hole, and imagine that it is the finger of the King, a man I have seen only once, and only briefly, and a man that I have been informed I will next week in Westminster Abbey on the day of our marriage.
I poke at the hole, repeatedly, the image of the King imprinted on my mind.
A few weeks later, I am, now a married woman, laying on the bed watching the King undress.
Between his legs, where I have a hole, I notice the King has a piece of flesh, protruding out, and flopping down. I wonder if that is what shall enter me, an unnerving feeling, seeing that it is much larger than a finger.
The King, my husband, kisses me. For the first time, I feel his tongue enter my mouth, tasting the port from dinner, and feeling his arm firmly clasped about my wait.
‘Oh, Catherine’, he moans through the kiss, his other hand lifting up my blouse and touching the bare skin of my stomach.
After a few moments he stops, and walks back slightly.
To my horror, the flesh between his legs I longer, and wider that it had been; no longer does it flop down but stands up and points towards me.
‘Will you take off your clothes for me, my darling Queen.’
He is a very nice man, and has been so all day. I have been never naked with other person before. I hurried take off my clothes, excited for him to see my body, and for us to procreate and become one.
I see a mountain of curly black hairs from where his flesh protrudes, just like the mass of hair that I have covering my hole. He knees down on the floor and places his head there. I wonder if he is to enter me with his tongue, like he just has entered my mouth, though instead he appears to be focusing his attention above the hole. The feeling is delightful, though totally alien to me.
Eventually, he stands up and climbs on top of me: I am ready to procreate. The pain is excruciating, and I notice again the wetness between mylegs.
After what seems like an age of thrusting, at varying speeds, none of which I was informed of, he screams out, one hand firmly over one breast, and the other tightly pulling at my hair.
Is this it, I think; am I with child?
He lies next to me, and I place my hands between my legs, which are a little bloody – mama had told me that would happen – though the more dominate substance is a warm white one that leaks out of the hole.
I am rubbing my fingers together, with a little of the mixture on them, when my husband takes my fingers into his mouth, and sucks them clean.
‘I love you,’ he says to me, pulling me into his arms. He informs me of all of his plans, as King and as husband. He wishes for us to sleep together every night, though I know this to mean that he wishes to enter me every night, not to sleep with me – later I will learn that he actually means both; later I will learn a lot of things that mama didn’t tell me; the King, it turns out, is farMore romantically inclined than mama had supposed, to at least than she had told me. The evening quickly became my favourite part of the night.
The shaft of flesh is called a cock, he tells me. I beg for it, regularly, whispering in his ear or shouting so the whole palace can hear, for him to stove his cock into my cunt – that’s the name for my hole, he tells me. I learn so much new terminology.
The first time he places his cock in my mouth, I ask him if I can become pregnant that was as well, and he laughs at me. I enjoy suckling on his prick, taking it as far into my mouth as possible, leaning my head back and taking him passed the back of my throat, feeling him cum straight into me.
‘I want all of you in all of me, all of the time, dear,’ I say to him, one day. He places a finger on my arsehole and tells me that a man may fuck a woman there.
‘Oh please, please, my King, fuck me there, put your price in there.’
It is a very tight hole, and we spend hours cuddling with him moving his index finger into and out of my arsehole. It is a very different sensing, one that reminds me a little of the pain of our first night, though it is a pain I enjoyed.
He pulls the finger out, and I reach round to eagerly take it into my mouth, as I do with any part of him that has entered me. The taste is as I might have predicted, had I properly thought about it, though it does surprise me.
I similarly take his shit-covered cock into my mouth, once he has fucked my arse, gagging only a little from the taste.
In court one day, somebody asks me about my husband’s mistresses, and I tell them that the King cannot have mistresses, because he always sleeps with me, every night and every morning, and as often as we can find throughout the day.
She is shocked to learn this, and asks if he does not get bored, though I quickly inform her of all the things we do together, and how he could not possible get bored from our ever-changing erotic repertoire, though I am suddenly anxious about the times when he is on business, and begin to imagine him fucking other women. I ask him that evening, and he is bitterly offended by the accusation. I worry that I have completely ruined our marriage, and plead for forgiveness.
‘Darling, how could you think I would betray you like that?’
‘I don’t know, somebody in court asked me and then I just panicked.’
‘When could I even have the time.’
‘I know my sweet, I realized that, but it gnawed at me all day whilst you were with the Prime Minister.’
‘I’m not fucking him if that’s what you mean.’
It is terrible. We spend our first night apart – my first night ever in my bed, granted to me several months ago though unused until now. I am totally unable to sleep. I pleasure myself, as he has taught me to do for him, though I have never done so alone. I say pleasure, though of course no pleasure comes of it, and at two in the morning I crawl to his door, that which I might have stupidly called our door only hours earlier, and weep outside of it, begging him to let me in.
Eventually I must fall asleep there, for that is where he finds me, sleep on a pillow of tears. I wake to the feel of his lips on my cheek, and immediately recommend my crying despite his kindness to me.
‘I think there is something that you can do that would allow me to forgive you,’ I eventually tells me, once I have calmed down, dressed and accompanied him to breakfast. We breakfast alone, always, despite royal precedent; he likes to have me in the breakfast room.
‘Yes, anything, please dearest.’
‘I think, as punishment, I will indeed take a mistress.’
I am devastated by this news: our marriage is over, at least our modern, glorious, romantic marriage is over: I am to become the wife that my mother had described to me, that one that takes her husband’s cock, ever couple of weeks, for biological reasons and spend the rest of her life alone, wit her fucking court of miserable women who needlessly worry the Queen and lead her to destroy the only good thing in her life.
He can see that I am unhappy by this, and continues his decree.
‘Though, unlike most men, I wish for you to watch as I fuck her.’
Is this better or worse? I actually don’t know. On the one hand I have to witness the horrible thing, stopping me from ignoring it as I might attempt. Though on the other hand, I am a part of it, allowed into the process, and the infidelity becomes part of our marriage, instead of supercilious to it. What a dilemma.
‘How should I watch it, dear, and where?’
‘It will occur in my bed, and you shall watch it from a chair in the corner.’
‘Will she do everything that I do? Will you do everything that we do?’
I am panicking. This definitely feels worse. I wonder, if I begged him, if he would let me go to my own room instead, though imagine what horror that would be, knowing how close I was to their fucking!
‘Everything.’
‘Ok,’ I say, with all the courage I am able to muster. He walks over to me, and places a hand down my front and onto my breast. I feel him pinch my nipple, and crook my head into his arm, the warmth of our love starting to come back, however slowly and through whatever terrible means.
‘What was the name of the person who convinced you?’
‘Why, my love, that doesn’t matter now surely.’
‘I want to know so that I can banish her.’
I tell him, and he places his other hand softly around my throat. I push down on it, choking myself a little to reassure myself of the healing of our wound.
‘Will we be ok?’
He tells me that we will.
‘Can I suck your cock.’
‘We will have no further contact until After I have taken a mistress to bed. Remembered this is a punishment.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Beg me to do it.’
‘No, please.’
‘BEG ME!’
‘Please, sir, please fuck somebody else, so that I can watch, and so that I can be punished for my wickedness.’
As he pulls both of his hands away I know that I will not touch him again before she does, whoever she ends up being. I want so terribly to lick his cock, or feel his fingers, covered in my cunt juices, forced down my throat. My life with this is empty.
He walks out of the breakfast room, and I am left alone.
*
I feel generally awful to have made her think that, and the Queen of all people. She seemed so lost once the idea had become planted in her head.
I just presumed that the King had to have mistresses, because all Kings did, all men did in fact. My husband fucks anything that moves, apart from his horse and me. And the things she said the King did with her, my God! – I mean what I wouldn’t let that man do to me.
The next day, I get a knock on the door, and am informed that the King has summoned me to the palace. All the way there I panic, knowing that I have done a terrible thing, and that Iwill probably be exported for it. Clearly theirs is a good marriage, something I didn’t think existed. I suppose in a way I am sadder about my own state of affairs to know that my husband could have been a proper husband to me. The option was now there, and yet I spend my evenings fingering myself thinking about the stableboy, who if I had any confidence I would proposition.
‘I, that is to the say the Queen and I, have a favour to ask of you, Dorethea.’
‘Anything, your majesty.’
‘It is rather a personal question, and a big favour to ask.’
‘Of course, your majesty, I would serve either and both of you any way I could.’
‘We would like your company in my bedroom this evening.’
I am very taken aback by this. So I can add to the huge list of things that the royal couple do threesomes can I? Well that is a surprise.
‘Yes, of course, though you do know that I am married.’
‘I do, though I also know that he cheats on you: my wife told me that you told her that, is that correct?’
I nod.
‘Would you mind cheating on him? For King and country, of course?’
I shake my head, in total disbelief at the situation.
‘I have never done anything… in that… regard… with a woman.’
‘Oh, no, you misunderstand me. The Queen will not join us, that is to say physically; she will watch.’
Mental: I suggest that the King is having an affair, and the Queen turns it into a kink – what an absolute who she is: I am very impressed.
I have dinner with just the King, informed that the Queen is resting in preparation for this evening.
When I am led into the bedchamber I see that the Queen is bound to a chair, a gagged, though fully clothed. This I had not been told about. I wave at her, as if to say hello, and smile, trying to be nice though totally at a loss as to the way that the evening is going to go.
The King suggests that I undress and leave my clothes in the Queen’s lap. When he first places his hands on my body, we are not on the bed, but standing right by the Queen’s chair, and I desperately try to keep my attention on him despite feeling her eyes burn into my skin, following his hands as they moved around my body. He takes his cock out of his trousers, and places it into my hand. I slowly stroke him, until he is hard, and then prompted gently by his hands I knee down to take it into my mouth.
Only once before have I had a cock in my mouth, and it won’t surprise you to learn that that wasn’t the cock of my husband. I had told my lovely Tom, my secret sweetheart, that I could not give myself to him as it would ruin me for marriage, and sucked him off. A few days later it was he that ended up being send away and married. I can still recall how it felt as he came.
The King’s cock is much larger, and I am impressed when I remembered that the Queen had yesterday told me that she’d taken the whole thing both in my mouth and her arse. I look over to her, her husband’s cock in my mouth, and we make eye contact. I hope she is enjoying herself. I’d do anything for her.
Unlike Tom, the King does not cum in my mouth; my cunt is, unless they can actually grow back, not virginal, and so eagerly waits for his majesty’s prick to enter it. Still we are not on the bed. The King lifts my leg up, and places it onto the Queen’s knee, and then walks towards me, and presses his rock-hard cock, my spit dripping off it, to my cunt.
The King reaches over and strokes the Queen’s cheese, though when he trying to lean into his hand it takes it away, and places it onto my breasts.
After a while, the standing becomes more difficult, and the King turns me around and bends me over his wife to fuck from behind. I kiss her should, softly and secretly, as he continues to fuck me.
After he finishes we walk over to the bed to lie down.
‘Your majesty, I think I might need to go the bathroom.’
‘Wait one moment dear,’ he softly whispers, and then lifts his head from the pillow and calls over to the Queen.’
‘Right, you vile creativity, my mistress would like a piss. Either I can notie you, and she can use you, or I can show her to the bathroom. Your choice. Would you like me to show her to the bathroom.’
The Queen bows her head, closes her eyes, and pauses, before slowly shaking it.’
‘No? So you want her to use you?’
Again with bowed head, and closed eyes, she nods.
I am a little bit confused about this, and very surprised. I thought that he might ask me to use the chamberpot, as my husband, for some inexplicable reason, seems to, but I never dreamt of this. I need a piss, rather desperately, and I’m looking at this woman, the fucking Queen!, thinking am I really going to piss into the Queen’s mouth?
He sees my confusion, and, in what appears to be an effort to lighten the situation, walks over to his wife and undoes her gag.
‘Tell Dorethea what you want?’
‘Please, Dorethea, I want you to piss into my mouth,’ she whispers, ashamedly.
‘But why do you want that?’ I blur out, straight from my thought to my words.
‘Because…’
‘Go on,’ the King urges.
‘Because he… my husband… has been inside you?…’
‘And…,’ the King starts to smile.
‘I want to taste him.’
‘Good little slut.’
‘I want to eat his cum from out of your…. cunt.’
Prompted by the King, I walk over to her majesty, and start to remove my clothes from her lap.
She stars at my cunt as I do so, any desperation she has towards her husband now transitioned to me because he has fucked me. I climb onto her, kneeing on her knees, and position my cunt in front of her mouth, which she moves onto me.
‘No,’ I shout, for Some explanation reason, clearly taken away by the game. ‘You will first drink my piss before you can touch me.’
*
‘No,’ she shouts, the moment my lips touch her well-used, cum-oozing cunt. I am desperate to taste it; my husband was right about that. Though totally humiliated by the entire evening I am also the most turned on I’ve been… well, ever. Piss does nothing for me; in fact it rather disgusts me; but to get the opportunity to taste this woman’s cunt and to taste again my dear husband’s cum, I would drink the piss of an entire Roman army.
She orders me to wait for the piss, open mouthed, and I do.
The first dart, which is thankfully cut short, starts on my nose, and then down to my lips, and I taste only that which manages to drink down into my mouth. She moves a little closer, and places a hand onto her hood to direct the second flow, which goes perfectly all the way to the back of my throat, and begins to fill my mouth. The sound is like a waterfall, deepening along with the increasing puddle of piss, until it begins to dribble out of my mouth and fall onto my blouse.
She pauses allowing me to swallow, which I do, quickly, and then reopen desperate for more.There is an overwhelming desire to vote, which I battle despite how much it seems to actually turn me on.
I wonder if perhaps my husband will use me like this one day. I would drink his piss, all of it, forever, if he wished it. In fact I think I’d just drink his piss, and let him fuck my ladies in waiting instead, or the maid. Oh how much had changed in 24hours; I have, as I understand it, transcended by old position of wife, to a newer position, as humiliated, piss-guzzling whore.
Three mouthfuls and she has finished. It feels strange measuring piss in mouthfuls: I love it!
She then orders me to clean her, and finally I get to place my tongue onto her cunt, only moments ago ejaculated into by my gorgeous King – our gorgeous King! I hope he is watching, though I can only stare at the beautiful frames of black hair, and her shiny wet labia underneath.
Her cunt tastes as rancid as I hoped it would: a combination of its natural wetness, the piss, and my husband.Underneath the obvious taste of vagina, that I know well from having to suck my husband’s cock and fingers after they have entered me, come the saltiness of the cum, and a separate saltiness of general sweat. She presses herself deeper into me, and her clip brushes the tip of my nose. I decided that I am going to make her cum, or at least try to, and I begin flicking vigorously with my tongue.
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