I wanted to stand tall and proud but my peasant knees, born to bend, buckled as I wept. This hardworking, red-haired peasant girl who didn’t even consider herself pretty, had won the king’s favor from thousands of other faces in the packed audience hall that evening and earned the highest position in the realm. A Cinderella queen with an insider’s perspective was exactly what the people needed after centuries of rampant poverty and abuse of power. But, selfishly, I was just happy to never go cold or hungry again.
“Shall we visit your new chambers,” said a royal blur behind my tears. The king, my king, offered me a hand, which I took with a beaming smile. His advanced age and crippling taxes didn’t matter in that moment; I was in love.
The king was eager, his hands feisty. I left a trail of garments up the stairwell to our bedroom which I entered in the nude, blushing at the last guards in the row.
My heart sank at the sight of three other naked women in my bed. Polygamy was a harsh reality to stomach. While the proclaimed prettiest face in the realm shouldn’t trouble herself with envy, these curvaceous floozies certainly had me outclassed in every other area. I silently prayed for my king to announce that their services would no longer needed now that the mother of his future children was here.
I was instead asked to kneel on the stone tiles next to an intricate and surely expensive carpet by the bed.
“Tilt your head up, mouth open. Hands behind your back. Yes just like that. Don’t move unless a servant comes to empty you.” With his feet on the carpet that my knees yearned for, the king disrobed and climbed into bed to clad himself in arms, legs, and breasts.
“My king, I do not understand.” I embarrassed myself with garbled words by talking with my mouth still wide open.
“Oh, I am certain you will do great,” the king said, dismissively, in a brief moment when his lips parted from the nipple pacifier.
“Is this… situation only until we wed?”
The king laughed and his bed partners took the cue. I blush easily, so this cackling nightmare lit my face on fire.
“Thank you for that. But I have a jester for jests, I don’t need them from my royal chamber pot.”
“Chamber pot?”
“Yes, the highest position in the realm for someone lacking noble blood. Was that not clear? Fret not, for the bar is low; your predecessor was inanimate copperware after all. It did not suck me dry or lick me clean. Did not smile at the sight of my dirty cock or say thank you after swallowing a strong morning stream.”
The prettiest face in the realm was needed to urinate on. This affected my enthusiasm. But, when things look grim, my mother has always said to count three blessings, an easy feat in the worst circumstances. The fireplace warms my back. The roof doesn’t seem to leak. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t come up with a third.
The king was now thrusting his manhood inside one of his girls right in front of me. With all of them moaning and so many pale legs at odd angles, I couldn’t say who had the privilege. “Of course, my old chamber pot also never spilled a drop, never complained, and only had to be emptied once daily, so… should you somehow turn out inferior to Old Reliable, I’ll order your farm boarded up and set ablaze with your family inside.”
My gasp seemed to surprise the king, though not enough to pause his vigorous plowing of what I could now see was a young girl’s butthole. “I suppose, from the perspective of a peasant, this might sound like a harsh punishment,” he said after some painful-looking introspection. “But, trust in your liege, this kind of motivation brings the best out of all my servants from lowly farmer all the way up to royal chamber pot.”
“With all due respect, my liege, perhaps a new contest with clearer intentions…”
A flash of anger twisted the king’s face like that of a petulant child being asked to do his homework again without cheating. How close did my family come to the flames in this heated moment thankfully soothed by a neck pillow made of large breasts? “I am starting to think a tongue on a chamber pot is more liability than asset.”
The king of motivation knew what to say to make a girl shut up, tilt her head back, and open her mouth. He had also generously provided the third blessing that eluded me before: I still have a tongue. And a bonus fourth: My family is not currently burning alive.
The orgy resumed. To take my mind off my cramping legs, I recited the bare-bones debrief in my head: Lick, suck, smile, swallow, thank you… that was it. I was so nervous when the king finished inside the first concubine’s butthole and climbed out of bed; I really could have used a chamber pot of my own. It’s not easy to smile with your mouth open so wide the corners hurt, but I desperately wanted to check every box.
My first whiff of cock was an unpleasant introduction. Coming out of someone’s anal orifice after a thorough sweeping and subsequent ejaculation had to be as bad as this job could get, at least.
My mouth was ready to receive but remained empty except for a smell strong enough to taste. It came to me, at the end of the King’s patience, that someone like him wouldn’t dirty his fingers on a slimy snake, even his own. So I went against my gag reflex and various instincts and started licking and sucking off the slick coat of semen churned inside some whore’s asshole. The king didn’t order my family killed so it must have been the right call. Eventually, he pulled back and deigned to place his royal fingers on his spit-shined shaft.
At that moment, when the first hit of warm royal urine splashed on my tongue, I might as well have been a rusty pot; instead of the face he claimed to appreciate, the king was looking up at the ceiling from the deep relief of emptying a full bladder. Desperate to please, and treating any spilled drop as if it would ring like a church bell if it splattered the fancy carpet, my mouth quickly found the best angle and lip shape to funnel all of the nasty piss down my gullet. I had to teach myself to swallow with my mouth open in one second because that is how long it takes a man to fill my skull with his voidings. The sheer quantity and intensity of the neverending yellow blast threatened to make me gag more often than slurping sperm butt-jelly.
I was about to pass out from overdue breathing when the strong current slowed to a trickle. The royal cock head tapped my lower lip to shake off the last few drops. I remembered to smile just in time as he looked down and bore the initiative of sucking anything leftover in the urinary tract. One final swallow and the most heartfelt thank you I could muster and the king crawled back in bed without acknowledging my extraordinary efforts. A man wouldn’t pat his chamber pot on the head, so I took it as a sign that I was performing my duties adequately.
I didn’t think I was allowed to excuse myself, so I just sat there, mouth open, on my aching knees, trying not to vomit with every small movement that made piss slosh in my stomach.
One of the concubines, the one whose insides I had recently tasted, knew the king enough to do things without his permission. Good for her, except when it involves me. Once the king had picked a new partner, she lazily got off the bed, turned around, and sat down with most of her weight on the chamber pot -—my mouth— which I decided was closed for maintenance.
“Imagine I tell the king that dirty cum leaked all over in his bed because the new chamber pot refused to suck it out of my ass?” she said almost loud enough to pierce the moans. Her confidence cemented the seriousness of her threat. Her butt must have felt the air coming out of my nose as I sighed.
What else is a chamber pot to do? I opened my mouth around her asshole and I ate the cum out of this whore. I sucked and slurped and punched my tongue in there as far as it would go. If sunlight could reach that deep, you would have seen that rectum sparkling. And what did I get as a reward for such a thorough cleaning job? Another dozen mouthfuls of pee to swallow from a different hole.
My stomach was already bulging when the other two girls had their turn. The king’s sexual escapades were fueled by wine and some aphrodisiac alchemy, so it felt like it was always someone’s turn to use the chamber pot. The taste of sperm and ass would only be washed away by piss. The taste of piss could only be scrubbed by dirty cocks and sperm-filled butts. But I sucked and swallowed and tongued and gargled with an unfaltering smile. Even if they didn’t know it, my family was counting on me back home.
It was hours later, when only the birds knew of the imminent sunrise, that a servant came to escort my shaky legs and bulging piss baby to the sewage pit where I expelled a night’s worth of nastiness from both ends. The mixture tastes worse on the way out. I was back at the king’s bedside in time to drink his morning pee with a smile and to thank him for such a strong-tasting offering. He chugged another potion of stamina and woke one of his girls with a slap on her ass before dirtying the cock I spent all night cleaning.
As the years went by, my usefulness outlived that of every whore. My tongue knew the taste of hundreds of different buttholes between cheeks of all colors. A little bit of pride was flushed down with every swallow until all that was left of me was the hope that my well-trained mouth could one day give the king a heart attack. That dream was squashed the day the king entered his bedroom with a confused-looking naked girl at his side, which was unusual because the night’s whores were already waiting for him in bed.
“Why is my old chamber pot still here?” he yelled at the guards. “Find out who was supposed to move her and burn their family.”
“My liege?” I croaked. It had been a while since my lips had formed words other than ‘thank you’.
“Hgh, I hate giving bad news. Listen, you’ve been a decent chamber pot but now that you’re almost thirty years old, I can’t really claim I have the prettiest chamber pot in the realm anymore. I mean, look at how cute this one is.”
“Chamber pot?” the cute one asked. It seemed like the rules of the contest had not been made clearer this decade.
“Egad, what a mess. So many people are going to burn for this.”
My biggest shock was learning that I was not thirty years old yet. Time must stretch when swallowing apple juice with seeds since I would have guessed I was in my fifties.
“I wasn’t going to stick around an angry king farther than arm’s reach from the closest boob. I crawled out of the room on my soft hands and callused knees. To put an end to further humiliation, I was ready to crawl naked all the way home.
“You don’t have to crawl.” The king told me after setting his new chamber pot in mouth-up position. His first kindness? I was not fooled for one second. “It will take too long. A guard will carry you to the stables. There are never enough chamber pots in that filthy place.”
On the shoulder of the guard carrying me to the stables, I counted my blessings: No more king. No more whores. Horses are… pretty? Let’s go with that.