Her Majesty's Creampie

I'm not sure if I blacked out for a moment, but the next thing I remember is the pressure lifting from my head. I was staring up at Queen Sella, who was stretching and yawning. Her handmaidens paid no attention to me, bustling about smoothing down the Queen's skirts and bringing her a fingerbowl to wash the powdered sugar off her fingers. I lay still on the carpet on one side and tried not to move or groan. My own belly was packed and aching. The cream I had sucked out of the Queen felt like a solid, greasy lump bloating out my insides.

"It is half two, your majesty," said Chel politely, clearing away the dishes.

Queen Sella sighed and scratched at her backside. "Fine. Get the wardrobe girl up here. It'll take fucking forever to get into that gown." Ginnie nodded demurely and rang the bellpull. "Be right back," mumbled the Queen. She stepped over me again where I lay on the floor, and headed towards a diphanous curtain.

I managed to pull myself up to one elbow, trying not to vomit at the queasy sloshing in my gut. "Majesty?" I croaked.

"Huh?" said Queen Sella, glancing back in annoyance. She squinted at me, as if noticing me for the first time. "Oh," she said flatly. "You. Well, you got it all out of me. My gratitude." Sella drew aside the curtain to go, and my heart sank.

Then she paused for a moment and gestured vaguely. "The usual guard thing, Ginnie," said the Queen, before disappearing past the curtain. "Fuck me, I'm for the privy. I gotta piss like a racehorse."

* * * * *

When people ask how I became a lieutenant in the Queen's Guards, I just tell them my family bought me the commission.