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Blackheart

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Blackheart last won the day on October 4 2020

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  1. Hey there Brianna!

    I've always been a fan of your videos, and I was wondering what your policy is for customs? I'd like to order one if you do them. Also, just as a bonus if you're interested, I'd be happy to write you a story - just for pisses and giggles, as it were - if you like that sort of thing and enjoy my writing.

    I hope you're well in the apocalypse.

  2. You say that, but I've also wet myself for like... 4 minutes straight. I've got a video if you want to see it, 😛
  3. Heh, given we're both queer as hell, I'm sure she'd be more than pleased.
  4. Damn, thanks for the kind words folks! I'll be sure to let her know, and we'll see if we can make some more 🙂 Edit: 69th post. Nice.
  5. 2,521 downloads

    One of my partners is pretty into wetting herself, so we decided to take a walk downtown on a beautiful sunny day. By the time we even made it there, she was already desperate to pee, and she had to stop to try and hold it. Sadly for her, she lost control and peed all down her shorts and leggings. We had to make a hasty exit when she finished as there were people all around. She seems to think she's not cute, so part of the reason I wanted to post this here was to prove her wrong (She also enthusiastically consented to me showing this).
    Free
  6. My Partner, Lazuli, Wets Her Shorts in Public View File One of my partners is pretty into wetting herself, so we decided to take a walk downtown on a beautiful sunny day. By the time we even made it there, she was already desperate to pee, and she had to stop to try and hold it. Sadly for her, she lost control and peed all down her shorts and leggings. We had to make a hasty exit when she finished as there were people all around. She seems to think she's not cute, so part of the reason I wanted to post this here was to prove her wrong (She also enthusiastically consented to me showing this). Submitter Blackheart Submitted 10/04/2020 Category Female  
  7. I'll throw my hat into the ring. I just wrote this one, and I'm psyched with how it turned out.
  8. (Okay, I am really happy with how this turned out. Let me know what you think. I intend to continue this.) Her heels tapped against the ground in a quick, rhythmic staccato as she hurried down the street to the waiting rideshare car. Dressed in a long, stylish black coat, she was a woman on a mission. More precisely, she was late. As the door opened, the coat parted slightly as she climbed in, revealing her six-inch heels and fishnet stockings, hinting at more beneath. “Cuttin’ it close, eh Rei?” The cabbie’s soft voice sounded amused, though not unkindly. It belonged to a petite woman with a garishly pink pixie cut and black glasses. Rei tossed her bag across the eat and closed the door with a huff, clicking her seatbelt into place as the car pulled away from the curb. “Well, at least it’s only the second time this week.” She briefly smiled at the disorganization that was her life. Her own voice was sonorous, inviting. In another life, she would’ve been a lounge singer, enticing crowds with lilting tones and heartfelt melodies. While she pretended the idea at karaoke on the weekends, Rei’s profession had her enticing crowds in an entirely different way. She was, in the evocative words of H.L. Mencken, an ecdysiast, a dancer who in her performance sheds her clothes. In more vulgar terms – an exotic dancer, a stripper. She rather liked the word ecdysiast, though she doubted Mencken would like her coffee-colored skin. Below the coat, she wore one of her “uniforms”, a black lace onesie that hugged her curves and barely covered them. Normally, she wore something a little more public facing, but Rei had been late enough getting out the door that it made more sense to just wear her first outfit. It was chilly as all hell though, and it made her need to pee worse – the opportunity for the toilet another casualty of her timeliness… Or lack thereof. She pressed her legs together and bounced her knees a little bit. Taking her mind off the need, Rei looked up to the driver. “So how’s the night been, Cass?” The pink-haired girl shrugged, deep red light from the augmented-reality frames on her glasses glinting backward. “Same as it ever is in our dystopian shithole of a city. Another day, another resume rejected. At least there were fewer assholes in the cab today.” Cass – Cassandra to strangers and Rei six months ago – was a recent university graduate, trying to find work in an increasingly automated and regulated city. Rei understood the frustration. It had been almost half a century since the pandemic that changed the world, but it felt like everything in the decades that followed just made things harder and more desperate for the people left picking up the pieces. She’d almost abandoned her master’s degree in sociology. Rei still participated in open research collectives but she’d long since given up applying for research or teaching positions. At least sex work was a recession-proof industry. Their lives made an interesting reflection of the remade city that was Seattle: Boundless technology climbing up to the sky through the tech towers wreathed in nano-cloud advertisements. Desperate poverty amongst the low-lying brick buildings of past centuries sprawled across the city. And -interspersed between the glitz and grime – the same human hungers that always fuel us: Raucous nights and neon lights, sensual sights and intoxicant delights, a panoply of debauchery driven home in the booming bass of the cyberpunk waste. Welcome to the Bio-Age, where custom genes and gilded screens lightly cover the festering wounds of a septic world that refused to heal from the wounds of the past century. At least… That was Rei’s take on it, as they cruised through the rainy streets to her club, Sinner’s Sanctuary. In the post-pandemic world, a beautiful marriage of nanotechnology and microbiology resulted in the proliferation of cyborg nanoviruses. These half-organic, half-metal miracle machines worked to eradicate the threat of viruses like COVID-19 – along with Ebola, malaria, and other plagues of yesteryear. They were born from the last major push of world governments in concert with transnational corporations before the economic instability crippled the power of these states. Everyone – from the most virulent anti-vaccination religious nut to the poorest brown child in Africa to the wealthiest hedge fund CEO – received an injection that made us all a little bit like Frankenstein’s monster. A dark, brimstone red and riotous unholy purple glowed against the windshield as Cass slowed up by the side door of the Rei’s Sanctuary. The dancer held herself briefly as her legs jiggled in the seat, her tightly toned ass anticipating the waiting embrace of the club’s toilets. On the sidewalk outside, the myriad homeless sat on the streets. One halfheartedly held a sign that read, almost playfully: “Will work for Wafers!” Another, more plaintive, simply said, “Silicon, please. Anything helps.” The nanoviruses reshaped human DNA, rebuilding our immune systems and cellular biology from scratch. The result allowed people to easily adapt to viral and bacterial infection, all but erased the risk of cancer, and helped extend our lifespans by at least 20 to 30 years. It also rebuilt our gut bacteria so that we could adapt to our new steady dietary requirement of silicon, though ready access to that nutrient – as evidenced by the throngs of malnourished people on the streets unable to afford or acquire it – had not caught up to the demand. One of them, a younger woman, was openly gushing urine into the street, her thighs visible in the headlights of the car. Rei groaned in sympathy as a squirt of pee dampened her panties. The dancer grabbed her duffel bag and hurriedly stepped out of the car, wishing Cass a safe night. Rain drizzled on her jacket, and the flash of cold did nothing to help her situation. Though she was only half a block from Sinner’s Sanctuary, making her way past the people was an agonizing slow process. The milling horde of nightlife denizens – club goers, washouts, office zombies, and so on – meandered down the sidewalk, oblivious to her growing need to piss. The Sanctuary itself rested on the second floor of an older, remodeled brick building. Below it, the popular nightclub Dante’s drew a regular crowd that fed into the strip club. Normally she would’ve been thrilled at the packed Thursday night crowd, but at the moment they represented nothing more than barriers to her goal. Her heels tapped frantically against the pavement as she made her way to the foyer. The bouncer, a husky brute by the name of Daj, nodded at her as she slipped by the crowds, gently clearing the doorway with a wide swing of his arm. The building’s hallway was relatively quiet, being off limits to non-staff of the clubs, and she buzzed the elevator. In her first break of luck for the night, the doors immediately opened and she scrambled inside. The outside world closed with the metal doors, leaving her to the silence, the elevator’s muzak, and the tapping of her foot. She dropped her bag and immediately started undoing the buttons of her coat to grab herself. Tap. Tap. Squeeeeze. The elevator was notoriously slow, even on the best of days. Like most things in Seattle these days, it looked pretty on the outside and hid decay and degradation just beneath the veneer. As the lift glacially rose, she took a brief moment to ensure she looked on point. Desperate as she was, she was also about to be on the clock – with all eyes on her. She did look good. In the dim gold lights of the red-accented elevator, Rei’s flawless, coffee-colored skin glowed in the mirrored walls. Her native heritage gave her angular, severe features, softened by her black mother’s warmth and curves. Rei wore shiny black patent leather heels that melded into her fishnet leggings, leading up her muscular legs to the black lace leotard that cupped her body. Glittering violet makeup lent her an imposing countenance – but no maquillage could hide the mirth and mystery held in her eyes. She almost got lost in the feelings and thoughts roiling through the event horizon of her irises when the elevator shuddered to a stop on the second floor. Her pee surged against the walls of her bladder almost, making her grab herself to keep from losing control, and a soft ding signaled the opening of the doors and the return of low lights, bassy music, exposed flesh, and the Sinner’s Sanctuary. “Hex! There you are!” The voice came from the club’s night manager, Joe. His graying, balding head held a sheen of sweat from the night’s various stresses. “Gimme your bag, yer on stage, now!” “But I just got –“ “No buts! We’re down two girls and you spent your prep time bein’ late” He thrust his hand out and practically ripped Rei’s bag from her hands. Well…Not Rei right now. Here, in the club, she was Hex, known for putting a spell or two on the men who patronized the club. Damn, she thought, I’ve gotta piss so bad. Joe practically yanked her toward the stage, waving to the DJ, who started fading in a grinding, slow song. It was one of her favorites and – under any other circumstances – her mind would have clicked into gear. Right now, though, her bladder strained against the tight leotard, and the glow on her skin was more sweat than perfection. Nonetheless, she was on. This early in the night, it was still fairly dead. However, waiting for her at the rack was one of her regulars – Wright. With brown hair just beginning to turn silver, Wright was an academic-turned-techie, directing the programming guidelines of automated cars. Hex had spent months building a working relationship with Wright, and she did not want to fuck it up by humiliating herself in front of him. The song began its slow build, beckoning her forth. The stage was empty save for Wright, his eyes drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. Joe was watching her too – but his eyes only saw the dollar signs her body made for the club. She took a step. Then another, and bit by bit she made her way to the pole, spraying it and wiping it down. Wright sat there, still as stone, his eyes burning holes into her. Normally she loved his look – loved the intensity behind those eyes and the intelligence it fed into. But right now… It just made her want to crawl into a hole and hide. She planted her feet, bending over slowly at her waist as she’d done a thousand times before. Her thighs flexed with the effort of holding back her the flood in her bladder, the crevice between her ass leading to the pinpoint of pressure that held her secrets and her willpower. Do not pee. Do NOT piss yourself. Mind over matter. She could do this. She didn’t say anything to Wright – she didn’t need to. Their initial greeting was always silence and hungry eyes. He reached into his jacket and pulled two tens out, sliding them onto the glossy wooden floor of the stage. Their impassive government faces stared up at her body, acknowledging her physicality and presence. Their tacit message: Good evening. And then the bass dropped, and her mind blanked as muscle memory and mastery took over. A twist and a swing, a crescendo and a drop. The music commanded and her body obeyed. Her arms splayed her glossy manicure as she climbed the pole. Slid down it, vulva peeking out from the edges of her leotard’s gusset. A squirt escaped her muscles, the urine wetting the insides of her thighs. She slammed her legs together, barely making it look fluid, desperately trying to hold on. Wright, oblivious, put another ten on the stage. It was getting bad. As the music began to move toward her second song, another, longer squirt escaped her urethra. This time, droplets splattered the stage, glinting in the light. FUCK, she screamed in her head. Then a break, a pause as the music grooved into the second song. Vibrating with the effort of holding, she couldn’t help but grab herself. She couldn’t even pass it off as getting her outfit undone. She was truly at her limit. Thinking quickly, she slid to the floor, splaying her legs out toward Wright. He put down a twenty, and made a slight motion with his hands, crooking a finger towards him, beckoning her like snake charmer. The look in his eyes brooked no disagreement. She slid her ass toward him, legs dangling over the edge of the stage, and slid her hair and head into his neck, purring slightly as she tried to sell sex with her tortured body. “Are you okay?” It was a compassionate whisper, but it shocked her nonetheless, causing her vulva to release another second-long gush. Pee dampened the edge of the stage, dripping off. He knew. “I…I’m sorry.” She managed to croak out. Her hair dangled across his face. She smelled like dusk in summer. “For what?” He was the perfect gentleman, one hand on his drink and the other at his side. No touching on stage. “I really…Really have to pee.” Despite her desperate she found herself intoxicated by the closeness and intimacy of the encounter. For her, stripping was a job – but one she liked. She liked the sensuality. She liked the sexuality. She liked the closeness between her and her customers. And she really liked Wright. Outside of the club, she definitely would’ve tried to take him down. Inside, she loved the respect he gave her and her boundaries. He was more than into her… But he never pushed. Like an open doorway, he merely invited her in. And she entered, step-by-step. “I’m seriously about to piss myself on stage right now.” His eyes bore into her, staring into her soul. What was he thinking? Was he judging me? He pressed his head into her nuzzling body, and whispered: “If you can’t hold it, sit on my lap.” Another shock. Another second-long gush. Liquid pushed at the edges of her leotard, immediately soaking up and dripping down her inner thigh. She inched her ass closer to the edge of the stage, the light hiding her impending accident. “What?” “It’s dark under the rack. You can pee straddling me.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she was too desperate to care. Pee was beginning to creep out freely. Her exhausted bladder was giving in, and Hex only had moments to spare. With a sigh, she slid off the stage onto his lap, the club’s lights showcasing her dark skin and glittering eyes. Pee immediately poured out of her, flooding her leotard and hissing against the fabric, audible to her and Wright even above the beat of the music. Barely giving a pretense of a show, she ground herself against him as relief enveloped her. She could feel the hot gold soaking his black slacks. The friction felt good. Really good. Almost against her will, she grabbed the stage, pushing her pelvis against his lap as piss poured out of her – through her fishnets and onesie. The wetness pressed against her clit and, combined with the sweetness of relief, produced an intense rush of pleasure. She rode him as she peed, pressing against his… She realized he was as hard as a rock, his cock pressing into his slacks. Yet still he sat almost perfectly motionless, staring at her. Into her. His eyes smoldered with heat. Her fountain lasted for what seemed like forever – though it could only have been thirty seconds. Toward the end, it seemed like something in his eyes snapped, and – every so slightly – he moved his hips against hers. His hands remained away. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a strip club’s exchange always did. But as they moved together that break in sanity in his eyes traveled to her vulva and rang through her body like a bell. The orgasm shook her to her core, and she was ever so thankful for the ear-splitting decibels of the club’s sound system. The moment seemed to last forever. She wouldn’t have been mad. Then the song began to wind down, and reality started to set back in. The rapidly cooling wetness coated her legs. But her accident, at least for this moment, had gone unnoticed. But she would need to move, and anxiety about the next moment flashed across her eyes. He saw it, and merely smiled slightly. “Get up slowly,” he whispered. She did, and as she began to swing her leg over she somehow caught something – and then ice cold liquid coated them both. “Damnit!” Wright exclaimed, as his drink glass bounced away on the carpet floor. His vodka and tonic coated them both, splashing the stage slightly. “Aw, hell!” The commotion briefly attracted the attention of the nearby bouncer. But when he looked, all he saw was a clumsy dancer knocking over a customer’s drink. She apologized to Wright profusely, promising to buy him another drink. The theater worked perfectly, and as the song ended no one had figured out why a 12 ounce drink produced more than a liter of liquid. She collected his tips while he stood up, futilely trying to wipe away the liquid. As she reached the edge of the stage, she looked back, catching his eye, and mouthed, “Thank you.” To him. She took a moment to collect herself in the dressing room, changing her outfit, before heading back out to properly thank him. Yet he was gone. Joe handed her a business card from the club with Wright’s number on it and a message. It said: Good for one free “drink” at a time and place of my choosing. See you next time, lady of the night.
  9. https://www.omorashi.org/files/file/6225-i-really-had-to-go/ Just a video of me, pooping and peeing myself. I hope you like it - and if anyone has any requests, I'd be happy to entertain them 🙂
  10. I really had to go... View File A video of me, wetting and messing myself. I'd held it for a long while, and I really had to go. Enjoy! Submitter Blackheart Submitted 11/24/2019 Category Male videos Clothing Panties/Undies
  11. With the holidays coming up, I wanted to take a moment and offer thanks to Maki, as well as other really awesome folks who've been involved over time in this forum. I won't name all of the other mods, because I know many have come and gone over time and I don't want to say some names and miss others, but I am deeply thankful for the time and effort ya'll have put in moderating this place. I've lurked and been involved in discussions in greater and lesser capacities for years now, and this is probably one of the better online communities I've encountered in general, let alone in a kink/sexual capacity. I know that you've put a shit-ton of time into the site, and I imagine you probably don't get nearly enough thanks for it, so let me be explicit in saying you rock, and you've created something really cool. Happy festive season ya'll, and thank you.
  12. A consideration one must hold for this is that we have a sampling issue: The number of people who have access to and use the Internet in a comprehensive way is not equal across countries or cultures, even within the same country. In the US, for example, the way that sexuality is handled amongst white and non-white culture is quite different because of the way that colonization/structural forces have forced certain values or behaviors on different groups. And in other countries, where Internet usage is less common or used in a different capacity, there may be many kinksters we'll sadly never get to converse with. In Cuba, for example, many parts of the country aren't directly interfaced with the Internet, but rather receive a huge info-package every month with tons of content that then gets distributed on an intranet, if I understand it correctly. My guess is that there's quite a few of us everywhere...And perhaps more every day when we get to have fun with folks ?
  13. https://smile.amazon.com/dp/B01N100ARI/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_awdb_t1_UZAdCbTKQDEGE Have one, it's never leaked.
  14. Hey folks! It's been a long time, but I've always liked this series, and at the behest of folks who wanted some more, I'm diving back into it. I'm including (In separate comments) each chapter. I hope you like it, and I'll write more soon. Chapter 1: Samantha of Northcrest. You, yes?" The guard captain was of the quiet sort, more befitting an scholar than a bloodied veteran of two wars. But Sam knew the man's prowess. Songs were sung of Gin Veridis, First Captain of the Royal Guard. Even outside of his feared armor, the Captain was a deadly swordsman...Perhaps even more so with the freedom from burdensome metal. "Aye, sir. I was recommended by Lieutenant Maxson to you after the Southerner Uprising was put down." Gin nodded, imperceptibly, reading the letter that Sam had brought with her. The paraffin wax seal lay on the Captain's desk. "Maxson is a good soldier, and officer. Your trip was long, though, even for a mercenary." A slightly disdainful smile crept up on Gin's mouth and immediately vanished. It was a common reaction in Samantha's work, and a reason he sought employment within the Guard. "No longer a mercenary, if you'll have me, sir. Maxson believed I would be a fair addition to the Guard, and I would like to take him up on that offer, if you'll have me." Gin stood, and Sam followed, as protocol dictated. She had done her homework - though she was low-born, she was expected to act with all the nobility of a lady in dealings with the royal court. Gin, however, seemed not to notice, instead going over to the small weapon rack opposite of the Captain's chamber. Warm sunlight filtered through the open glass window, a curious luxury practically unknown in the southern lands. It was an autumn day, and the harvest in full swing. "They say that battle is the truest way to show the heart of a man. There's no lies in a man trying to survive the edge of a sword. Maxson knows this well, so his recommendation carries some weight. But there are many men of ill repute that would attempt to settle themselves here. The greedy, the lazy, the lecherous and perhaps worst of all - the traitorous. And even...Especially then, who knows the heart of a woman? I like to get to know potential guardsmen before allowing them any post within the Palace. What say you, Samantha? Would you enjoy a 'chat?'" She nodded and the Captain, now at the weapon rack, drew out two swords, tossing one to Sam. It was of average quality for a normal sword. But it was no normal sword. The edge heavily dulled, its purpose was obvious. "Chats". Without a word, Gin stepped into a combat stance and engaged Samson, who barely parried the heavy opening swing, and protecting himself from the inevitable broken bone that would have followed. And so they began a deadly dance made only a fraction less so by the training blades. It was a test of skill, of experience and most important of all, character. Step in step, Samantha kept up and though the Captain seemed entirely at ease in combat, he did his best to match his skill. She knew the man was holding back, challenging though not overpowering. When she saw her opening to attack, Sam knew it was a forgery, but she took it anyway, to show the man she knew her way around a duel. The only surprise that she seemed to have given Gin, however, was when Sam deflected an attack that was clearly meant to disable and end the combat, riposting in a way that showed a glint of the Captain's true skill. It was enough to show Sam that she was clearly out of her league. Nevertheless, the Captain then stood back, effectively ending the spar. Barely breathing heavily, he nodded. "Well done, indeed, Sam. Your skill and experience serve you well. You may -" And in that instant, the Captain snapped into a salute, breaking off his commentary. Curiosity got the better of Sam, however, who turned behind her to see a girl at the door that she would later learn to be the Princess Amelie Gregorian, heir to the throne of Nortmund. Even as young as she was, Sam saw, at perhaps a mere eleven years weathered, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Golden-red hair cascaded in loose curls to her shoulders, and her face and stance held a kind, if hawkish, loveliness to them. Her body was lithe like a young girl, but her bloom was soon coming upon her, Sam was certain. She wore a frilly blue dress that fit her perfectly and completed the image that she was truly a princess first, and a child second. At the last second, when her eyes fell onto her, she then fell into a salute, shaky though it was. The music that was her voice matched her visage perfectly. "Captain Veridis." The Captain went to ease. "I had dropped by to examine the potential recruit." Her eyes drew to Sam again, making her nearly blush. "I've heard good things about her." "She is...Adequate, your Highness. Much to improve, as he is but a low-born, woman mercenary." Sam felt a twinge of resentment, but resisted it, and forgot it when the girl smiled at her. "The choice is, of course, up to you, your Highness." She stepped into the chamber striding with an elegant gait to the Samantha, who still held herself tensely. "There is no need to be nervous, my subject. I am not as harsh as the Captain here." She looked the woman over, walking in a circle around her. Samantha was nowhere near to the radiant beauty that the girl possessed, but she had a sort of real world, life-chiseled attractiveness to her. A short, tied-back haircut of wild blonde grew from her, and her body was well-maintained by training and combat. Her skill had protected beautiful face from scars, and most of the rest of her body as well. Her breasts were somewhat small, but never sagged, and her bottom the comment of many a lewd jeer. She felt like a horse at market under the girl's eyes though. Samantha's eyes noted that girl herself seemed a little tense as well, though only for a brief instant, as she bent down to look at Sam's toned legs. Samantha though, betrayed no sign of noticed. When the girl stood up again, she addressed the Captain. "You give your approval, Captain Veridis?" Her frame was impassive, but there was an impatient questioning in the girl's eyes. "She seemed a fair enough candidate, and better than many of the men I have seen this week, both in skill and character. It is something of a scandal, however, to induct a mercenary into the Royal Guard, and moreso to the point of a bodyguard. "Well, it is this, or a eunuch, and that would be a cruel thing to stoop to. Besides, she has the backing of Sir Maxson, yes?" the girl replied. He nodded. "Indeed, your Highness. Yes. She meets my standards, and those of your father." "And mine as well. What is your name, my subject?" "Samantha, of Northcrest, your Highness." She bowed deeply. "No longer, dear Samantha. You are now Guardian Samantha, of Nortmund, a Protector and Charge of the Royal Family, and personal bodyguard to the Princess Amelie Gregorian. Is this satisfactory?" Barely able to contain her excitement, Sam nodded quickly. "Most excellent!" The girl betrayed her youth with a clap of her hands, before continuing. "I must confess that I'm in a hurry. You may begin your duties now, by escorting me to my chambers and helping me to prepare for the harvest pronouncement of my father." "Your Highness, there is the short matter of providing her with the Seal of the Guard and the ritual contained. It will only be a few moments." The girl huffed, but acquiesced. "Of course, Captain, but please hurry." She left the room with that, and Gin went to a large cabinet, rifling through its contents. "You should consider yourself lucky, Corporal. The Princess does not often accept recruits so quickly. She must like you dearly. Here, your Seal," Gin said, handing her a white military sash with the gray and blue coat of arms of the royal family. "There is no real ritual, except a few more...Private orders, that I pass onto you from His Majesty. You see, the Princess is the heir apparent to the throne, but she has a few peculiar 'habits.'" Sam was confused, but somewhat expected it. Nobility had a way of being a little more eccentric. "Like what? She seemed well adjusted enough." "And that's how we'd like to keep her. She is normal enough, but...Well, you shall see soon. However, you must never let her 'habit' become public knowledge, and should do your best to protect her from prying eyes, even within the castle." He sighed ruefully. "Her mother the Queen is something the same, and I have a handful with that. It will be good that we finally have a bodyguard to deal with the Princess." Samantha gave him a sideways glance, but he quickly shooed her out into the hallway, where the Princess was tapping her feet impatiently, practically bounding with energy. Or... Samantha dismissed the thought, but it came unbidden to her anyway. In any event, she ignored it, and joined her charge. "Your Highness, I am afraid that I will make a poor bodyguard without arms and armor." "Do not worry about that, Samantha. We will get you provided for later today. Hurry though, we must get to my room!" "Of course, your Highness. Why the hurry though?" "Nevermind that!" Amelie snapped, then giggled. Her dress swished softly as they walked, and they had reached the other wing of the palace when the Princess suddenly stopped, holding a hand out for support against the smooth stone wall. A sharp intake of breath was heard as she paused, and she looked down momentarily. "Your Highness! Are you alright?!" Samantha tried to support her, to the Princess' protest, when the girl suddenly shuddered slightly, and a soft pattering sound rang from the carpet. "Yes, yes...Just get me to my room. Hurry, Samantha!" Needing no more encouragement, Sam picked the girl up, looking down and seeing a small wet spot in the carpet. Following the girl's terse direction, she headed up the stairs of the northern tower. Amelie's body was tense, and Sam was forced to realize that the girl was in desperate need to release her water. She could feel the girl's damp underwear through the dress, which distracted her with another feeling, and nearly caused her to turn a corner into the sight of a passing servant. Most of the staff was off the grounds, at the Palatial Green, preparing for the harvest pronouncement, but some staff were still within. Her startlement seemed to scare the princess as well, and she felt a renewed warmth from the Princess' bottom. "Hurry, Samantha, I can barely hold on!" Another corner, and another, and the Princess' double-doors stood, beckoning. She pushed them open quickly, not even noticing the lavish decorations of the apartment, and placed the Princess on her feet, where she jammed her hands into her crotch tightly. No longer a regal princess, she was a desperate young girl, barely holding on from soaking her entire dress, Through hissing breaths, the Princess said, "My dress...Get it off..." Samantha tried, but it was slow going. A low-born mercenary, dresses were somewhat foreign to her, and the elaborate one worn by the Princess was even worse. Every few seconds, Amelie squealed, and held tighter, but Samantha watched as small rivulets of golden urine trailed down the girl's stockings, becoming more and more powerful each time. "Hurry!" Amelie said, just as Samantha freed the last lace, causing the dress to fall to the ground in a frumpled heap. Amelie leaped away from it, and took one step. Out of her skirt, she was dressed only in a pair of beautiful silken underwear and stockings, as her breasts had yet to blossom. Though originally a light blue, they were now darkened by the girl's urine, and dripping as she leaked more. Samantha watched in fascination, as the girl squirmed and whimpered slightly, grabbing the underwear tightly, and pulling it taut against her labia. Her perfectly formed, womanly lips outlined the fabric, as her urine spurted out anew, barely held back. Trails of fragrant liquid streamed down her young, pale legs, slowing, but not stopping entirely. Amelie just stood there, squatting just slightly, as Samantha quietly approached. Almost unconsciously, she gently touched the girl's young bottom, eliciting a gasp from the Princess, who then lost all control. A hissing sound erupted through the fabric as pee shot out uncontrollably, cascading over Sam's hand. In a last ditch effort to hold back, the princess pressed herself against Sam's hand, but to no avail. Pee ran over it, and she could feel its pressure as it ran out of the girl's bladder. She was almost amazed by how much the girl held. It must've been some time - a minute, two maybe, and she was still going strong. Amelie's now dark blue panties dripped all over, and her stockings were covered in streaks where they weren't soaked entirely. Samantha realized that she too was wet, and a thrilled feeling ran from her hand to her head, making her lightheaded. She couldn't understand why, but she found the Princess' accident incredibly arousing. For her park, the Princess seemed more than a little excited herself, her breaths coming in short gasps, and a look of ecstasy on her face as her urine finally slowed, and stopped. She grinded herself against Sam's hand for a moment more before realizing what she was doing, and then jumped away staring at the woman. Some time passed for each of them, both too embarrassed by their respective actions to speak. Finally, the princess Amelie said, with a smirk and a giggle, "So, now you know my secret." Chapter 2: Samantha still couldn't believe what she had seen only a few minutes before. The little girl, the Princess Amelie, had wet herself...No, *soaked* herself right in front of her. Perhaps more shocking was her own reaction to the sight. Incredibly aroused, a hot blush enveloped her as she saw the lithe girl's wet ass, dripping with pee, the stockings she wore streaked with urine, and the look of almost orgasmic bliss on the Princess' face. After Amelie's rather redundant remark, she asked if Samantha might offer her some privacy to clean up, something that Samantha readily agreed to. The girl left her bodyguard in the ante-chamber of her apartments, while Samantha played the scene over and over in her mind. Almost involuntarily, she felt her hand gliding down to her most forbidden places, rubbing, massaging her pussy through her linen pants, cultivating that hot feeling of arousal, bringing herself closer, ever so closer to that peak of ple... A sudden noise, the sound of the door knob clicking caused Samantha to start, and she tried to appear composed as the Princess re-entered, though her face was still flushed, and her breath more than a little...Labored. For her part, the Princess looked every bit like the royalty she was, as if her indiscretion had never happened. She was dressed in fresh clothes, a beautiful, form-fitting dress in masterfully matched harvest colors - gold, orange and reds perfectly blended to make it seem as if she were a walking storm of fallen leaves. But to Samantha, all she could imagine were the underclothes beneath. She dismissed the thought however, as duty called. "Your Highness, are you feeling better?" A sly smile crept on Amelie's face, and she nodded. "I just wish I had a little more time to," she paused and giggled, "take care of things, before my father's pronouncement. But as it is, we shall be nearly late if we leave now! Here, you may take one of the ceremonial swords I practice with. It's pretty, but it'll work in a pinch as well. As for clothing...Hmm." Amelie clicked her tongue. "Well, they provide cloaks for the Guard, so we won't need to worry too much, but we'll need to get you something a little, well, more 'royal' soon." She smiled, and Samantha felt horribly under-dressed and, well, poor. "Nevermind for now, though Samantha. Grab one of the sabres from the walls, and we'll be on our way." Samantha nodded and looked against the wall, where a number of ceremonial swords rested, carefully placed on varying racks. In Nortmund, it was a traditional gift to give fine weaponry to the royal family, as a sign of respect for their martial prowess and the giver's own fealty. After a brief glance though, Sam wondered wryly at what a noble thought was "fine weaponry". Most of the weapons were gaudy and horribly unbalanced. One had a pure gold hilt, practically ready to bend and break at a good swing. Another's basket-guard was wrought with wires so fine and unreinforced that it would like as not slice the hand of the wielder if the sword swing didn't cut straight through. One, however, stood out amongst the rest, and Samantha's eyes laid down upon it immediately. The one word that could best describe it was elegant. It was a "new school" sword, slim and agile, meant for fencing as opposed to armored combat, which suited her just fine. The blade was curved just slightly in a reverse S, though it was straight enough for use as a thrusting weapon as well. The guard and hilt were streamlined, a beautiful silver-alloy in an outline of the royal family crest, and the pommel was weighted with a dark blue stone. Despite its beauty, Sam knew it to be a dangerous and deadly weapon, and her belief was confirmed when she held it, perfectly balanced and ready to cut the air. The Princess was too young to know such weapons intimately, but she did provide comment. "Sir Maxson gave me that for my 10th year of birth. He was always a kind man, and he seemed to put a lot of value in it." "With good reason, your Highness. He knows his steel." Samantha held it with awe, before quickly grabbing a silk scarf and creating a makeshift wrap for it. The Princess waited impatiently, and after, they were off with due speed. Already, the sun was deep into the afternoon, and the Harvest Pronouncement would begin with the red and oranges of the evening. Amelie led the way, bringing them to a stable where a detachment of the Guard and the Princess' carriage awaited. They saluted the two, much to Samantha's surprise, who was usually on the other end of such service. As Amelie climbed into the carriage, the sergeant of the detachment stood forward and addressed Samantha. "Madam Greylily, I am Sergeant Hawthorne of the Palatial Guard. I have news from Captain Veridis. He says that there are rumors of southern aggressors within the city. There is little to worry about, but he asks that you remain on your guard. You will find your cloak of office within the carriage, and we will be taking a route outside of the parade path this day." "Osland, here? That seems a little far-fetched, Sergeant. Are you sure?" Samantha felt the cold silk wrapping on her back instinctively. "The war has gone somewhat poorly in the weeks since your departure from the front. Our people fight well and valiantly, but there are traitors amongst the nobility, who wish to see the Royal Family deposed. Osland is providing them aid in this effort. You can be confident, however, that myself and my men are loyal retainers to the Palace. We shall see you safely to the event, and home again." "I have every expectation that you'll do a fine job, Sergeant." Though the man was grizzled, and perhaps twice her age, Samantha's experience and innate charisma lent a commanding air to her, and the man bowed to her as she entered the carriage. Amelie waited, smiling, and holding her cloak. "Beautiful, don't you think?" It was, though not in the way that the Princess was thinking. Its aesthetics were kind to the eye indeed, a wonderful blend of dark blue and white with the crest of the royal family, but its make impressed Sam. Entirely practical in use, it was made of a stout linen, with a silk underlining. Light enough for constant wear, robust enough for harsh weather, and heavy enough to deflect a blade in combat. Sam momentarily regretted the thought though - in recent days, her eyes were rarely appreciated the innate beauty of the world. It was numbers and function, the value in combat or its danger. Her life was a soldier's one, indeed. Out of the corner of her eye though, another feeling surfaced. Amelie sat there in repose, beautiful as ever, and her dress was draped carelessly, in such a way that it bared a pale, perfect thigh. A feeling of heat surfaced, and Sam found herself staring for a moment. She drew her eyes away finally, but not before she thought she saw the Princess watching her. Her heart leaping to her throat, she tried conversation to wile away the embarrassment. "So how do you feel, your Highness? Is everything aright for the festivity today?" The Princess gave her a sly look, before looking out the window once more. "Of course, dearest Samantha," she talked with a mature air at times, foreshadowing the royalty and power within the girl, "Though I'm somewhat distressed about the plans my father has for me." Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong?" "Well...No. It comes with nobility. Sons are kings and directors. Daughters are assets, half-property. The binders of nations. He intends to barter me off, and the harvest will be the first showing of me in true beauty." "I can scarcely think of you as lacking true beauty at any time, Princess." Amelie laughed a musical laugh. "Now you sound like a suitor! But no, this dress is the proof of it. My others are lovely to look upon, yes, but this one is meant to portray me as the trophy that every noble will want to wed." She sighed, then looked sideways toward Sam. "But I have a plan that might earn me a little more time." Fastening her cloak to herself, Samantha nodded to Amelie to go on. But instead of talking, she raised her dress a little farther, exposing the lovely orange panties that she wore. They fitted her snugly, outlining her forbidden parts well. Samantha lost her concentration, and her fastener. Amelie giggled. "You know my secret, dearest bodyguard. But it is more than a pleasure for me." She paused, fastening her eyes on Samantha. For Sam's part, her eyes were half-locked on the Princess' lower body. Her labia was just outlined in the orange silken fabric, and as she watched, it darkened slightly, as the girl released a two-second spurt of urine into it. Even from her position opposite of the Princess, she could see the goosebumps form on the girl's thighs, and felt her own body rush with adrenaline and arousal. "It's also a weapon for my freedom." "How...How do you mean, your Highness?" Sam felt on edge, like her heart was walking a tightrope. She was filled with a lust, though she knew it was forbidden. Despite that, she could barely contain it. "Unlike some," Amelie said, locking her eyes on Samantha, who started, "A nobleman would never desire to be with a dirty girl. My father may show me off this night, but should he pair me with anyone, I have a surprise for them." "But you've already...Done that, haven't you?" "I've let my water go, yes. But I've been holding back something else for a few days, and it's begging to be released. I'm not sure that I shall remain clean this night." The girl giggled, and let out a squeaky fart to punctuate her statement, before fidgeting. "It's actually somewhat hard to hold as it is. I may need your help later." "I am at your disposal, my liege." "I know you are," Amelie said, with a sly smile. ----- Hours later, night was settling in and the festival still in full swing. Her father the King was a charismatic speaker, and the citizens and nobility attending were in good spirits. Amelie's prediction had come true, and she was courted by various nobles. She brushed them away with ease however, and Sam saw a good part of the Princess' father in the girl. She had a way with words. Though too young to drink much, she was given a few glasses of wine, which was enough to put the girl into a much more sultry version of herself. But that sultriness was saved for Samantha, and her alone. She was at the girl's side the entire night, never leaving it, and she received quite a show. During the feast, she found her hand being guided down to the Princess' beautiful ass, during the powder pipe show. Caressing the girl's secret place, she felt the Amelie tense, and a warm wetness envelop her hand for a second, before stopping. Looking up at the princess' face, she saw the desperation in her eyes and knew she needed to move quickly. Helping the girl hike her skirt to a safe distance, she felt a cascade of hot liquid pour from her beautiful forbidden lips, through the orange panties and into the grass below. As it slowed to a stop, Amelie ground her pussy into Samantha's hand for a few brief moments before the servant came their way. Giving Samantha a secret smile, she went back to listening to her father. Soon though, the King had finished his talking, and the formalities of the night were nearly over. However, the dancing still remained. In these times, the nobility used dancing as a sort of courtship. It was rather ironic, but the practice actually grew from the peasant class - the nobles made it all fancified, but its origins were still undeniable. As Amelie and Samantha stood from the table, the orchestra sprung into action. A light melody, an overture, Samantha thought, began. "We should take our leave before we're delayed for this. I'm really not feeling up to dancing right now. Something rather more...Pressing, calls me," Amelie said quietly. Samantha nodded, looking around for Hawthorne, but he was nowhere to be found for the moment. "Of course, your Highness. I'll go call for -" "Ah, Princess Amelie, you look striking tonight, as always." The voice was a youth, barely older than Amelie herself, Sam was sure. It belonged to an ostentatiously dressed noble, who wore the sash of Northcrest. Samantha knew him, being the heir apparent of her home county. The son of Duke Gregory, Isaac Gregory. The last time she had seen the boy, his voice was still high as a choir singer's. She doubted his maturity had followed his physical development. "You flatter me, Isaac. It pleases me to see you. Did you enjoy my father's speech?" The girl nodded to the boy, as befitting his station. She seemed tense, and Sam hoped the exchange would end soon. The girl must've been holding her waste for some time. "I did, but I found myself distracted by you. Would you care to join me in the dance?" The boy looked smugly at her, and Samantha was about to intercede, but Amelie gave her a look that said that this was a highborn affair. Sam sighed and stepped back. "But of course, Isaac. Please, wait here Guardian. I'll return shortly." Taking the boy's outstretched hand, the princess followed him to the makeshift dance floor, where the twirling dresses of the varying aristocracy made the night bloom with the colors of harvest. Samantha was left alone at the table, and resigned herself, grumpily, to waiting. She picked at the things that were supposed to be snacks, according to the maitre d', before resolving to find Sergeant Hawthorne while the princess was occupied. Glancing toward the dance floor, she saw the girl dancing magnificently, though she could see the tenseness in the girl's body. The thought of her desperation made a slight heat erupt in Sam's body. Finding Hawthorne was not as difficult as she thought it might be. He was chatting it up with the gate guard, who were watching the etrance to the noble's area of the festival, keeping the "unclean" masses from intruding. The man had a mug in his hand, but seemed sober as she approached, and snapped to attention. "Orders, Guardian?" "Her Highness will be taking her leave soon. Gather the guard and transport, and we'll be along." Sam's voice was commanding, strong. She fell into the role of officer easily, given her previous experience. Hawthorne nodded, as was off immediately. The gate guard remained in repose, and gave her a rueful look when she raised her eyebrow to him. Then again, some authority would have to be built over time. She turned on her heel, back to the dance floor. However, when she arrived back, she realized to her horror that the princess was gone. A second, frantic glance across the floor confirmed it, and she knew that Amelie was not safe. Thoughts ran through her mind. Could it be the traitorous nobles? Or worse? Calming herself, she knew she had to act. However, raising an alarm here would cause a panic and a scandal, so she would have to move quietly...And quickly. She'd been gone only for a few minutes, so she knew that the Princess could not have gone far. The best plan of action would be to track down the boy first. That task, she found, would be easier than she'd have hoped. Amongst the nobles and their protectors was the captain of the Northcrest guard, drunk as he would be when back home. Striding briskly, and acting casually, she approached the inebriated man, who was regaling a few young guardsmen with a ribald tale of some false nature. "And then, when I...Afffter I rescued her, she of course, hash to pay me back. Shpecial like," Felken, Guard Captain of Northcrest, said, with a shit-eating grin on his face. When he saw Sam, the grin grew even wider. "Well, of all the hells there are! If'n it ain't Slender Sam? Wuz this now...You with the *Royal* Guard?" "No time, Fel. Where's the boy?" "Wot boy, girly girl?" Felken reached his knobby hand toward her breast, and she swatted it away. He barely seemed to notice. Hadn't changed a bit in five years. "You know, Fel. Isaac." Her voice was contained, but the heat behind it radiated from her. Fel's eyes furrowed for a second, but then he shrugged. "Back behind th' Pavvy Tents. Got some young'un in tow. 'Sowin his seed' and all that!" Felken laugh a ribald laugh, but Sam was already gone before the man had stopped chuckling. The last thing she needed was some two bit nobleman of HER county violating the heir to the throne of Nortmund. The Pavilon Tents lined the northern edge of the Green where the festival was taking place. It was quite quiet, as most of the people were at the dance floor. Occasionally a servant would come running about, but would disappear just as quickly. She felt no compunction any longer to play the part of an unafraid Guardian, and drew apart the wrapping to her sword, baring its cold steel to the night. Grasping it in her sword hand, she gliding silently amongst the darkened tents, listening for sound. A muffled shout was all that she needed. Tents of red and green, purple and gold. But only one of green and white, the colors of Northcrest. And that's where she heard Amelie's voice. Caution held her pace steady however, and she approached it carefully. The flap was hanging loosely, and a lamp light illuminated the edges. Voices could be heard within. "Oh, dearest Princess, your reputation is well known. Such a..." The sound of a slap rang out, along with a squeal. "Tease." As Sam crept closer, and pulled the flap back, she saw the young Gregory, and two men-at-arms, both engrossed with the visage of Amelie before them. "You can't do this, Gregory. My father will have your *head*!" "He'll do no such thing. To lose such a valuable bargaining chip in the negotiations with the war? My father influence is strong, and that makes me untouchable. Besides, what worth is a daughter with no maidenhead?" Snapping his fingers, one of the men moved forward, pinning the girl against a large crate. Her beautiful body was outlined in the dim torchlight, and hear eyes almost glowed with fear. "But if I take that maidenhead, it could bring our families closer together, yes? Just think of it as 'helping' the King. Now, let's get a closer look at the goods, shall we?" Samantha could feel the sinister smile on Isaac's face, and the boy threw Amelie's dress up. "What's this now? Did the Princess have an accident in her skivvies? You are a dirty bitch, aren't you? I'll teach you the meaning of good ettiquette." With that, he reached out to her dress to rip it off. Amelie's soaked panties darkened anew with urine as her fear got the better of her. Sam knew the time was now. "Touch her, and you'll never touch anything with that hand again, Gregory." Sam's voice was cold and sharp, icy as the blade in her hand. Spinning around, with a thrill of terror on his face, Isaac stared at her and, realizing she was alone, regained his smug smile. "Ah, the Guardian comes to save the day. But too little, too late, too few. It will be sad when I have to report that a traitor amongst the Guard itself tried to ruin our courtship. Kill her." Sam's face was unchanging, as the men-at-arms drew their swords. They were heavy, meant for the battlefield. Dangerous and deadly weapons, but no match for an agile fencer. They had some measure of skill though, approaching her at flank. Even ill-equipped and experienced, two opponents were a serious danger. Sam had to take the initiative. Waiting for them to begin closing up, Sam rushed the man in front, deflecting his heavy blow with ease and sliding right past him, just in time to miss the thrust from the second man behind. As the first spun around to meet her, she let him run himself through on her blade. She was surprised with how easily it sliced through flesh and sinew, allowing her time to bring the sword up and around to knock away the swing of the second man. Realizing he no longer had the tactical advantage, he instead circled, as Sam followed. It was only a few seconds before Sam gave a light swing, anticipating the riposte and spinning around, slicing the man's arm clean off. In shock, he tried to scream, but only a strangled croak came out, before he fell to the ground, groping for his lost arm. The first man already lay still, cut from stomach to shoulder. Isaac looked at her with horror as she shook the blood from his blade. Her steps came like thunder as she raised her sword one more time to strike. "Sam, no!" Amelie held up her arm, and the command resonated through Sam, her sword arm held in stasis, her eyes burning a hole through Isaac. "We cannot be associated with the murder of a noble, no matter how...Repugnant." Isaac stood, staring at Sam's sword, his mouth agape. "He won't speak of this. It would destroy him and his father were it to become public knowledge. Instead, you will return to Northcrest and remain their for your days, won't you Gregory?" The boy nodded, just barely, terror outlined in his eyes. "Good then. Come Guardian, we must leave before we are seen." The Princess grabbed Sam's hand, leading her from the tent and through the maze of the others, before stopping suddenly, and embracing Sam deeply. "Thank you...Thank you so much Sam. I was so afraid." Tears were in the Princess' eyes. "Of course, your Highness. Of course. Are you alright?" Sam held the girl close for a moment before she moved away. "Please...You will call me Amelie, Sam. You deserve it. And yes, I'm fine. He didn't touch me at all, though I'm sure he meant to. We need to - ugh." The girl suddenly bent over, holding her ass tightly. "Mmmm...I can barely hold on Sam. I need to poop so badly, and this didn't help at all. We need to get back." As if to mark the point, the girl farted loudly. Sam saw the outline of the girl's delicious ass through the fabric of her dress, and could barely keep herself back. "Of course, your highness. I've already arranged for the carriage back." Sam could use a break herself. It had been some time since she had released her own water, and combat always made her need worse. "Mmph...Good. Lets go." The Princess led the way, and they wandered their way through the tents toward the edge, where the lights of the festival twinkled merrily still. Amelie stopped suddenly, and gasped. "Oh no! It's going to come out!" The princess bent her knees slightly. "Sam, please! You must help me hold it!" Amelie begged. Sam quickly strode behind her and slid a hand under the girl's dress, feeling her tight ass. She put her hand on the girl's panties, and pressed up against her anus, which was puckering with a barely held log. "Got to poop so badly..." Amelie mumbled. Finally, Sam felt the turd slide back, and Amelie relaxed somewhat. "Thank the gods. But we *must* hurry." They crossed the Green quickly, and made their way through the mingling crowds. Soon, they came upon the carriage, where Hawthorne stood, ready. "Home, Sergeant." Amelie commanded, tersely. "Of course, your Highness." Hawthorne snapped a salute and went to the head of the group immediately. Sam opened the door for Amelie, who climbed in quicker than lightning. Sam followed, to find the girl desperately holding her behind. "Quick! Close the door! I can't hold it any longer!" Sam did so, as the carriage rode off, and Amelie kneeled down against the bench, raising her dress, and then giving a smoky glance toward Sam. "Guardian, I'm afraid my ordeal has fatigued me so. I just cannot hold it any longer. I'm going to have an accident..." Sam knelt as well, mesmerized again by the Princess. Her delicious ass hung in the air, clad by a slightly damp pair of orange panties. The lace around the edges only seemed to accentuate Amelie's natural curves. Suddenly though, the girl tensed, and she saw her cheeks spread. The smell of feminine poo filled the air as Amelie farted one more time, a quiet, sneaky one, and then a tiny bump appeared at her bottom. "Mmmph..." Amelie's face was one of concetration and ecstacy. She bore down, and the bump began to grow as the thick, firm log of poo slid out into the girl's panties. She grunted, and it grew even more, to the size of a large ball, and then a wet fart came out, sputtering from the confines of her soiled underwear. "Oh gods," she said, "I'm pooping myself like a child. I just can't hold it. It's so big." Sam agreed. Her hand, moving on its own, reached for the Princess' bottom, feeling the bulge, it warmth and softness. Suddenly, the girl let loose with another fart, and she bore down again, expelling more poo into her loaded panties. "I can't stop it, Sam." "You don't have to, Amelie..." The poop continued to come out for a few second more, pushing the limits of the girl's panties. As if waiting for the cue of her finishing, Amelie's bladder released again as well, pouring liquid gold onto the wooden floor of the carriage. A soft patter accompanied it. It caused a similar, desperate twinge in Sam's bladder, and she felt a spurt dampen her own leggings. Sam's arousal grew almost exponentially, and her hand moved on its own volition, sliding along Amelie's pussy, eliciting a gasp from the girl. "Oh *gods* that feels good." Amelie's breath came hard, in gasps, and before Sam could stop herself, her hand slid past the girl's wet panty crotch and began massaging her clit. Amelie grinded herself against Sam's hand, and in no time was shuddering with an orgasm. She fell to the carriage floor, holding herself with her arms on the bench. Her butt made a squelching sound as it hit the floor. Some time passed, neither saying a thing. The combined growing desperation and arousal in Sam made her hold her own crotch. Amelie didn't seem to notice, lost in her own world. Finally, Amelie spoke up. "Oh dear. I've had a terrible accident in my panties. I *am* such a dirty girl, aren't I?" The Princess giggled. Then, seeing Sam's plight, she said: "Oh dear, I have barely let my guardian have the time to take care of her needs. What a terrible mistress I am. Here, let me help you." Before Sam could react, Amelie was on top of her, fiddling with the straps of her pants, revealing her leggings and underwraps, already damp with her own pee. She moved deftly, but then 'accidentally' pressed against Sam's bladder, making her lose another spurt, this time soaking her underwraps. The golden trickle ran under her ass, warming it. She could barely hold on, and squirted again, for longer. A soft hissing sound filled the carriage as pee soaked her wraps and leggings, going on for seconds before Sam could get her bladder under control. "Oops! I'm sorry, Sam. Let's get those off." She undid them easily, revealing Sam's shaven pussy. It made her more comfortable on the hot days, and she like how she looked with it trimmed. Amelie regarded it admirably. "You must need to go so badly. Am I right?" Sam nodded. "So badly, your Highness. I've been holding it all day." The Princess nodded, but then did something unexpected. She leaned down, and began licking Sam's pussy. The feeling was ungodly, and Amelie was a natural at it. Her juices oozed from her crotch, and the Princess lapped it up. Pausing for a moment, she said, "That feels better, doesn't it? We'll make you feel all better." Before Sam could respond, she dived back in, and Sam's words were turned into moans. Her bladder was at the limit, but she tried to hold on - she could pee in the Princess' face! But as Amelie continued, her need grew greater. Only the continued ministrations of the girl allowed her to hold back. But she could feel the orgasm coming, and when it did, there would be no holding back the flood. "Please, Princess, I need to pee soo badly. I won't be able to hold it, if I come..." Amelie only responded by going harder, sending Sam over the deep end. The orgasm was so sudden, so powerful, that it took the breath from her and nearly caused her to pass out. Waves of pleasure racked her, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming in ecstacy. The floodgates fell open though, and a cascade of pee fell into Amelie's waiting mouth, where she drank greedily, still sucking Sam's secret place. The relief was so great, releasing herself into Amelie's mouth, that the orgasm continued for as long as she peed, until finally she slowed, and fell back against the carraige, completely spent. Amelie climb up on her, straddling her, and kissing her deeply. Her shit-filled panties rubbed against Sam's pussy, eliciting another wave of pleasure. And, as a final gift, Amelie released her last bit of pent up urine, the golden liquid running down into Sam's pussy, wetting it and warming it. When their lips released, Amelie smiled at her. It was mischievous, and alluring. It was too much. "Not bad for a first day, hmm?" Three months had passed since the incident at the Harvest Festival, and still Samantha felt like she was constantly on her guard. She couldn't be sure whether the princess' brief kidnapping was one foolish drunken mistake or a political move, but she didn't want to risk it again. Sadly, it had left little time to indulge this new aspect of herself, one unleashed by Amelie's delightful body. The colder months meant heavier clothes and longer stays inside of the castle, where prying eyes kept them from their play. Still, every once in awhile they managed to sneak away for some fun. Today, however, was all business. The Princess' father was holding court, addressing the problems that were arising through the winter. Namely, mercenaries that had failed to find employment or warmer climes. Stuck in the northern lands, they had turned to raiding and banditry in order to survive this unusually harsh winter. The gentry of these varying counties were now turning to the king, and his currently idle soldiers, for support. Samantha wasn't sure what choice she'd make. From a military stand-point, soldiers need to be at use, else they grow bored, restless, and hostile. And the closer to home they are, the happier they'll be. Still, even in the dead of winter, it wasn't an impossibility that a full-scale incursion could happen. However, three months hovering around the Court gave her the gut feeling that the timing of these complaints, if not the raids themselves, was too off. She left the judgment to Amelie, however, as another feeling in her gut told her that her bowels were full. It had been a few days since she had last gone, and the thought of later made her blood pulse a little. She wore a Winter Guard robe, white with a red sash. It was supported with soft leather, providing some protection and better warmth. Under it, her underwear was a soft white cotton that caressed her perfectly toned ass as she walked. Next to her, walking in step with Samantha, Amelie was dressed in a gray, fur-lined dress with red trimmings. It was conservative for her style, but also a gift from her favorite uncle, who was in the court today, so she decided on wearing it. Her panties, Samantha had noticed, were a rich silk the color of purple. She had noticed that the girl had begun to blossom into womanhood, reaching her first lunar phase a month and a half ago. In eager fashion, she soon demanded Samantha teach her how to wrap her breasts, which her Guard was only too happy to do. The cotton wrapping peeked just barely above the back of the dress. “It's a precarious time. My father must show his support for the nobility, especially now, during the hard times. But it is no coincidence that these requests arise now, especially from the southern districts...” The Princess' hair was curled today, falling in bangs across her perfect face. She gave Samantha a slight smile as she talked, one that was undoubtedly meant to be hidden, but still caught by her ever-watchful guardian. “He'll offer help. But I suspect that he'll do it in a way unexpected. If I know him, he'll offer an “amnesty” to the mercenary companies.” “It's a bold move. Good gold can sway most mercenaries. Those that accept will get a free trip to the frozen front, and a ticket for some conscript to see his family. Or maybe use those mercenaries to hunt down the other bandits.” Amelie seemed delighted at Samantha's insights, commenting that she'd fit right in with the scheming nobility, something that gave Sam a slight flutter of dread. “Don't worry, you'd stand out like a sore thumb anyway. Too much integrity. My father does like you though. My mother too. I wanted it to be a bit of a surprise, but he intends to honor you with a rank today.” Samantha smiled back and feigned surprise. She'd found out through the Sergeant under her charge, Hawthorne, a week previous. The man was reliable to a fault, but you could only tell him things that you wanted the front lines to know about within a day. “Don't worry though, you'll still be my guard. Just with a little more authority to back you up. And it'll give my father and mother reason to have a proper conversation with you. They're nice people you know. Despite my occasional comments.” Amelie smiled. “You make them sound as if you were bringing me home as a suitor.” “Would that I could,” she said, grinning evilly. An alcove came upon them and the Princess, as at home as she was, ducked into it before Sam even had any idea of what was going on, before being dragged into it herself. A large statue of a hulking warrior blocked any view of them from the main hall. In a giggling whisper, the Princess grabbed Samantha's breast, immediately hardening the nipples, cooing to her: “I've been so...So uncontrollable with my urges for you. Wanting you, to touch, to be touched. To have your hand here.” She guided Sam's hand to the Princess' nether regions, where Samantha massaged the girl softly, eliciting an equally soft moan. This continued for some few seconds before she herself could barely contain her desire, and slid her hand to the break in Amelie's dress, reaching into those delicious purple panties. The girl's forbidden place was warm and soft, engorged and slick with lust, and Sam wasted no time in sliding a finger inside the girl. It was only a minute, maybe two - time was hard to keep track of – before the girl was gripping Sam like a vice, grinding against the hand, before suddenly tensing and biting (painfully) into the Guard's shoulder as she came. And as she did, a warm wetness enveloped Samantha's hand as golden liquid cascaded from the girl's pussy, soaking those purple panties and running down her smooth, pale legs. Rivulets reached down into the fur-lined boots, immediately hidden and soaked up. Made for snow, a little golden rain would do little to hurt them. However, the patter of urine hitting the stone floor made Sam a little worried that someone might hear, though a quick look back showed that noone was in the hall, miraculously enough. Turning back, the Princess was just coming out of the throes of passion. A blush had enveloped her face, and pee continued to pour from her soaked panties. She must've been holding herself up from sheer for of will alone. And holding very, very tightly to the stone wall. The hungry look that she was giving Sam said that her own body was not safe, but she knew that they would be late if they did not hurry. And in any case, her need to poop was growing, and she didn't need her muscles spasming for any reason. Before the Princess could sink her lips onto Samantha's pussy, she drew her away with a deep kiss, before checking for an empty hallway, and hurrying them along. As they approached the central chambers, the petite orchestra was still playing, ensuring that they were, thankfully, not late. The guard admitted them, and they found themselves surrounded with the gentry of the kingdom. Differing styles, differing cultures – they could each be found within the Royal Court. After all, the unified kingdom was relatively young in comparison to the lordships of the counties. The ceremonies were just beginning, and the nobility filed themselves about, seeking seats according to rank and privilege. Amelie briefly greeted varying nobles as she passed, while Samantha followed in the wake of the royal princess. She took her place amongst the head of the honor guard, accompanied by the other members of the official Royal Guard. Each of the Royal Guard stood out from the rank and file near them. Depending on their charge and their care, their finery reflected their assignment and needs, as well as their own personal styles. There was, of course, Veridis, in all his glory. But the others she had come to know and chat with: Guardian Johan, commander of the South Watch, dressed in a light, white robe emblazoned with the royal symbol. A spear was strapped to his back, the spear that had single-handedly protected Lord Robert de'Conne when traitors attempted to assassinate him. Johan was grim, cold and always serious. Still, Samantha had come to know that he could be charming, if he so chose. He just never so chose. On the other side of fashion and personality was Guardian Griffiths, the Lord Calvary Commander. Armed with a curious combination of a shielded glaive, he taught himself to ride at an early age, and to fight soon after, when the war had first begun. His cunning was said to be matched only by his kindness. Garbed in a pearled ceremonial scale vest and white silken vestments, he was second only to Veridis, and his loyalties rumored to be held first to the people under his care. There were others, of course, but Samantha was distracted. A few days worth of poop pressed painfully against her anus, threatening to cause a disgrace in the woman's wrapped, white cotton panties. With a supreme effort, she managed to fight the cramp off, just as the King began his sermon and service. Nortmund combined the religious and ministerial aspects of government into a single entity within the royal family. After all, as the King is believed to be descended from divine heritage, so too are his sermons thought to be divinely inspired. However, at the moment his words flowed past her like so much the sounds of nature. Nature, instead, was calling her urgently, a fact that the princess had most certainly picked up on. During the speech, the guard was turned outward, toward the audience, as a precautionary method. But after the speech, she turned to see Amelie staring at her. From the distance, she looking nothing less than a beautiful, young woman. The only aspect that marred the image was the predatory hunger that lusted through the princess' eyes, as she ate up Sam's desperation. And indeed, it was getting worse. As the minutes wore on, so too did the cramps get worse. Each time, it became harder and harder to keep herself closed up, much less keep her composure. The crowd, for their part, were enthralled (Or at least pretending to be) by the King, and so ignored the “servant guard”. For that, she was thankful, but the situation was becoming more dire. Just then, the white noise of the King's voice came to an end, and for one brief moment, she thought that her necessity as an honor guard would be at an end. No such luck. “Guardian Samantha of Nortmund, stand forward, and receive the blessing of prestige and promotion.” That was the queen's voice cutting to her. The Queen, although Amelie would be loathe to admit, was not merely a figure position within the royal family. Most, if not all of the secondary administrative duties fell to her, and as such, she played a critical part in the ministration of the kingdom. Still, she was second to the King, an idea that made Amelie, and Sam too, chafe. Her announcement continued, and Sam realized with a shock that she had entirely forgotten about the improvement of her rank. She saluted the Queen, and strode to toward the dais where the royal family sat, just as a cramp bore down on her again. She nearly gasped in pain, as her anus puckered out, refusing to close. Sam cursed her fate at being the first of the ceremony for such an honor. It was, indeed, a great honor to be chosen as the first (Or so she'd been told before), but there were more pressing things on her mind. And body. She removed her weapon and laid it behind her, causing her hole to open even more as she bent over. Try as she might, she could barely hold back the days' worth of poo that was about to exit. Kneeling down before the King and Queen was even worse, and a small log pushed its way into her underwrappings, a precursor of what was to come. In the background, the Princess Amelie was barely able to contain her own lust, watching her Guardian so desperate, and she surreptitiously she slid her legs together and back and forth, squeezing her thighs as she tried to massage her forbidden spot. Next to her, the Queen rose, with a sash in hand. Unlike the one she wore currently, this was embroidered with marks of rank in silvery weave and base gemstones, denoting a Knight Bachelor of the Guardians. Truly, an honor, it was acceptance into the royal family itself, albeit as a low noble. Even with her desperation, seeing it made her eyes glitter with wonder. She would be the first of her family to hold any sort of nobility. And she couldn't help but wonder who... Another cramp made her breath catch in her throat. Only the Queen noticed, and her face made no movement, but Sam could see in the woman's eyes recognition...And something else too. All thought, though, were blasted away, and the Queen's speech as well, as the cramp became worse, and Sam began to lose control. Her toned ass separated again, widening as her anus puckered up. A long, thick, firm turd slid out, tenting the woman's underwear, making it bulge. It broke off, but was immediately followed by another, slightly smaller, and then another. Kneeling there, she was thankful for her robe, else anyone would've been able to see her wraps bulge out with poo, and turn a faint brown. With a supreme effort, she was able to close her hole, but much more was wanting to get out. She felt like her wrappings could barely contain what was already there, and she dare not lose anymore. Else, her disgrace would be public. Her problem was compounded by a sudden need to pee, spurred on by her brief loss of control. Thankfully, the Queen was finishing with her speech, and turned back to Sam. Each step was slow, and graceful, and each of those drawn out moments made her desperation worse. As protocol dictated, Sam removed her sash, and held it for the Queen's taking. In its place, her new one, decorated with rank was placed in her hands. She fastened it to herself, and at the Queen's beckoning, arose, to the entirety of the Guard saluting her. With a roar they raised their weapons into the air, and the nobility itself was then clapping, though in a more conservative manner than the warriors. It was an indescribable feeling, to her so many giving her such respect. She felt warm inside, shocked, almost. Then she realized that warmth wasn't just the overwhelming honor, but pee as well, that had escaped her bladder, and was spurting out down her leg ever so slightly. She clamped herself shut, but knew that time was running out. They wouldn't stop the salute, though, and the Queen moved next to her, waving to them, adding strength to the din. With horror, and before Sam could do anything, she felt the woman's hand glide down to Sam's ass, and feel the bulge that was there. But there was no recoil of horror. No outburst of disgust. The Queen gave her a sidelong glance, and then completed the ceremony with a kiss to each cheek, staring into Samantha's eyes. So close, Sam realized where Amelie got her beauty from. The Queen herself was stunning, in a more mature way. But then, she was gone, turning back to her seat. As part of the honor, Sam would be attending the royal family's private dinner, which would allow her to get to know her charges better. For the time being though, she was trapped to stand again. Thankfully, her waste had no odor. But with both her water and waste still pressing at both doors, she could only pray it did not take much longer. How she lasted as long as she did she could only guess, and she attributed it partially to the grace of God. She was the only promotion of the ceremony, and so the rest went to court business, of which there was little in this month. The announcements took the most time, and Sam squirted twice into her underwraps again, and let more than a few farts silently go. It finally ended, however, and the courtiers stood, to chat and converse a little longer before leaving. Sam was finally free to go, and so she did. She knew she wouldn't make it to a privy, but she hoped she could at least make it to a secluded hallway to finish her disgrace. Dodging the courtiers proved a problem though. It seemed that every other one of them wanted to stop and congratulate her, and perhaps curry some favor. She thanked them all, but said that she had martial business to attend to, but to send word later so that they might have more time to discuss matters. Or something to that effect. She only made it about halfway before she started losing control again. Her anus began to open up again, and another log threatened to push its way out into her overcrowded panties. A few more steps, and then golden liquid spurted out from her pussy, gliding down her concealed legs. With her hole already stretched wide, holding her pee was even harder, and she couldn't stop the slow trickle. Almost to the door, she began peeing in earnest, spurting uncontrollably into her panties. As long as she kept moving, noone would notice her accident in the crowded floor, but her control was quickly slipping away, and her stream growing heavier. She took smaller steps to try and keep any pee from soaking her dress, as rivulets streamed down her muscular legs. She stepped into the hallway, and rounded away from the exiting courtiers, deeper into the castle, toward the royal chambers. Ducking into an alcove, she gave up any pretense of control. What little pee was left within her cascaded out, and poo slid out of her easily, piling into her panties until, with no room left, falling to the floor with dull thuds. The relief was almost orgasmic, and the entire situation had her almost demonic with lust. As her body expelled the last of its waste, she tried to survey the damage. Her robe was, thankfully, fairly dry. Being heavy as it was, it wouldn't show much wetness anyway. Her underwraps were a disaster though, full of poo. Carefully, she untied the knots holding it together, and let them drop to the ground. Best to let a servant think some noble disgraced themselves. Her pussy was on fire however, and she resolved to get back to her quarters for some much needed relief of a different sort. However, when she turned around, she found herself face to face with Rosalia Gregorian, Queen of Nortmund. Her face was impassive, her eyes betraying no thought, not even a hint of what she might've seen. “You look to be in distress, Lady Samantha. May I offer you some assistance?” Chapter 4 A fancy dress is...Perhaps...One of the most difficult things to move in. This, Samantha had decided the first time she'd actually put one on. Even plate armor, heavy as it was, would be actually designed and tailored to its wearer. Interlocking plates, padding on the inside. Perhaps not the most comfortable outfit ever. But you can move in it. Whalebone compressed her lungs until she could scarce breathe, and layers of petticoats threatened to catch up her legs with every step. She was, however, a lady. And ladies, apparently, subjected themselves to crude torture on a regular basis. Sam mused that the reason must be as a sacrifice for living longer than the male counterparts. Shifting her legs again, she would have preferred death at the moment. Across from her sat the Queen of Nortmund, Rosalia Gregorian. Rose, to Sam. They sat in a library, currently being tended to by the Archivists. The robed men mulled about, checking and reordering books, inserting new volumes, removing others. Poring over data. Aside from the nobility, the Archivists were amongst the few in the realm who were literate. It was not always as such. Before the Libraries – not the comparatively small one that resided in the southern wing of the Palace; rather, true centers of knowledge and learning – were burned after the fall of the First Kingdoms, most people across what is now Nortmund and beyond could read. Could write. There were stories and culture found within the books. Theatre writings and such. “You could intimately understand the people and their works from these dramas.” said the monarch, noticing Samantha's eyes glancing about. The Queen, in her own regalia, was graceful even in the ridiculous dresses expected of the female nobility. She spoke with a cool, utterly confident tone, though it was still friendly, comforting. “Explorations of the mind. The soul. The body.” The emphasis, though almost non-existent, spoke volumes. Enough to fill a portion of the library, even. As if she had commanded it, the Archivists began filing out, speaking quietly to themselves. They were a reclusive group, though friendly enough. Their knowledge though, and their practices, made them stand out. They understood the workings of the mind, both literally and metaphorically, better than almost anyone. Definitely Sam. Perhaps even the nobility. As the last of them left, they closed the door behind them, leaving an utter silence, save for the blowing of the winter wind and the crackle in the fire. The Queen stood, smiling at the Guardian. There was a trace of stiffness to her, the regal bearing that she carried. “I'd been meaning to ask you: How has the burden of tithe and title been treating you?” Sam took another sip for the mulled wine, its heat permeating her body. “Well, much the same really. I mean, it was mostly just an honor of ranking, wasn't it?” “Yes, though it more or less formally inducts you into the Royal Family. Extended, of course. Many of the Guardians who acquit themselves well find a place there. If you were to ever bear children, or leave a legacy of such a nature, the honors of Privilege would guarantee their place. It also makes you more suitable for the social exhibitions amongst the nobility as well. Amelie really likes you, you know. She says you have a shrewd mind.” The Queen walked about the library, pacing slowly. “I serve as best I am able, my Queen.” Sam felt a twinge in her bladder. She hoped this wouldn't last too long, as it would do no good to have a repeat of the last week. “Though I must admit, the field of battle is somewhat more comfortable than that of Court.” Rose smiled at her. “One you should learn, however. My dear daughter has a great ordeal ahead of her in life, and she needs someone to protect her, not only from physical dangers, but from those posed by a dangerous word, or a cold rumor. She needs someone there to advise her, but the few “Ladies” who would be of any use to her are as untrustworthy as they are clever. And, of course, avoiding suitors like the plague, as she does, there is little chance of her falling into subservience anytime soon. Besides, she is a fine judge of character.” The woman stopped near the fire briefly. “And she likes you.” Samantha was glad that she was turned away from the Queen, as her blush would have made things awkward. She discreetly pressed her legs together, grimacing at her body's desire for relief. “Yes, well...She is a pleasure to serve as well. Your daughter is both beautiful and cunning. It is a honor to be of use to her.” “Indeed. Your ranking will help to protect her social health as well as her physical. The mind as well as the body. Of course, this all depends on a few things. You have potential, yes.” The Queen leaned against the chair closest to the fireplace, her shadow dancing across the floor toward Sam. “But the quality of your character is something that requires better understanding. And so my husband and I decided that we would each get to know you. He greatly desires a new mind to bounce tactics and war off of as it is. It, sadly, occupies much of his time these months, as it must.” “For myself though...Well...How are you feeling?” “Well, my liege, of course.” Sam wondered at the question and sudden change of pace. “Are you? You know, you remind me a little bit of a dear friend I had when I was a bit younger...” The story soon spiraled out, and both Samantha and the Queen conversed, chatting, exchanging stories, jokes. A servant entered and added more wood to the fire and left. The gray light outside had begun to fade into night. The Queen was witty and very beautiful. Amelie was thin, and would be her whole life, but the Queen had curves to her that few could match. Silky hair and flawless, pale skin, just barely touched with lines. Thalos, God of Wisdom and Serenity, left his feet at the corners of her eyes, a symptom of a lifetime of laughter. It was like seeing Amelie in 20 or 30 years. It was a comforting thought. “And so it goes with so many of my ladies. I deal as best I can though,” Rose said, smiling. “But how are you feeling, Guardian?” Sam's bladder was on fire, as was her body. Her pupils were practically blown, alive with lust, unfocused but omnipresent. She wasn't sure how much longer she would last, but time was definitely running out. “Well, though my duties will soon call for me. I would be more than happy to return shortly, after I have seen to them.” “Soon, dearest. It has been a distinct pleasure conversing with you. But I have one last question.” A surge in Samantha's bladder caused her to slam her legs together, barely keeping her urethra closed. “Of course, my Queen. Anything.” “How is my daughter?” “She's as happy as I can tell, my - “ “That's not what I mean, Lady Samantha. I've noticed that you shared certain...Predilections...That my daughter does.” Sam's heart slammed against her chest – no mean feat with her corset strangling her as it did – and she blushed furiously. Unbidden memories of the ceremonies a week earlier filled her mind: the helpless feeling as she lost control in the middle of the crowd, barely hidden by the heavy robes. And of course, the burned-in memory of the queen discovering her secret shame. And hiding it. Remembering the incident brought a sympathetic surge to her bladder, causing a spurt of golden liquid to escape her pussy, dampening the petticoats of her dress. “I...Ah...” “It's alright. No need to be ashamed.” “She...Is...She is wonderful, in...all...ways.” Sam's knees knocked together as she desperately held onto to her weakening bladder. The Queen took this silently for a moment. “And you enjoy her?” “Unbelievably so, my Queen.” Another wetness began to form, entirely unrelated to her desperation. Queen Rose smiled a secret smile. “But I must wonder,” she mused, tapping a slender finger to her cheek, “how much she enjoys you in return. It is my duty as her mother to ensure my daughter's happiness and success.” “What do you mean?” “Well, my dear Lady, I am in need of some assistance. You see, our conversations have been utterly entertaining. Enthralled, even. Yet...It has left little time to refresh myself.” “I think I can sympathize, my Queen.” A stray thought, an intuition at the back of Sam's mind began screaming its way to the fore. “And it has left me in such a state that I desperately require relief. In fact, I dare not move, for fear of losing all control.” It was impossible to see below the Queen's layers of dress, but Sam could easily imagine the Queen's legs rubbing together. Her breath opened up, and became a little heavier. “Of course, Your Highness. It would be an honor to serve you.” She slipped out of her seat, her bladder twinging painfully, and another spurt escaping into her petticoats. She reached the Queen and, carefully, gingerly examined the woman's dress. The Queen, for her part, stood rigidly still. Her control was amazing, though Samantha could tell she was reaching her limits. Slowly she began to remove a layer, revealing the petticoats of beneath. She gently touched the woman's corset, eliciting a brief gasp from the woman. And then went a layer of the petticoat, and another, leaving only the Queen's stockings, panties, corset and girdle. Her silhouette was beautifully illuminated in the shadow of the firelight, a tall hourglass. And her body was so warm. Sam couldn't help but touch her creamy skin. Her back... Her shoulders... Her thighs... And a magnificent ass, barely clad by the girdle, which Sam delicately removed. Each touch caused the older woman to twich, either in desperation or electric pleasure. “My Lady Samantha, I must beg that you hurry. I am at my last...Ohh.” A brief spurt of twinkling droplets graced the woman's thighs. And suddenly, Sam knew she could take no more. “I shall, mistress. But my own need is too great. Please, help me with my own clothes before I disgrace myself. Her own dress was less complex, but even as the Queen acquiesced, she moved much slower, and stiffer, than Sam had. Another spurt wet her own panties, and the Guardian could feel her control slipping. As the petticoat came off, she lost the last vestiges of her control, spurting again into her panties and again. “My Queen, I'm afraid it's too late...I can't hold it any longer...” She bent over slightly, as golden liquid rushed out of her forbidden place, pouring in a waterfall between her legs. And then she felt the Queen's hand there, massaging her pussy as the urine burst forth. The feeling was uncontrollably blissful, and soon she lost all touch with reality, lost in the feeling of the Queen controlling her ecstasy. Pee rushed out of her with a hiss, splattering the wood floor and running in rivulets down her legs. She barely noticed as a finger slipped into her soaking panties, and then another, slipping past her pee-soaked lips and fingering her rapidly. In short order, she was reduced to a shivering wreck as an orgasm wracked her. She sank into the warm, wet wooden floor, slowly regaining her wits. The Queen straddled her prone body, grinding her slightly. “I must admit, Lady Samantha, that you are quite...Enticing,” she punctuated the word with a pelvic thrust, moving the woman's hot crotch against Sam's legs. “Pleasure me. Make me glow in ecstasy, before I completely disgrace myself. I can't hold it in for much longer.” The Queen's voice went higher at the last, almost child-like. Practically in a trance, the Guardian obliged, slipping to her knees before grasping at the Queen, molesting her, caressing her. She bit into her neck, eliciting a gasp, and ran her hand through the woman's hair, reveling in its softness. But the real prize was the woman's hips and thighs, her perfectly shaped ass that that filled her hands so well. She ran her fingers inside the woman's legs, and she leaked again, a sprinkle of urine gracing the floor. When Samantha pressed lightly against the woman's stomach, she tensed and moaned, followed by a tiny fart. “Please,” gasped Rose, “I can barely hold it back...” In response, Sam moved down, and began to lick the woman through her dampened panties. The Queen bucked on her knees at the feeling, lost in it, yet tense with the effort of holding back. With a finger, she began massaging her clit, rubbing the bump, and the monarch began gasping. She was getting close, her tense muscles pulsing with a building orgasm. Rose grasped Samantha's head and held her there, pressing her mons into her face. Sam licked her hungrily, and then, Rose let out a low, almost predatory cry. Sam pulled away, still massaging the woman's clit, and the Queen fell to her knees, wracked with waves of pleasure. Her wonderful ass right in the Guardian's face, she got a perfect view as the last of the Queen's control slipped away. It began slowly – a dribble of gold erupting from the woman's crotch – that slowly grew, and grew, until a it hissed against the fabric of the Queen's panties. The Queen moaned uncontrollably, still caught up in her orgasm. Her ass tensed and flexed with each pulse, revealing her well-toned musculature. As the tail end of her orgasm spun out, she relaxed entirely, giving up any semblance of holding on. Another small fart escaped her, but then, her ass began to spread, and her hole pucker through her now soaked panties. A solid log began to emerge, tenting out her panties. As it ended, another burst of gas erupted, followed by more logs, pushing down her panties. The Queen, her face in her arms, moaned quietly as she soiled herself, “I'm having an accident, I just couldn't hold it in any more...I'm pooping my panties...” More poop forced its way out, squeezing out the sides of the woman's underwear. Her perfectly shaped ass gyrated slightly, hypnotizing Samantha as she watched the spectacle. Finally, after what seemed like an mind-numbingly erotic eternity, the woman's hole closed up, and the Queen sighed. She lifted her head just enough to mutter, “Ahh, that feels better.” Her load made an enormous bulge, a perfect contrast the woman's creamy skin. Her ass in the air, she practically beckoned for the guardian to take her once more. Sam, for her part, had all but lost her mind, and assaulted the Queen in a frenzy of lust. If this was her future...Well, she could deal with all the snobbish nobles in the world. Chapter 5: "Only strike when victory is assured. The farmer does not law low the wheat with half a stroke; thus the army does not law low their enemy with half their strength. If circumstance conspires against you, offer circumstance tea" - Military texts of Nortmund military legend Johannes Kilgore. The last sentence essentially translates to "wait out the enemy." "Madame, the news is grim," murmured Hawthorne, the sergeant of the royal train's detachment, brushed snow from his coat and cinched the tent's knots, closing the pale light out. The warm lamplight that replaced it featured the man's worried face. "Word has arrived that the 3rd Army from Hiidenburg routed two days ago. The Oslanders torched the entire city, burning a good portion of the 3rd alive. The rest have scattered. Guardian Griffiths rides, but his forces are at least several days from here." Wild, pale blonde locks of hair framed delicate yet hard face of the Knight Bachelor Samantha Greylily. She sat drinking Kafe, a mildly alcoholic stimulant from the east. The floral burn did little to stifle the chill she felt. Hiidenburg was only a few day's hard ride from Daschour, the royal family's destination. They had planned the journey for morale purposes. Things were hard in the fragile southern lands. The cold was brutal, the threat of Osland worse, and to top it off, the bandit problem had not been solved. It had been hoped that a visit from the royal family would ease some of the troubles. In Sam's opinion, it was far too risky an act for such a small gesture. And now, this. She sat forward, finishing off the Kafe in a gulp. "What are Veridis' orders?" "He is still in conference with the royal family. As per your instructions, I've already set the soldiers to striking the camp. We should be ready to go within the hour, or whenever they finish and their tent can be broken down. He has requested your presence as soon as possible." The journey was coming to an abrupt end, now that the Oslanders stalked the southern hinterland. It had only been a few weeks since her "run-in" with the Queen, and the days following it had been mostly business, with the planning of this trip. All for naught, apparently. The train would need to make for Nortmund quickly, else the Osland raiders would overtake the slow-moving caravan. "Tell him I'll be there straight away," she said, pushing her chair back. He nodded and left as the Sam stood. Her winter furs fell open for a moment to reveal the pale, toned skin on her legs. The brutal cold and clouds had all but bleached the sun from her body, leaving her almost porcelain. She shrugged the robe off and revealed her fencer's body briefly. A hard, but comely woman, she was lithe but still curved, smooth yet dotted with thin scars years old. Shivering, she went to work putting on her leather pads. The armor had some metal rivets, but in the cruel winter, the only practical armor was primarily fur and leather. Most metal plates would freeze and shatter. Strapping her sword to her side and fastening her cloak, she made her way out into the sterile white light of the snowy morning. The cold made her bladder twinge mildly, but she was far too preoccupied to let it affect her. Making her way to the pavilion tent, the guards in front of it saluted, and let her pass. Inside sat the King with the Queen at a wooden table, alongside a stern, hardened man. Gin Veridis, First Captain of the Royal Guard. Gin leaned over the table, tracing a line along a cloth map. He was speaking quietly, and with the sound of the soldiers outside breaking the camp, Sam couldn't make out the words. As befitting her station, she awaited the call of her commander. And while she did, her eyes wandered. The royal pavilion was well appointed, though still a little spartan for the road. Rugs lined the boarded floor, and a small firepit heated, the smoke and vapor escaping into a hole built into the top. As her eye traveled, she noticed off to the side, reading quietly, there was the red-haired goddess, the Princess Amelie. Her breath caught, and her body heat ticked up. The mere sight of the girl was nearly enough to set Sam aflame. Worst of all, the girl knew it. Though the girl made a pretense at continuing to read, a sly smile crept up her lips, and her eyes briefly flashed to the Guardian. The Princess was lounging in a silky dress - the tent being warm enough to wear normal clothing, and it clung to the young girl's body in a most insidious way. As she watched, the girl slid her leg down the divan she was laying on, parting the legs and allowing it to ride up, revealing dark blue stockings to milky thighs and eventually the girl's... "Sirrah Greylily, step forward." Gin's voice was even, but the command was implacable, and her mind immediately snapped to attention. Shaking off Amelie's lustful spell, Samantha moved to the table. "My liege," she said, bowing to the King, followed by "your Highness," and another bow. Finally, she saluted Veridis. "Captain, what do you require?" "I trust Hawthorne has alerted you to the situation?" he asked, not waiting for a response. "The decision has been made to make haste back to Nortmund. The Family shall be separated to reduce the risk of travel during the return, and we shall be leaving within the hour. The Queen will ride the carriage, while the King shall return with myself and the Guardians. The men will break the camp and return on their own time. They are aware of the risks, and happy to protect our liege. You," he said, pausing briefly, "shall ride with the Princess. First west, to Ferrus, then back north to home." "Why the split, sir? That seems dangerous." She shifted forward, looking at the map. Various markers had been placed down, and she realized as Gin responded how dire their situation was. "Aye, but it's a sight better than our alternative. As of this moment, we stand in the disputed territory of Nortmund and Osland. The barbarians march on this road as we speak, and we cannot risk the entire family being captured." She stood for a moment, and let the situation sink in, before taking a deep breath, and nodding. "So shall it be done. Anything else?" "One more thing. This," he said, pulling a discreet, plain wooden box from below the table, "Must reach Nortmund with the Princess. And the package must remain intact. It is an artefact. A dangerous one at that. I'm sure I don't need to go into details about proper care and handling of it, yes?" Her world tilted slightly, and she shied away from the box. Artefacts were occult tools, objects of cultists and witches. Why it was there was beyond her comprehension, and it was only her steel will that surpassed her trepidation, and took the package. "It...It shall be done, Captain. My liege, my life is Amelie's." His voice intoned gently, and she realized how rarely the King had ever spoken to her. Tension drew the words tight, but confidence radiated from him. "Of that, I am certain, Guardian. Go with the Gods, and we shall see you Home soon." The King nodded at her, and as quick as that, she was dismissed. Gin went back to discussing tactical details with her liege, and the box sat quietly on the edge of the table. Was it her imagination, or did it practically beckon her? She shook her head briefly, and set her mind to the task at hand. She collected the box and turned. Amelie was already up, with a heavy fur coat on, looking beautiful and mischievous and scared at the same time. She guessed that the princess had already been made aware before Sam had entered. As she made her way over, the girl spoke to her. "I've already taken the liberty of having horses and supplies set for us. The servants have already packed my things. As soon as you're ready, we can leave." Despite the gravitas of the situation, the Guardian had to admire Amelie's strength. There was no trembling or weakness for royalty. In the back of her head, the girl's figure etched itself into her mind. The flowing cloth beneath her coat almost accentuating the her forbidden places. "Would you care for some help getting things together?" Sam kept her face carefully neutral as she nodded, though she longed to touch her, if only for a moment. Instead, she moved to hold the flap of the tent open for the girl, and they left into the pale white light of day. Outside, Hawthorne awaited her. "Madame." "Sergeant. Take care of the Queen. If anyone can, it will be you." A thin line of emotion tinged her words. What was that? Fear? "Yes, Madame. I heard that you're riding for Ferrus, yes?" "It seems that way. Why?" "I know of a man there, in the event you find yourself in a need that can't be paid off with your crest. His name is Thatcher. Caldwell Thatcher. He's not exactly...Reputable. But he is loyal to the crown. Of a sorts." Hawthorne shifted uncomfortably. Sam knew what he meant - A rake of some sort. Ferrus was a made trade town; likely the man was a gambler or smuggler or so. "You might not be able to trust him with your purse, but I'd put even my own life in his hands, if it came down to it. I have hopes that you'll have the easiest journey of any of us. But there's been enough surprises today that I worry for that." "I appreciate the concern, but it won't be needed," she said with a confidence she didn't really feel. "We will be home in no time, and when we are, the first round's on me." He nodded, and saluted as they made their way back to her tent. As an officer of the court, she received her own private, albeit small, tent. That said, as she was used to traveling light, it still held plenty of room. Her small trunk was all that was there, aside from the cot. Amelie followed her in, and closed the flap behind her. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried, Samantha. This has never happened before, and I'm surprised we got caught like this." The Princess moved past her and sat on the bed, sliding her coat off. "It does seem a little odd. The entire trip, and then this happening. I wouldn't have thought that Gin would let the royalty out of the palace, let alone this far south." "My father practically had to drag him here kicking and screaming himself. He argued that fear in this time would cause more damage than any bodily harm that could be put upon him or the family. A harsh sentiment, though I do agree." "There won't be much of a kingdom to lead though if he d-" "Don't say that!" Amelie glared at her briefly, before standing and kneeling to open Sam's trunk, laying the Guardian's belongings on the cot. "I'm sorry. This has me on edge too." She took stepped next to the Princess, watching the girl go through her things. It wouldn't have been the first time, so she had no real qualms about it. "I'd been thinking about that a bit. Why don't we start our trip off with good feelings and good omens?" The girl looked over her shoulder with a sly look at the Guardian, while she stuck her hips out just slightly, causing the cloth of her dress to drape itself over her perfectly formed ass. "What do you mean - wait, here, now? We don't really...Oh gods. I've missed that" Amelie's thin hand snaked itself along the inside of Samantha's thighs. "We have a minute or two, at least. We'll have to keep it quiet and quick," said Amelie through an evil grin, "but that's nothing new." She pressed her ass against Sam's leg and crotch, causing her to moan quietly. In almost a whisper, the girl said, "Besides, I have to gooooo..." To accentuate it, she squeezed her thighs against the Guardian. Unable to help herself, the Guardian slid a hand against the girl's hip bone, pulling her against the woman. Before she realized what she was doing, the other hand had already snaked around the girl's chest, caressing her breast, moving up to her throat. A heavy draw of breath came from the girl, and she hiked her skirt up slowly, still mostly pressed against Sam. Creamy legs were exposed, followed by the girl's beautiful ass, practically glowing in the pale lanternlight. She noted that the girl wasn't wearing undergarments. Sam's mind wandered briefly at the girl's pantiless groin, resting on the pillows in the main tent. With her one hand holding the girl against her, the other slid down, ever so slowly, caressing each part of the Princess' skin, reveling in her soft pubic mound with its light fuzz. Her fingers felt the girl's pussy, and it was already slick. The merest touch was electric to Amelie, who gasped before sidling herself up, squatting down slightly. She held herself against the cot. Her forbidden places were on display, enticing the Guardian. She kneeled before her Princess, eyes glued to the scene before her. An innate sensuality caused the girl to rock her hips slightly, moving her ass slowly in a hypnotic circle. "I've had to go all morning, and haven't had a chance to release my water since I awoke. I almost couldn't hold it in the pavilion. I squirted a few times on the pillows. I don't think I can hold it any longer..." Sam was transfixed. The words from the girl echoed in her head, but her eyes were trapped on the visage in front of her. And just like that, she saw it happen. At first, a tiny trickle escaped her soft pussy lips. The girl tensed briefly, trying to hold it, and then a squirt, tracing its way down her thigh. All of a sudden, the floodgates opened, and she started peeing in earnest, the pale yellow liquid hissing in the quiet of the tent. The outside world fell away as the Guardian watched. Bewitched, her hand reached out, touching the girl's soft lips. And in response, unable to contain herself, the girl pressed herself against Sam's hand, still peeing. Oh gods...Touching her felt so good. How did it feel so good? She slid a finger inside the girl as her stream died down, and the girl pressed her body against Sam. Winding hands flailed against the Guardian's body, each touch electric, uncontrollable. It's been so long. How does it feel so... And then she heard it. A whisper-thin hum, like...Like nothing she'd ever heard before. Amelie, noticing Sam had paused, murmured half in curiosity and half in frustration, "Samantha, what's the matter?" "I...I'm not sure. Do you hear..." And then she pinpointed the sound. It was coming from the box. The artefact's box. Inside it, illuminated from the cracks in the lid, there was a deep-violet glow. "My lady, there is witchcraft afoot." --- At first, there was only the hum. A drone, a croon, a beckoning and a warning. Pale and severe, an elegant whip of strength and beauty, the Knight Bachelor Samantha Greylily stood transfixed as the box called to her. Beside her stood a picture of majestic beauty in bloom. The Princess Amelie Gregorian, heir to the throne of the kingdom known as Nortmund, leaned against the knight, taut in the echo of lust. Curls, golden and red, cascaded across the younger woman’s face. Her slender body held itself against the strength of her Guardian, her sex enveloping Samantha’s hand. A trail of golden liquid snaked down her thighs, the girl’s fragrant scent carrying through her urine. The moment felt frozen in time. What could only have been a few seconds stretched into eternity as Samantha’s awareness focused on and was lost in the deepening hum of the artefact a few feet away. A wooden box, latched but shaking, glowed violet in its cracks and hinges. Somehow, some way, Samantha knew it was responding to the Princess’s groan of pleasure. And despite a warning spoken aloud a lifetime ago, both women were moved like marionettes in a theater of action. Far away from her conscious thought, Samantha’s slender, calloused hand moved, slipping between Amelie’s thighs, sliding inside her, rewarding the Guardian with wide, hungry eyes and a guttural moan. In a voice that was Amelie’s yet not, she whispered, “Yess…sss……ss. Moooore.” And Samantha could do naught but obey her liege. Though her sane mind futilely cried out, Samantha pulled the other woman close, increasing the intensity of her fingers, feeling the girl’s slickness. Feeling her body pulling, her breath rhythmically increasing. Their eyes locked, drowned in lust and a kind of primal fear both, she brought the girl closer and closer. And the hum grew to be more, to envelop them as the background noise of the universe. And then the girl came. A sudden buckling, a squirt of the girl’s fluids soaking Samantha’s hands, and then…A pulse. The box lid clattered open, latch broken, and the artefact within pulsed brilliantly and deeply, vibrating their souls. Samantha’s vision bleached out in a rich purple hue, and she thought no more. Riding as a passenger in her own body, she watched the princess hungrily slide the knight’s leggings down, pressing her face against the woman’s thighs, kissing her way to Samantha’s forbidden place. The way she inhaled the knight’s scent was intoxicating for them both. The way the girl’s tongue touched the woman’s clit felt like electricity. The latter had to steady herself against the table as pleasure began to wrack her. A first orgasm hit her like a blow, and she grabbed the girl’s hair, pushing her deeper between her legs. The Princess was only too eager to grant more benedictions. It went on for an amount of time that could have been minutes, hours, or years. Finally, Samantha held the panting Amelie still for a moment, and finished the ritual. Her vulva’s lips, inches from the younger girl’s face, suddenly erupted as hot pee shot out of her. Suddenly desperate and unable to control herself, Samantha emptied her bladder violently into the girl’s face and mouth. Golden piss coursed out of her, and the girl swallowed it as though dying of thirst. The way it smelled on her felt so much like it was always meant to be. As Amelie drank, she snuck her hands into Samantha, both her vulva and ass, pulling the woman with her own body, until finally as the knight’s stream died down, a final, exultant orgasm rocked her, and she almost fell. The artefact’s glow retreated, and its hold over them lessened. The all-consuming drone and color left Samantha’s consciousness. She saw the same happen in Amelie’s eyes. After a moment, an eternity, the girl whispered, “What…What happened?” Still breathing heavily, the Guardian righted herself, gently pushing the Princess away. “I’m not sure. The artefact seemed to – Did you feel it too?” Her clothes soaked and skin flushed, Amelie nodded and stood. “It controlled us. But I still loved it. I loved you,” she whispered the last, fiercely, fearfully. “It’s okay, it’s okay. This was all okay.” She wasn’t sure how to process the girl’s confession of love, and instead focused on the artefact. She cupped her face and kissed it deeply, before rising and moving to the artefact’s container. Beneath the furred robes, Samantha’s pale, toned thighs glistened with wetness. “You should probably change for the journey ahead – it will be bitter beyond the tent.” “Ye…Yes,” murmured Amelie, a slight amount of disappointment and hurt flashing across her face. As the girl changed, Samantha retrieving from the box a slender, simple, golden rod. It appeared to be pure gold, at least as far as she could tell, and perfectly smooth. Hesitantly, she touched it, and was relieved when nothing happened. At least, nothing bad. As Samantha’s hand closed over the rod, she felt as though it knew her. Knew and…Approved? The Guardian didn’t know how that could be possible, yet she was certain of the knowledge. She slid the rod into a pocket within her vest, where it sat, heavy. She had a feeling it would always make itself known. From there, the two prepared in quiet for a long journey ahead. The road, Samantha knew, would be unknown and treacherous. She risked an occasional glance back at the girl, found herself embarrassed to see her eyes locked against hers. Could the girl tell? Could she tell that Samantha – despite the futility and forbidden fact of it – loved her too?
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