“Hey! Hey you! Wake up, you lazy, good for nothing dew-beater. I need to take a piss!” the emperor roared from His massive four-poster bed.
Scrambling quickly to his feet, Kalsmish gasped out a reply. “Y-yes, Your Magnificence. My apologies, I-I need to prepare.” He chided himself for drinking that glass of small ale before bed—it wasn’t prudent to make Emperor Terssifus wait while he emptied his bladder.
“I don’t give a rat’s arse about your preparations, you cunt, get over here. I’m near bursting.”
Kalsmish gulped and scurried to the emperor’s bed, unbuttoning his trousers as he ran up the stairs. “I’m coming, Your Magnificence. I’m sorry, Your Magnificence. I am ready to Receive.”
Emperor Terssifus grunted and shifted His gargantuan bulk to the side, shaking the mattress like an earthquake, and strained to grab the funnel for the Imperial Exductor, His sausage fingers waggling a few inches short.
“Let me, Your Magnificence!” Kalsmish handed the funnel to the emperor and quickly fed the tube from the other side of the device into his own penis as Terssifus began urinating into the funnel. Terrified that the funnel would fill before he was ready to Receive, Kalsmish began turning the crank even before the tube poked through the second sphincter into his bladder. He winced as it finally sank in the whole way. This was only his second week as the Imperial Waters Holder—it would be a while before his piss-hole was well-seasoned to the task. He watched with some trepidation as pale yellow urine from his own bladder crawled up the slightly transparent fish-skin tube, so he turned the crank faster. Finally, the suction took hold with a quiet popping noise and the urine reversed its course, chased by the emperor’s deep-yellow waters. Kalsmish glanced over at the emperor—the Imperial Stream was still going strong and Kalsmish hoped his bladder wouldn’t fail him as his predecessor’s had.
Closing his eyes, Kalsmish said a silent prayer and tried to relax, willing bladder to expand as the Imperial Waters filled him. He gasped from the pressure building but kept cranking and cranking until finally the emperor tossed the funnel away, wrestling Himself back into the only sleeping position His huge mass would allow.
When the last of the emperor’s urine was pumped inside him, Kalsmish drew out the tube, squeezing his shaft hard at the base so he wouldn’t lose a drop of the Imperial Waters. He panted quietly, shivering as the need to urinate seemed to take over his every thought. This was the most he’d taken yet and on a full bladder too—it seemed impossible to move. He knew there was only one way he would make it through the palace and down to the Imperial Receiving Well without pissing himself… and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d managed to avoid it thus far by limiting his liquid intake, but he’d been stupid with that glass of ale. Hand trembling, he placed the tip of the glansplug into his piss-hole and began to screw it in slowly, grimacing as it grew wider the deeper it went, stretching him out. He paused when it felt like it was going to tear him and waited until his hole became accustomed to the width, the pain receding. Then, he closed his eyes and, with a whimper, turned it once more all the way around until the huge pink pearl decorating the glansplug sat flush to his cockhead. Kalsmish’s knees felt like gelatin and he broke out in a cold sweat. Leaving his trousers behind, he carefully locked his hands below the bulge in his lower belly and began the arduous journey to the well to dispose of his precious cargo.
Each step was agonizing—the heavy pearl swung his penis back and forth like a pendulum as he walked, adding to his discomfort. Even breathing seemed to make the pressure in his bladder unbearable… but he had to bear it—there were at least a hundred other servants who would kill their own children for the honour of Receiving and Carrying the Imperial Waters for the emperor.
“Look at you,” said a low, purring voice. “You have quite the burden, I take it?”
Oh no. “Yes, your Grace. A glorious burden,” he said. The emperor’s son Prince Makhiel slipped from the shadows like a predatory feline, a huge grin on his face. “I must make haste,” Kalsmish said nervously.
“Do you, now?” Makhiel said, his eyes narrowed with mischief as he matched Kalsmish’s slow, waddling pace.
Kalsmish forced himself to smile, a trickle of sweat running down his cheek. “When I have finished, I can come back and provide my usual service… if the Prince so desires.”
“Oh, the prince desires all right,” Makhiel replied, stepping in front of Kalsmish. “But he desires his needs met now.”
Normally, he actually enjoyed servicing the Imperial Prince, but all he could think of was getting to the well before he burst—he gave an apologetic head bob and tried to dodge around the prince but Makhiel stopped him with a hand to his chest.
“I really do insist.”
Though Makhiel was the kindest of the emperor’s nine sons, refusal of any sort was a death sentence and Kalsmish wasn’t certain he’d make an exception for him.
Sagging in defeat, Kalsmish could only nod.
“There’s a good boy,” Makhiel murmured, stroking Kalsmish’s cheek with one hand while the other cupped the quail-egg-sized pearl with the other, weighing it. “Delightful. You should be made to wear a bauble such as this in your cock at all times. It’s pleasing to the eye and lovely to touch. Does it feel as good as it looks?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Kalsmish lied, trying not to wince when Makhiel began to toy with the glansplug, tugging it softly.
“All right. Turn around,” said the prince, twirling his finger in the air. “Come now.”
Kalsmish did as he was told, eyes averted as a group of cup bearers passed them in the gallery. He heard Makhiel spit into his palm and braced himself, leaning forward. The prince hadn’t even entered him and he was panting from the increased pressure of the position. Tears rose in his eyes making the grey and white tiles shimmer in his vision.
The initial push wasn’t so terrible and for a moment he thought it would be fine, then Makhiel hilted himself and Kalsmish couldn’t hold back his wail. He’d never felt so full.
Makhiel just chuckled and began thrusting, not caring that Kalsmish began blubbering and whimpering as the prince’s cock seemed to press his distended bladder harder with every plunge.
However, something began to break through his discomfort—Kalsmish was legitimately worried his bladder would pop like a balloon, but he was starting to feel a razor-sharp pleasure from his desperate urge to piss, something truly unfathomable. His cock grew hard, the screw threads from the glansplug digging into the walls of his piss-hole, creating another level of pain-laced ecstasy.
“Mm… you seem to be enjoying yourself more than usual,” Makhiel said softly in his ear. “You naughty thing.” He wrapped his long fingers around Kalsmish’s shaft and started stroking him. “Do you like this?”
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” Kalsmish managed, his voice a strangled croak. He was hurtling towards completion and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He moaned, pushing back into the prince’s thrusts, oblivious to anything but his need… until Makhiel stopped jerking him and began quickly unscrewing the glansplug.
“No… no,” begged Kalsmish, bucking against the prince as his pleasure began to peak. “Please, no, I’m going to—” Then he screamed as the plug popped free, his orgasm cresting like a tidal wave, sending piss and cum flying in a single far-flung stream, and screamed again when the second pulse hit, pleasure and pain as one, his body quaking and writhing out of his control. Kalsmish barely registered when the prince let out a deep grunt, signalling his own culmination—his climax was monstrous, unending, all-consuming. At last he collapsed on his knees, his howl ending on a rattling sigh, and he buried his face in his hands, weeping.
“That was superb,” said the prince with a satisfied chuckle. When Kalsmish didn’t respond, Makhiel touched his shoulder gently. “Kal?”
Kalsmish looked up, his eyes streaming. “What have I done?” His bladder ached like a knife had speared it, but that was nothing compared to the terror he felt.
“What do you mean?”
Sobbing, Kalsmish gestured to the copious yellow streaks covering the tiles. “I-I have failed Him. Oh what am I to do?” They would disembowel him slowly for this.
Squeezing his shoulder kindly, Makhiel tutted. “Never fear, my darling Kal. All will be well.”
“How? It’s impossible!” Kalsmish wailed, tearing at his hair in grief and horror.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” replied the prince, putting a finger to his lips and winking. “Oh come on, lad. Stop it.” He said when Kalsmish continued to bawl. Makhiel leaned down to pull Kalsmish to his feet and then delicately dabbed at his tears with the edge of his silken neck scarf. “Hush, you poor soul. Hush now. Your prince is ordering you to stop.”
Kalsmish’s breath wouldn’t stop hitching in his throat, but he did his best to stop the tears from flowing, wiping his face with both hands. “Truly? You won’t tell of my dishonour?”
“Dishonour? It’s just piss for god’s sake. It’s an awfully silly tradition. Why do you have to act as my father’s chamber pot just because he’s unable to leave his bed?”
Hiccupping, Kalsmish stared at his feet, relieved but still ashamed. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he whispered.
“Think nothing of it.” Then Makhiel’s voice got sly. “I’ve only got one condition.”
Kalsmish glanced up. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“You come directly to me the next time my father overfills you. I quite enjoyed your enthusiasm and desperation today… it made for a delightful enhancement to our usual.”
Blinking up at Makhiel, Kalsmish nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ll come to you.” He gave the prince a shy smile. “And it certainly did.”
