Her Majestys Creampie

Author's note: For some reason, there aren't a lot of BBW creampie stories. If you don't like this sort of thing, this probably isn't the sort of thing you'll like.

I was polishing my boots when the call came. That's not a euphemism – I mean, I was literally polishing my uniform footgear, with black wax and a rag. Usually people have an enchantment to keep their boots shined these days, but I'm poor, so it was elbow grease for me.

It came from Sergeant Waring. There's one complete bastard in every regiment, and if you took all the complete bastards and made a regiment out of them, then Waring would be the complete bastard in that one. Six feet five, unshaven (out of regulations), brutal. Smelled like a wet horse. Even the minotaurs thought he stank. People say that he has purposefully refused promotion, just to keep his present job – that being beating the shit out of new recruits.

After four years in the Stormfang Lancers, I wasn't a new recruit, but I still hated Waring and he hated me. Which is why I was on edge right away.

"Callum!" shouted Waring. He did a lot of shouting. After a short while in this outfit, you came to recognize the yellow stumps of his teeth intimately. Waring came down the steps into the barracks. The Lancers occupy the base of the North-East Tower; naturally, the dumb shits who built this castle put the barracks in the damp part with poor ventilation. I think they should make this a prison, instead, but nobody's taking advice from Corporal Corbet Callum.

"Sir?" I asked, putting down my brush warily. Shouting usually did not bode good news.

"Her Majesty the Queen has requested the presence of one of her young Lancers to guard her chambers," said Waring. His facial expression was somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

Holy shit, I thought.

I should explain. The King married Queen Sella when he was maybe sixty or so, and she was nineteen. She was the heiress to the Duchy of Palmarch. It was a political alliance, and he hit the fucking jackpot. Maybe Palmarkers are not exactly famous for their lilting accents and courtly graces, but Sella was a stunning blonde with a big dowry of land and two other big dowries in front, if you know what I mean. The King sure knew. She squeezed out eight children for him. However, it wasn't much of a secret around the palace that the old King wasn't exactly keeping Sella's gears oiled these days. So she tried messing around with a few courtiers, and after a while it was an open secret that she had a hell of an appetite. A new man every week, sometimes even every day. She liked them young, though. Maybe it made her feel young, maybe the young ones had more energy.

Anyway, the point is, it became widely known that for a soldier, an invitation to the Queen's bedchamber was a golden ticket. You see, assuming you weren't a complete fuck-up, getting Queen Roundheels off earned you an appointment and commission in the Queen's Guards. The big time. Prestigious dwellings – not barracks! – in the Silk Quarter. Great food. Great pay. Even magical armor, for fuck's sake. No more boot polish.

So you see why getting "invited up" was such a plum opportunity. Now, it's true that Sella was pushing forty now. And after eight kids and twenty years of spreading for every smooth talker at Court, she probably wasn't exactly drum-tight anymore. Her big appetite for sex was matched with other big appetites too, I had heard – sweets, Kanavi rum, even lotus dust. I hadn't seen the Queen in, I don't know, maybe a couple years. It's not like she comes down here. But I was vaguely aware that she'd let herself go some.

For a Guards commission, though, I'd do anything. (Or at least I thought so at the time.) But what the hell was Waring grinning at? The bastard hated my guts. Why had he picked me out? I hadn't even bribed him.

The only thing I could think of at the time was that he was pulling some kind of really weak hoax. But certainly wasn't going to pass this up. Throw the cow a fuck, and I was set for life. So I saluted Waring (he actually laughed at this), quickly finished polishing my boots, put on my best hat, buckled on my sword, and went all the way up the tower and along the passage to the Queen's chambers.

A minotaur was standing guard outside her boudoir. You would think that the Queen's Guard would guard the Queen, but it doesn't work that way. The royal family use a small band of minotaurs for their personal protection. Tall, muscular bastards from the Broken Coast. Monsters, really. Men's feet and legs, but it's all bull from there, all the way up to their horns. They don't wear armor; they don't need to. I had heard that the reason why the King employed minotaurs was that they had nothing to gain from plotting to put someone else on the throne. It made sense to me.

I drew up outside the door and saluted. He raised his thick bull-arm in acknowledgement, and I realized with surprise that he looked tired. You don't see that too often in a minotaur.

"Corporal Callum reporting for the service of the Queen," I said crisply. I didn't even smirk.

The minotaur's face took on a strange expression. I had seen them look angry, or drunk, or just look through you with a bored bovine stare. But I had never seen pity before. He pulled himself up from leaning against the wall, opened the door to the boudoir partways, and ushered for me to enter.

Her Majesty, Queen Sella, was lounging sloppily on a green, silk-covered divan. Time and good living had filled her out, turning young and slender into ripe and voluptuous. I could see at once, from her flushed complexion and too-broad smile, that she was drunk. Her hair was dishevelled, one side of her hairstyle undone and partially framing a plump face set with two heavily-lidded eyes. The overstuffed bodice of the Queen's long, rumpled purple velvet dress was spilling out huge mounds of pale milkflesh, and crumbs and sugar dotted both her and the couch.

She was holding a crystal goblet, and being attended to by two ladies-in-waiting, dressed in gowns of yellow and blue. One handmaiden held the remnants of a silver platter of pastries, now reduced to a few lonely cakes.

I realized as I entered the room that the Queen's belly was gravid and swollen. Her gown looked slightly absurd, strained tautly over the prominent bulge. I had not heard that the Queen was pregnant, but I don't pay a whole lot of attention to palace gossip. Well, okay, I'd been with pregnant women before.

I discreetly adjusted the feather on my hat, and tried to keep my mind focused on the thought of a Guards commission, instead of the overstuffed trollop lounging before me. Taking a step forwards, I coughed lightly and bowed sweepingly to Queen Sella. "O Flower of the land and sea, O morning star of Dumnovia, your most gracious majesty honors me with your summons."

The Queen squinted at me drunkenly, then glanced at her handmaidens, then back at me. "Who the fuck are you?" she slurred.

"Corporal Callum, Your Majesty, reporting as requested," I replied after a moment's hesitation. "Of His Majesty's third regiment of lancers. I was advised that..."

"Oh," mumbled the Queen, cutting me off with a dismissive gesture. "Right, yeah, the boy." She picked up her goblet of wine, and shrewd (if slightly glassy) eyes met mine over the rim as she took a drink. A tiny rivulet of purple trickled carelessly down her rounded chin, dripping onto the pale globes of her breasts. Polishing off the cup with a final slurp, Sella handed it to one of her maids. Then she closed her eyes and wriggled her hips, scooting backwards on the couch to a more comfortable lounging position. As she flopped heavily down against a pillow, only her rounded belly did not jiggle. Letting out a grunt of discomfort, the Queen put one hand against the firm bulge to steady it as it bounced.

I tried subtly to adopt a more dashing pose. One hand went to my belt, near the hilt of my sword, and the other I lifted oratorically. "It is an honor indeed to be called to the Queen's presence. Is there... aught I might do for you, your maj-"

"Ow, shut up a minute," blurted the Queen, rubbing her swollen belly. Up I shut. "Yeah, Chel," mumbled Queen Sella to the handmaiden in yellow, "I should have quit with three. Fuck." The young woman at the Queen's side averted her eyes demurely, though a smile toyed at her lips.

Puzzled, I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I was missing something here. What was going on?

Finally Sella turned her eyes back on me. "You, guard," she said. I, having started to get worried that she was just going to send me away, smiled and bowed courteously. "Yeah, I need some service." The Queen draped her plump, bracelet-adorned arms across the back of the couch, and slowly smiled. Her expression made me suddenly uneasy. "I got court this afternoon," Sella went on, in a brash drawl. "That old fart wants me there for a knighthood ceremony." I started to nod, but she continued. "I been with minotaurs though."

I froze in surprise, then managed to stammer, "Do I understand your majesty that... you have... dallied with a...?"

Queen Sella closed her eyes again, brushing her hair out of her face with one pale, chubby hand. "Yeah, I got fucked," she commented flatly. Her handmaidens stifled giggles.

"A tryst with a minotaur?" I echoed stupidly. My eyes went to her puffed-out belly.

"Well, no," she said. "Four minotaurs." Sella rubbed at her swollen middle, then winced. "Saints above, I am so fucking full of cum. I got spunked bad." The Queen broke suddenly into a raunchy, drunken laugh. "I'm backed up to the eyeballs with this shit!"

Now I understood. Sometimes women will bed a minotaur, because they can't breed on humans. Bull-men aren't supposed to be much in the way of lovers – pumping away with no technique until they blow their bags and wander off. But their equipment is exactly what you'd expect, and their loads are a hell of a lot bigger than a man's too. The drunken slut must have just called them in and let them hammer away on her huge ass. In her state, they probably wouldn't have done much more than just frustrate her... come to think of it, that would explain why she had sent down for a young man. And so Waring's smirk. He knew he was sending me up for sloppy seconds, or maybe in this case fifths. Well, okay, fine.

"And now... it is your majesty's pleasure to take sport with me?" I asked, in a low voice, trying to give her a rakish, seductive look. Her handmaidens suddenly found somewhere else to turn their gazes, and I could see their cheeks coloring. This I did not like.

"What?" rasped Queen Sella, shifting in her seat and squinting at me. Her breasts jiggled enticingly in the low-necked gown. She grunted, swinging one leg down off the couch into an unladylike spread-legged squat. In this position, the bulge in her belly looked more prominent, bumping up underneath her breasts. Sella put one hand over her mouth for a second, then winced again and massaged her belly gently. It didn't wobble like a fat girl's does – it rolled back and forth with a slow sloshing motion. Then Queen Sella wiggled her big, rounded ass a little, flexing her hips. Bracing them for a good fuck, I anticipated, my cock beginning to swell and press hard against my breeches.

"No, no," she said finally, snapping her fingers and gesturing for another cup of wine. "Like I said, I gotta appear at court in a while. Look at me. I can't go stuffed full of jism like this." A wicked smile creased her plump face. "No matter how good it feels." The Queen pressed slightly against her swollen bulge, then shivered, her breasts jiggling. "You wouldn't believe how much those bastards pumped into me. I'm packed full. Feels like I'm pregnant again."

"I-- I don't understand, Your Majesty," I blurted, feeling nervous and stupid.

The Queen glared at me over the rim of her goblet again before taking a drink. "What's not to understand?" she said in a flat, crass voice, not bothering to meet my gaze. "Your Queen requires your services." She slapped her belly lightly. It made a taut, drum-like thump. "I've got a cunt full of spunk. I need you to get it out so I can get dressed for Court."

I was speechless.

Sella passed the cup back and, squinting at the exertion, scooted her swollen body closer to the edge of the couch. Then she reached for her wine again, matter-of-factly tugging up her purple gown as she drank. The rich material jerked upwards, revealing first plump, shapely calves, then the huge, curvaceous hips that good living and the bearing of many children had given her. Whatever undergarments she had been wearing were gone. Above this was a great soft, pale expanse, a soft, plump belly now bloated into a gravid bulge from the huge volume of seed gurgling inside her. Sella finally dropped the dress into a bunched-up heap atop the swollen mound.

With another grunt the Queen hoisted her exposed legs up, hooking her heels onto the rim of the couch, then unceremoniously spread her fat thighs open wide. The great portal peeled open to reveal her glistening, still-dripping pussy. Almost immediately came the ripe scent of sweat, sex, and the juices of a slut in the prime of her age. The passage of time (and royal heirs) had obviously given her the large, swollen lips, but her half-beast lovers had left her red-tinged cunt looking ravaged and exhausted. The glistening flaps hung loosely, still beaded with droplets of her own juices, but her passage was open and stretched-out, easily the width of my wrist. Not far up her cunt, however, it was blocked by a great creamy mass, white as bone, which was oozing very slowly down out of the Queen's spunk-packed depths.

"M-majesty..." I stammered, staring at this carnal spectacle. My knees actually felt weak. "Surely you cannot want... Highness, could you not just... express your... your burden?"

The Queen lasciviously wiggled her ass, though her attention was on the new plate of pastries the handmaiden in blue had just brought to her. "Ginnie tried pushing on me already. Hurts too bad. And I can't wait for it to leak out on its own." Picking up an eclair, she leaned back against a pillow. "So get in there, boy, and suck that cream out of me."

Still I hesitated, trying to think of something to say.

"Hurry up!" the Queen barked.

Numbly I knelt before her. Sella's swollen pussy seemed enormous up close, as wide as my whole face. At the top, her marble-sized nub poked stubbornly through the slick draperies surrounding it. I dared not test the Queen's patience any longer, so I gripped the mighty thighs and buried myself slowly in her. Pressing my face as close against Sella's slick, juicy flesh as I could, I kissed my lips to hers and gingerly sucked at her gash. I remember closing my eyes tightly and cringing.

The Queen made almost no sound at all, except perhaps a grunt of approval, but she grew wet right away, bathing my face in spicy juices. A moment later, a flood of salty, tangy spunk oozed into my mouth as her pussy began to give up its load. The backed-up loads of four minotaurs just kept coming and coming, draining down out of her, and I lapped until my tongue ached and tried to suppress my shudders of disgust and panicked thoughts of drowning. The hot spunk was thick as glue, and came gurgling out in globs and bubbles as it drained out of the Queen's steaming depths and into me.

Every so often I would wrench my face from Sella's cavernous cunt to gasp for air. I couldn't see the Queen's face over the rounded heap of her belly, but the emptying platter and the new, deeper gurgle inside her told me that she was eating a snack while I worked on her. I tried to keep my ears free of her great thighs, hoping every moment to hear the command to stop. Instead, she chatted away with her ladies-in-waiting and ignored me.

"Does it look like rain, Chel?" I heard her say. "I was gonna ride with Lady Belminster this evening before supper, but I'll want the shuttered carriage if there's any chance of a storm."

I didn't hear the softly-voiced response over my own slurping. The flood of cum continued to drain out of her, and I gulped desperately to keep up.

"Yeah, she's a fat old bore," barked the Queen. "Ten to one she starts in about her gardens again. If I have to fucking hear – ah – ah –" Her words broke off, and a moment later she sneezed violently. Sella's whole body convulsed – her huge thighs gripped my head painfully for a moment, as her spasming belly suddenly bore down and squeezed out a gigantic wad of bullspunk. I felt my cheeks suddenly bulge out with the sour goo, and then it was in my throat.

Choking, I flung myself backwards onto the floor. As I coughed up wads of cum I could hear the handmaidens' sudden shrieks of laughter, combined with the Queen's own raunchy braying.

"You were wrong, Ginnie," smirked the Queen. "Looks like there is one eclair left! Robert here has been enjoying it, though, and maybe he bit off more than he could chew. Too much cream in your pastry, honey?" Her companions giggled.

"Corbet, ma'am," I tried to gasp. My own stomach was packed with cum now, and hurt every time I coughed.

"Sure," slurred Sella dismissively. She poked at her midsection, which had now deflated to little more than a bulge behind her plump potbelly. "Good so far," she mumbled. "Feels much better getting that cum out of there." The Queen patted at herself. "Fuck. Not doing that again. At least not that many. Chel, stop me before number four next time."

"Your majesty did not actually give the last permission," Chel said demurely. "He, ah, coupled with you right after his fellow, without pausing first to ask."

The Queen seemed to find this funny. "I guess you don't bring the big-balled bastards in for conversation." She laughed and scratched at her navel.

I began to pull myself to my feet, and to recover what dignity I could with a stomach full of hot seed. "I hope, your majesty, that..." I began. My throat felt clogged with spunk.

"No, stay down there," interrupted the Queen, rising slowly from her couch. "Don't want to leak all afternoon. Eat the rest out." Before I could do anything, she made her way clumsily over to where I still lay on the floor, holding her skirt bunched up in her hand. With a grunt and a muffled curse, she stepped unsteadily over me and straddled my head. Sella looked like a great mass of velvet and flesh blocking out the light, and a big droplet of cream was forming above me in her still-gaping pussy.

"Highness, wait – " I started, but she began to squat down. Her dress fell to the floor all around my head. I could no longer see, but I could feel and smell her enormous cunt bearing down on me.

After that there was nothing but the steaming darkness and the weight of her pressing down on my face. I was buried up to my cheeks in her fleshy lips, and my whole world was the salty tang of sweat and pussy juices and the crushing burden of her fat thighs squashing down on me. I tried hard to breathe in through my nose, but my frantic gasping did little more than slurp and bubble at her slick flesh. I could hear nothing now, not even the quiet gurgles of the Queen's stomach. All the while I sucked desperately at Sella's gooey depths, trying to gulp the thick globs of spunk reluctantly yielded up by her ravaged pussy down into my protesting gut. Soon I began to grow dizzy, smothered under her huge bulk, but her juices began to run thin and sweet. I hoped desperately that she would be satisfied, and release me soon before I suffocated.

All of a sudden I felt her shift, and start to rock gently back and forth. This broke the suction slightly, allowing one frantic gasp of stifling, pussy-scented air. Then she bore down hard, squeezing her thighs sharply together until my skull throbbed and ached. With one last mighty shudder, her cunt gave up the rest of its load – one huge spurt of syrup-thick jism that filled my mouth instantly. Feeling myself choking, I gulped and coughed and spluttered, trying to force it down into a stomach already overstuffed with spunk.