Glorious Ignorance

Author's note: the events described in this story are non-canonical to these characters.

The Rat's Refuge

was a pub in Malmhule which straddled the border between that city's centre and its infamous Monster District. The establishment had a reputation - slight as it was - for being a sordid place where petty crooks often held shady conference in the booths at the back, or where ladies of the night would solicit their trade in innuendo to the gentlemen at the front of its seedy interior, stuck in perpetual dimness even in the middle of the day thanks to the derelict tenement buildings the establishment was tucked amongst blocking the sunlight. The main taproom was further made murky by a constant haze hanging in its air from pipe smoke, with the smell of those fumes practically baked into the woodwork, mixed with the scent of stale liquor from too many drinks spilt to count. Needless to say, it was not the first place the average person would expect anybody of the noble class to consider visiting, let alone frequent, and yet on the evening when this particular tale takes place, who should enter through its front entrance but the reigning monarch of Snjórland (the kingdom to which Malmhule was capital) herself: Queen Helio!

One's first assumption might be that the appearance of the country's ruler in such a place would be cause for much shock and excitement to its inmates, especially as she was without entourage or escort, yet not even so much as a murmur was raised nor hardly a glance given to the door as it creaked open to reveal the graceful form of the royal family's matriarch. The reason for this was Queen Helio was currently and consciously not costumed like a queen in the slightest!

Although she did nothing to conceal her voluminous, coal-black locks and olive skin tone, both evident of her Hispanian heritage rare in the remote northern nation of Snjórland, nor even her characteristic beauty mark top-left just above her full lips, anyone's suspicions would have been immediately diverted by her ensemble of mostly matching scarlet: a short leather jacket kept open to flaunt her ample bosom contained in a black bra, whose frilly edges visibly peeked from the low-cut neckline of the tight vest worn over it - itself short enough for her stomach to be completely uncovered - while around her waist was a faux-leopard print skirt so mini, one could clearly see the crotch of the pink thong underneath, even when she stood straight alongside its bands riding along either of her upper thighs, with her already fairly tall height accentuated by the high heels on her feet.

Helio was already a naturally beautiful woman, so the degree of make-up she had painted her face with was unnecessary at best, and made her resemble a cheap courtesan at worst (or perhaps the other way around depending who you asked), an impression which was enhanced by the gaudy gold hoops she wore on her ears, the choker banded around her delicate neck and a small handbag hanging from her shoulder by her side, from which a strip of unopened condoms packets freely trailed out from underneath the flap as an deliberate hint to what the good queen was seeking out...

If you are questioning why the nation's sovereign was to be found in such a sleazy drinking den done up the way that she was, let's just preface things by stating public opinion of Snjórland's king was not particularly positive at that time, with common regard being that he was neglectful of the responsibilities that came with his title, and while still technically head of state, it was an open secret that the majority of his royal duties and authorities had been conferred to his consort alone, whilst he spent his days doing Gods knew what else. These responsibilities did not only extend to matters of the court, but to his domestic life as well, proving to be increasingly incapable of keeping Queen Helio - a wife whom already did not have especially strong attachment to him from the onset of their relationship, and was only married to him as per a political arrangement by their parents twenty-five years prior, which was all the rage in those days - sufficiently satisfied, and without shewing any signs of making an effort to better himself.

Although normally a steadfast, demure lady, Helio - at age forty and three - simply reached the limits of her patience with her tedious home life, and instigated a one-night affair with a palace servant practically on a whim to put some much needed spice into the married woman's existence, kickstarting a secret career of clandestine liaisons with the common countrymen under the alias 'Mamá'; a twisted in-joke to nobody but herself in reference to the fact that she was indeed a mother of four, to whom she shewed far greater love for than the man who sired them. Of course, King Stål - who seemed to be paying less and less attention to his family by the day - was utterly oblivious of his wife's extramarital escapades, and Helio intended to keep it exactly so lest the scandal of the century come out of its disclosure. Seeing as it had been years since they were last intimate and, well, let's just say Stål was not quite able to perform the same way as he had in his youth. Helio justified (primarily to herself) her unfaithfulness that no harm was being done in doing something she no longer did with him anyway as a way to cope with her underlying culpability.

With as casual a strut as she could feign, Helio approached the bar and helped herself to the only stool currently unoccupied, which also meant sitting directly between two rough, thuggish sorts of men on either side who made little secret of their leering at the disguised queen, who in turn pretended not to notice, partially out of being slightly intimidated by what action they may take if she returned any attention, and though they certainly were not a bad-looking couple of fellows despite their coarseness, Helio had different designs that night. The Queen caught the attention of the surly barkeeper and ordered herself a half-pint of ale, which was served to her promptly enough in a glass that was less than spotless, however, she only took a single sip of the beverage, unable to bring herself to finish a refreshment she found to taste so foul even for how weak it was, but the

Refuge

had a one-drink minimum policy for anybody who was seeking to make use of its restrooms, and Helio only ever did take that courteous sip as an attempt in not making it too obvious that visiting those restrooms was really why she was in that pub in the first place, although she was hardly fooling either its staff or its regulars by this point.

Without a word, Helio then left the bar and her scarcely-touched drink behind to walk towards the rear of the room, where another door marked with the runes 'W.C.' was to be found. Not trying to draw any especial attention to herself but still feeling certain looks on her as she made her way, Helio then swung that door inwards and entered, now finding herself in the pub's sole lavatory that was technically unisex, although only because the more disreputable of public houses in town skimped on installing a separate set of toilets to cut the costs that came with construction and plumbing. Single gender toilets were not actually mandatory by Snjórlandic law, and Helio certainly had no intentions of passing one down during her rule. The restroom was about what one might expect from a place with a reputation like the

Refuge

: as dim as its taproom, not particularly spacious, and both appearing and smelling as though it had not been cleaned once in the past year, certainly not in the time that Helio had started visiting that dive at least.

Refuse littered the floor, the walls were defaced to the point where less of its original surface could be seen than the vandalism which covered it, its only mirror was cracked beyond practical use above a single grimy sink whose right tap permanently dripped, and the less mentioned about the mould festering in the damp corners, the better. The row of urinals on the left-hand wall - that were probably white once - indicated the bathroom was designed primarily for male clientele in mind, and as these obviously had little utility for the female Helio, she instead slipped inside the first of three cubicles on her right - dodging a puddle of what she prayed was only water on the floor on the way - and promptly locked the door behind her before sitting down on the toilet's lidless seat, although not to make use of its intended purpose, having actually came in there for naught else but a simple hole cut out of the side of the stall's interior and leading into the adjacent booth.

It had not been too long since Snjórland's unworldly queen had actually became aware of the concept of gloryholes, and when she first did during some small talk with one of her more ribald rendezvous, she found the idea an utterly bizarre one, although as time went on and the more she thought about it, she grew curiouser and curiouser to the point where she eventually became quite intrigued in trying one out for herself, if only to learn first-hand if such an experience would do anything for her. By chance only a few nights later, she overheard a rumour in another pub almost halfway across town from a couple of inebriated tarts about half her own age, conversing about the possible presence of such a hole that could be found in the restroom of the

Rat's Refuge

, prompting the Queen to investigate herself, and was ecstatic when she discovered the talk was indeed true!

"Just once..." She nervously vowed at that time while she waited for anybody on the other side of the opening to make use of it, but fast forward nearly a month and umpteen unidentified penis-havers pleasured later, Helio was positively hooked! She made it a point to visit this place at least once or twice a week since her initial exposure, sometimes spending several hours a night putting up with that foetid stall until the tavern's closing time just before the crack of dawn where she would have to rush back to the palace before anybody realised her absence, and still having the taste of cock on her breath by the time she held her first audiences in the morning, half-asleep.

For as loose as her behaviour was, Helio still normally maintained high standards befitting her noble nature, which did extend to the men she met with (although that pretty much started and ended with how physically attractive she found them), but with this concept, she had no idea what the other person looked like or even could be, making it far easier to hook up with whoever, and that unspecified factor excited her greatly. It was just her and their cocks, nothing more or less, and that degree of even greater detachment made her feel freer in indulging her inner strumpet with less of the shame, although she still sometimes pondered if she may have ever ended up pleasuring one of the town's own guards on break from his beat, or even a palace servant who had no idea that it was their Queen on the other side who had done so. In addition, she found just the sheer range of manhoods she had been exposed to quite fascinating as well, differing widely from long and short, thick or thin, circumcised or uncut, hairy or bald, the colours of their flesh and how long each was able to last before she could make them cum.

She was looking forward to what she may find this evening without exception, wondering if anything may surprise her tonight as her fingers found themselves casually touching upon the crotch of her thong between her spread thighs, to slightly kindle her excitement while she passed the time reading the raunchy graffiti which decorated the cubicle walls, which she found oddly entertaining whether they were marked in ink or etched into the wood: claims, confessions or insults (a couple even colourfully slandering her own husband which she could not help but smirk at and then feel bad for doing so afterwards), alongside crude depictions of male genitalia, several individuals boasting that they 'were here' ('Ricky was here', 'Dawn was here', etc.) as if it were a privilege, at least one haiku about the healthcare budget, an ongoing written philosophical debate as to whether orc pussy was superior to elf pussy that had at least one new response each time Helio paid a call here.

There was also several contact details of patrons past in names masculine, feminine, and some Helio was not too certain of, each promising 'good times' or other such euphemisms varying in subtlety. She often wondered if anybody ever actually did take up such offers, or for how many years they had been up for. Surely not all of these details were still accurate, leading her to imagine random citizens being solicited by strangers who were instead seeking those who had long since changed those particulars!

The gloryhole itself was surrounded by a very rudimentary portrait (more of an outline) of what appeared to be a wide-eyed, wild-haired, large-breasted woman with crossed-eyes looking down at the hole strategically in the place of where the mouth otherwise would be, with a caption above the illustration reading 'say "aaah"!', and another to the side stating 'bitch's breakfast' accompanied by a helpful arrow pointing to the opening just in case its function was not already clear enough. Several strips of grey duct tape were stuck through the opening on both sides to provide the absolute minimum of cushioning against chafing and splinters on the edges, and a streak of white slime ran down Helio's side of the stall from the aperture indicating that the place must have been in use just mere minutes before she arrived.

Sets of tally marks were also kept just beside the gloryhole separated underneath a handful of different names of who Helio assumed belonged to trollops bolder than her, keeping a proud record of their achievements as if seeking to be applauded even when absent. She thought there might have been a slight increase to a couple of these counts compared to when she first saw them, though she was not certain, and equally uncertain whether she might actually be catching up to - if not already surpassing - some of the lower scores, but she was far too shy to keep track in a likewise manner herself. She definitely doubted she would be equaling whoever this 'Min' person was any time soon though, who was still far in the lead by a clear few dozen points despite there seeming to have been zero additions to their total since Helio started her visits.

By the time she had finished her strange perusal of messages left by those before her and just as horny as she, Helio was now aroused enough that her hand had since slid inside her panties to start touching on her twat directly, with two fingers already slipped inside her moist inlet to start masturbating properly in order put herself wholly in the mood in anticipation for the first of her faceless partners of the evening, unsettling even herself some by how wet she could feel she had already gotten even when within in such squalid surroundings.

* * *

Not too long after this,

the Rat's Refuge

received two more visitors: one was a goblin girl whose punkish aspect fitted right in well with the rest of the uncouth dump, and the other - mother of all coincidences - happened to be yet another member of the royal family! They were an unlikely pair to be sure, but a pair well acquainted nonetheless. Prince Gyllen was the youngest of King Stål's four heirs and last in line to succeed Snjórland's throne at the tender age of eighteen going on nineteen, who - in spite of his young age - had become more versed in sexual matters than what most people experience over a lifetime ever since losing his virginity during a chance encounter with Min - the goblin whom he accompanied - many months back, after which the little, green-skinned woman was all too keen to introduce, train and accompany the young man in further carnal delights.

One would never have guessed Gyllen would get up to such pastimes if one only ever met him within castle walls and official functions: being a genial, well-spoken and smartly-dressed gentleman befitting of his princely title, but when the sun sets, he would swap his blue blazer, ruffled shirt, jodhpurs and polished riding boots, for an outfit much less opulent and

far

less modest: a hot pink boob tube (without the boobs) that stopped short at his stomach, a black miniskirt that did little to hide the frilled panties he wore underneath, fishnet stockings on his hairless legs and a pair of tacky platform heels, all topped off with no small amount of make-up to enhance his already pretty countenance. Under the alias 'Goldie' for the beautiful blond locks of hair that ran long past his shoulders, he and Min would regularly prowl the town seeking debauched delights with just about anybody who caught their fancy - whether male or female, young or old, human or otherwise - and tonight - if one could not already tell - was such a night, although their present search had so far turned up fruitless when Gyllen had to urgently take care of business that he probably should have done before departing his palace home.

"I still don' get why ya jus' don' do it in th' alley like a normal person." Min said to her companion in her common accent as they entered mid-conversation.

"Min, will you please permit me to maintain at least some semblance of dignity when I'm out with you?" The disguised prince replied. "Besides, you never know when somebody might stumble on you out in the open..."

"That's th' excitin' part!" Min chirpily replied. "'Sides, ya didn' seem t' mind bein' in th' open when ya were slobberin' all over that bloke's knob behind th' kebab shop th' other night." Gyllen blushed as he sharply told the goblin to shush as they came up to the bar where Gyllen politely asked where he might find the 'loo' (Gyllen's word), only to be met with a sharp retort that the 'bog' (the bartender's word) was strictly for paying customers only.

Gyllen already did not wish to stay around in a rough spot like the

Refuge

longer than was necessary for a drink he knew he would not enjoy, but that was now doubly true after being shown the standard of their service. In any case, Gyllen did not even have any coins on him, on account of the lack of pockets in his current attire (he and Min had discussed getting him a cute purse) but Min would fortunately intervene before she was asked: "Oh, don' worry 'bout that. I'm payin' for his drink, an' havin' it for him too! An' ya can get a second for meself while yer at it." She requested as confidently as if she owned the place, hopping up onto the only vacant stool by the counter before she even finished speaking. The bartender seemed disgruntled by the loophole, but he nevertheless gave a half-hearted gesture pointing out the general direction of the restroom before fetching the given order with a grumble.

"Thank you, Min." Gyllen - ever deferential even when dolled up like a strumpet - gave the goblin his gratitude.

"No worries, Gyl-er, Goldie. Ya can pay me back later!" She responded. Gyllen would have argued whether he really owed her anything, seeing as this seemed to be mere pretence to helping herself to a couple of beers, but he had more pressing needs to attend to first. "No rush. I can keep mesel' entertained jus' fine~" She said to the Prince just as he was walking away before giving an acknowledging nod and a friendly "alright, lads?" to the two thuggish men leering in on her on either side ever since she took her seat, before wondering aloud who had left their half-pint hardly touched, and already guzzling down that neglected drink directly in front of her before anybody could give an answer. If there is one quality you could claim about Min, it is that she hated seeing unattended things go to waste.