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  1. Author's Note: I came up with the idea of a manservant having an affair with a king after I binge-watched The Tudors, because it's a great show, lol. So I made up these guys and then proceeded to never do anything with them for four years. Two years ago I thought of this situation for them and never wrote it for some reason, but earlier I made a post about it and it inspired me to just write the damn thing. There is infidelity here of the king cheating on the queen but it's really not the main focus and I don't think anyone involved cares, so if that sort of thing bothers you just proceed with caution, but it's really not touched on much. Oh, also, I don't do OC character descriptions in the narrative because I'm so used to writing fic, but if you wanna picture these guys they're both pretty tall and slender, with high cheekbones, and Lanrys has pale blond hair (almost white) and blue eyes, and Ranlyn has Greek and Ethiopian heritage so his skin is much darker, and he has longish thick black curls. _______________________________________________________________________ Ranlyn stood watching the king from his place behind the banquet table. For some time now Lanrys had been shifting uneasily in his seat; not to where anyone observing him casually would notice, but Ranlyn’s observations of his majesty were never casual, and so he saw, every forty-five seconds or so, how Lanrys would shift his thighs, or cross his ankles, or tense his hand in his lap. The pageboy had been refilling his wine glass at a steady rate all evening; it was possible Lanrys was drunk, but Ranlyn knew he disliked inebriation, especially in public. Indeed as the pageboy came forward for the sixth time in two hours Ranlyn saw the liquid coming from his pitcher was clear, not red. So Lanrys had been drinking water, mostly. And the feast itself had been going for close to four hours, with no sign of slowing. Perhaps the food was disagreeing with him? —Except Lanrys was eating the same as everyone else, and no other guests were visibly uncomfortable. And Lanrys had his food tested in the kitchens prior to being served. Ranlyn knew also that Lanrys would never, ever leave the banquet hall before his guests, barring some type of invasion from enemies. There was little chance of that tonight; they were celebrating Lanrys’ unexpected victory over the neighboring kingdom in the most recent battle, and Ranlyn—though he was “only” a manservant, as the queen often liked to remind him—knew victory-related feasts could go all night. So Lanrys would continue to sit there crossing and uncrossing his legs beneath the heavy velvet tablecloth, knuckles white against his goblet, exhaling quietly every so often beneath the voices raised around him in conversation. No one around him seemed to notice his discomfort, until he accidentally bumped the queen with his elbow some minutes later. She turned to glare at him; she’d nearly spilled her own drink into her long-finished food. “Sit still,” Ranlyn heard her hiss, low enough the other servants wouldn’t catch it. “For fuck’s sake, Lanrys—” “Sorry,” Lanrys muttered. He dragged his hand down his mouth; momentarily, reflexively, his head swiveled backwards, and his eyes sought out Ranlyn. His discomfort was even more evident face-on; his cheeks were faintly flushed, eyes bright with embarrassment, and— Oh. Oh. Suddenly Ranlyn understood what was going on. He felt so stupid, not figuring it out already. His heart began to pound a little harder in his chest, for some reason. He bit his lower lip, trying to decide what to do; Lanrys had already turned back to face his guests, and Ranlyn could see the side of his face where he was pretending to smile and enjoy himself. By shifting his position just slightly to the right Ranlyn could see beneath the table better; Lanrys’ hands were twisting the cloth over and over, evidently trying not to hold himself. He crossed his ankles again, then uncrossed them. He tapped one foot against the floor. His thighs were stuck together. Ranlyn knew the queen would make a big deal out of it if he approached the table without an invitation. Since Lanrys had already turned away from him Ranlyn knew it was unlikely he could get his attention again, at least without calling unnecessary attention to himself. But then the duke unexpectedly made it easy on him; he got up and called for a dance. The minstrels began to pick up a livelier tune than the one they’d been playing (to aid the digestion) and the duke left the table with his wife, and shortly after so did the queen’s sister, and Lord Nathaniel, accompanied by the woman everyone knew was his mistress, though he said she was only his poor bedridden wife’s chambermaid. Then the banquet table was virtually empty, save for Lanrys and Queen Alice, and she was folding her arms and looking impatiently at the dancers. The other guests in the hall had gotten up to join in the festivities and Alice was tapping her foot—for a very different reason than her husband—and kept giving pointed looks at the others. At last, seeming to run out of patience, she snapped, “Your majesty, will you join me in a dance?” Lanrys’ already pale skin turned even paler. Ranlyn saw the heel of one hand flatten out against his thigh. His legs were crossed so tightly the fabric was straining. “I—no,” he said, “no, I’d just as soon rather sit here and watch. You go on, my love.” Alice’s mouth twisted nastily in one corner, but she didn’t say anything else, just stood and walked off. Once most everyone was out of eyesight—except the old blind earl at the far end of the table, who was already mostly asleep, and the guards, none of whom would dare say anything about anyone—Ranlyn slipped forward, and rested his hand on Lanrys’ shoulder. “Your majesty—” Lanrys jumped, then exhaled sharply. The hand on his thigh flew to his crotch. Ranlyn wondered if he’d let a little out by accident; the idea made his heart pound even harder, until he was nearly nauseous with it. “I didn’t mean to startle your majesty,” Ranlyn said, keeping his voice low. He reached out to take Lanrys’ plate and his now-empty goblet, and he said, “Do you need relief?” “Oh…” Lanrys’ eyes slid partway shut. “Ran…” Ranlyn set the goblet on the plate amidst the deer bones and grape stems. “Tell me what you need, Rys,” he whispered. Lanrys let out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Without much observation he was shifting even more in his seat, openly holding himself, hand shoved between his legs. “You need me to help you to the water closet?” Ranlyn murmured. Lanrys’ cheeks were bright red again. He was shaking one knee so hard the tablecloth was moving. “I—don’t think I could make it,” he mumbled. For some reason this statement—or perhaps Lanrys’ tone, or perhaps a combination of both—shot straight down Ranlyn’s spine, curling heat and tension in the pit of his stomach, and lower still. He swallowed. “Why didn’t you stop drinking?” he asked, still very, very quietly. Lanrys shook his head. He was breathing hard through his nose like a frustrated animal, hands flexing again and again against his thighs. “Couldn’t,” he mumbled, through gritted teeth. “My image, and Alice would’ve asked—fuck—” He made another small whining noise, and Ranlyn’s cock twitched in response. His hand plunged again between his legs and he doubled up a little on himself. “Ran…” “You know you’re the king,” Ranlyn said, heart beating so hard he was sure Lanrys could hear it. “You know you can tell them whatever you—” “I wasn’t thinking,” Lanrys said, and his voice came out sharper than he’d likely meant. “I was thirsty and that boy just kept bringing me drinks and I—oh—Ran, please, I need—” He cut himself off, biting his mouth so hard the flesh turned stark white. Ranlyn swallowed again; he squeezed Lanrys’ shoulder, and looked around. Everyone was still dancing, occupied, not noticing the king sitting flushed and hunched over at the banquet table while his manservant rubbed his arm. “What do you need,” Ranlyn whispered, “tell me, I’ll do anything—are you sure you can’t make it to—” “Yes,” Lanrys said; there was a note of panic in his voice, a frantic thread, and when he looked at Ranlyn his eyes were that same fevered, desperate shade they’d been earlier. He was squirming around in his seat and Ranlyn wondered if anyone else had noticed, and just hadn’t said anything because Lanrys was the king. And if he’d thought of that Lanrys surely had as well, and how embarrassed must he be, breathing unsteadily, shifting his legs, grinding his teeth. “I can’t stand up, it’s too—” He swallowed, gesturing at his bladder with his free hand. “It feels far too heavy, Ran, I—I need relief, I’m going… oh—” He gasped, more audibly this time, and Ranlyn—he hoped only because he was so close, but even beneath the music he heard a faint hissing. Lanrys’ trousers were thick and dark, but there was only so much they’d be able to hide. “I’m having an accident,” Lanrys breathed out; he was nearly in tears, “Ran, I can’t, I’m, I can’t hold it…” Ranlyn made a decision. He squeezed Lanrys’ shoulder again. “Two seconds,” he said, and Lanrys gave him a panicked look but Ranlyn was already rushing off towards the kitchens. Thankfully they were just down the hall and after setting Lanrys’ plate and goblet down he picked up the first pitcher he saw off the floor. It wasn’t huge, but it would have to do. One of the cooks glared at him, but because he was the king’s manservant no one dared say anything. He was back in the dining hall as quickly as he could be. Lanrys was sitting completely twisted up at the table, hand between his legs, panting. He was still trying to maintain a stoic expression and to keep his upper half still but Ranlyn could see him failing. He rushed back to him and Lanrys turned, winced—then his eyes fell on the pitcher and his mouth dropped open. “Will this do, your—” “Please,” Lanrys gasped. Ranlyn nodded. He looked around, but everyone was either still dancing or else they were not paying attention, and before he could have time to overthink it he ducked beneath the low-hanging tablecloth. Instantly the world was shut out; the velvet was so thick it blocked out much of the sound as well as the light, and Ranlyn had to squint to see Lanrys’ legs. But after a few seconds his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see fully now how desperate Lanrys was—thighs fanning in and out, calves and feet squirming and dancing frantically. His hands kept flexing against his crotch and when Ranlyn reached up to curl their fingers together Lanrys stiffened. Ranlyn pulled one hand away and saw even through the dark fabric a damp spot appearing on his trousers. He rested his palm against the outline of Lanrys’ cock as he carefully took his other hand away and Lanrys squeezed his thighs hard around Ranlyn’s wrist. Never mind damp—the fabric was fucking soaked. Oh, darling, Ranlyn thought, feeling a wave of pity rush up in his chest. He pressed a careful kiss to the inside of Lanrys’ knee. “I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispered, though he doubted Lanrys could hear him. “You’re gonna be okay, love,” and he set the pitcher on the stone floor and, kneeling between Lanrys’ legs, he began to untie the strings at his crotch. It seemed to take forever, even to Ranlyn. Lanrys kept tensing up and trembling violently; he leaked again several more times, once a long, sudden spurt that seemed to go on for a full three seconds before Lanrys could cut it off. He was trying to help Ranlyn with the complex material but his hands were shaking so badly he was just making it worse; finally Ranlyn had to take one of his hands—the skin faintly damp—and bite down gently on his knuckle: Stop. It’s okay. I’ve got this. Lanrys went still, momentarily; then his hand found its way into the thick, soft curls of Ranlyn’s hair. His other hand was still tensing against his thigh but at least it was out of the way and Ranlyn was able to finish undoing his trousers and to pull him out. Ranlyn was half-expecting Lanrys to begin pissing the second his cock was free but he didn’t; remarkably, he held it in, though his whole body was shaking, and the head of his cock was damp with urine. Carefully, Ranlyn positioned the pitcher between Lanrys’ knees. Then he wrapped one hand around Lanrys’ cock and aimed it. He kissed Lanrys’ thigh. And either Lanrys could feel the ceramic of the pitcher on his skin, or else he’d understood Ranlyn’s kiss the way he’d meant it, or else he just couldn’t hold it anymore, because he started pissing. It came out hard and sudden and Ranlyn almost lost his grip on the pitcher; hurriedly he grabbed Lanrys’ hand from where it was clenched around the chair and put it on his cock instead so that he could hold the pitcher more steadily. Lanrys’ urine splashed noisily against the ceramic; Ranlyn was sure it was audible even above the music and the thick velvet. The stream was thick and clear and strong and Ranlyn watched it, watched Lanrys’ body slowly untense itself as more and more piss came out, and wondered why his own stomach was clenching, why his cock was twitching even more. He recognized all the responses from previous sexual encounters, both with Lanrys and with the few others he’d had prior to the castle, but not for this—surely? Lanrys was urinating into a pot, that was all. He’d been desperate, bursting, unable to find relief, unable to sit still, unable to sit straight. He’d been nearly in tears and he’d wet his pants a little bit and now as he continued to piss and piss Ranlyn could hear him making those same quiet, moaning noises, and oh, oh fuck— Ranlyn shifted. He was more than half-hard in his trousers, but he couldn’t find relief. He was half-hard from the idea of Lanrys’ desperation, from thinking of how full he’d been, how full and how unbearably strained his bladder must’ve felt. And he was half-hard from Lanrys losing control, and from watching Lanrys piss into this pitcher beneath the table. In public. Where anyone could potentially figure out what was going on. Ranlyn had no idea—he was sure it was just a fluke. But what a fluke it was. He shifted a little, trying to get some friction from his trousers— —and realized the pitcher was filling up. It was more than half full and Lanrys’ stream was not slowing down. Ranlyn had no idea what to do; he tapped Lanrys’ thigh, and then again more insistently, and Lanrys pinched the tip of his cock and jiggled his thighs and managed, with what looked like a Herculean effort, to stop the flow. He pressed the heel of his hand hard on his cock and bent a little to look under the tablecloth. “What’s wrong,” he whispered, “Ran—” He was shaking his knee again, voice strained. “I still have to go so badly, honey, I don’t think I can hold it, I’m not finished—” “I know,” Ranlyn whispered back; his heart was in his throat, he hated seeing Lanrys in pain, or uncertain, or scared. “The pitcher’s almost full, though, and I—” He hesitated. “Do you think you could make it to the water closet now?” Lanrys bit his mouth. Shook his head. His legs were shaking; after maybe half a second a jet of piss shot out of his cock and he groaned, folding one leg over the other, trapping his cock and his hand. “I’ll piss on the fucking floor,” Lanrys grumbled, “I don’t care, I just, it needs to come out—” “What about if we just go outside,” Ranlyn said. “Maybe if you could just make it to the door?” The water closet was halfway on the other side of the castle. But there was a door leading out to the hunting grounds just thirty feet away. Lanrys’ eyebrows pinched together, momentarily. He licked his lips. Then, slowly, he nodded. Ranlyn nodded too. He brought Lanrys’ hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckle he’d bitten. “You’re doing so good, darling,” he murmured, and Lanrys’ cheeks flushed even deeper. He tucked himself back into his trousers and began redoing the threads—fingers still trembling, as Ranlyn inched his way out from beneath the table. He had no idea what to do with the pitcher of urine but decided ultimately his best bet was to leave it there and come back for it later. The feast wouldn’t be over until after midnight, probably, and Ranlyn figured it was just gone eight now. So he had plenty of time. A passing guest gave him an odd look as he straightened up and walked around the table, but he ignored the man and set his hand on Lanrys’ shoulder again. “Ready, your majesty?” Lanrys nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said, in the formal stiff tone he adopted with Ranlyn when they spoke in public where others could hear them. He stood up, wincing; Ranlyn could see him trying hard not to grab himself, and even in the dim candlelight he saw Lanrys’ crotch shining with fresh dampness. He staggered away from the table, Ranlyn at his side, and together they weaved their way to the door, passing guards and guests who bowed automatically. As they passed through the door Ranlyn glanced back; he saw Alice, talking to Lord Nathaniel, and rolled his eyes. At least she was distracted, he thought, and hurried Lanrys on. They made their way down the field a bit. The night air was cool on their skin; the moon hadn’t risen, but the stars were out, and Ranlyn could just see where he was going as he led Lanrys away from the castle and from prying eyes. The grass was soft and long the further they went; there was a river at the edge of a hill, and Ranlyn was trying to get Lanrys there, but as soon as they were around a corner and away from the windows of the banquet hall Lanrys dropped to his knees and fumbled himself back out. He was already pissing by the time he got out his cock; he tried to aim it but his hands were shaking too much and after a moment he just collapsed back, almost fully seated, pissing hard into the dirt and the grass and a little onto his trousers. Ranlyn knelt behind him to hold him up. Lanrys leaned back against him. His eyes shut. Quiet exhausted moans fell from his lips. “You really needed to go, huh,” Ranlyn murmured, slowly rubbing Lanrys’ side, kissing his neck. “You must’ve been so uncomfortable, love. I’m sorry.” Lanrys shook his head. “‘s all right,” he said, voice rough, a little choked. “Thank you for helping me…” Ranlyn nodded. His chin was on Lanrys’ shoulder. One hand on his thigh. The other on his ribcage. Lanrys’ stream seemed to go on forever, though Ranlyn was sure it couldn’t have been more than a minute, perhaps a minute and a half. At last it slowed to a trickle, then stopped. A few more spurts came out; then Lanrys tucked himself back in for the second time, and wiped his hand on the grass. He turned to Ranlyn and kissed him slowly, heatedly, sucking his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth. “You liked that,” he said, quietly, after a long time. They were kneeling in the grass where Lanrys had just relieved himself; Ranlyn was hard, aching with it, and he’d forgotten how observational Lanrys was, and how smart. His cheeks flushed; in the dim light, against his darkish skin, he knew it wouldn’t be visible, but he also knew he couldn’t hide something like this, not from Lanrys. So he nodded, and Lanrys smiled. It wasn’t mocking; it never was with Lanrys, but Ranlyn still closed his eyes, feeling vaguely ashamed. A moment later Lanrys’ hand was on his cheek. “It’s all right,” he said, still quiet. “It’s okay. You’re just very expressive, and I can tell when you’re aroused.” “Should be able to, you have enough practice,” Ranlyn mumbled, and Lanrys laughed, softly. His thumb stroked Ranlyn’s cheekbone and Ranlyn looked up. Lanrys was smiling at him, gently, head tilted a little to one side. “There was something enjoyable about it,” Lanrys said. “I wouldn’t mind getting into a similar situation sometime. Though perhaps—in private? Just with you?” He looked hesitantly at Ranlyn, and Ranlyn tilted his head a little so he could kiss Lanrys’ palm, and then he drew him forward by his doublet and kissed his mouth. “I would be honored, your majesty,” he murmured, and Lanrys tugged gently at one of his curls before straightening up, and offering Ranlyn his hand.
  2. So, today is my birthday...but most of my IRL friends have a lot else going on between work and finals. To get out of the house, I decided to go out for a drive in the mountains. Before I left, I drank an energy drink, then stopped for lunch and had a large fountain soda. Within an hour after having lunch and starting to head back, I started needing to pee. Holding isn't much my thing, and I can't hold for very long anyway, so I was very quickly at an uncomfortable stage. With it being a Monday (that some have off but not everyone), I felt a little adventurous. I parked my car at an overlook, hiked across the road and up a hill a bit. The hillside was wooded but most of the trees there were still pretty bare. If you were looking for someone, you would have seen me. That's when I wet the first time. I peed for at least a full minute, just a continuous steady stream flowing out into my jeans and down into my socks and shoes (well, one of them). I was kind of amazed it didn't show more, but it felt wonderful! Then I got to hike the 200 feet or so back down the hill and across the road to my car. The road had been pretty quiet while I was wetting and while I sat and admired what I had done, but as I hiked down, three cars passed by! The last one came up right as I was about to cross the road, I quickly tried to turn around and hide behind a tree but I'm 90 percent sure they saw me. I was exhilarated, but I wasn't done yet! An hour or so later, long enough for my pants to mostly dry, after crossing a big river and lots of small streams paralelling and crossing the road, I was having to pee again. I thought maybe I could make it home but it was soon apparent that the road was longer than I thought. So I eventually found another pull-off. This one was open terrain, although there was a downward slope I could go down to hide from the road a bit. There, I peed the second time, not for as long, but definitely almost as much as the first! I could now squish my left shoe and there was now a bit of mud under them from all my pee. I love rewetting my pants, and this was one of the best feeling rewets I've had in a long time! I made it back to my car with no one noticing this time, sitting on my sweatshirt because I was now quite soaked. It was now time for the real fun. Having one or two people notice you wet out in the middle of nowhere is one thing, but it was now time for me to head back home and I live in the middle of town, on the same block as two churches, one with a daycare and playground, and lots of active neighbors. I was close enough to home now that it couldn't have dried up enough for anyone who wasn't blind to not notice. Then I remembered that it's the day after Easter, so the church daycare should be closed up. That's one less thing, but I also live on a fairly busy street, right down the road from the police station, with frequent traffic in all directions. Then there's all the big trucks driving around, tall enough to be able to look down into my smaller car and see what I did! I make it to my block, and sure enough, one of my across-the-street neighbors is getting things from their trunk. I decided to take my sweet time parking, to see if she would start to leave. She didn't, but turned around for long enough that I could quickly bolt from my car and run up the stairs to my apartment. If you can believe it, after all of that wetting, and barely an hour after my last one, I had to pee a third time! I thought it was just a small pee but it turned out to be just as big as the other two! Best birthday trip ever or greatest birthday trip ever? Even as I sit here writing this, I'm still in my soaked jeans and socks, wetting for a FOURTH time today! (Disclaimer: The videos contained herein are of the "boring" handheld, simple wetting variety, and yes, I am male.) IMG_0457.MOV IMG_0459.MOV IMG_0461.MOV
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