The weight of the crown is heavy today, and not just in the metaphorical sense. My tits are swollen, aching with the need to be drained—an inconvenience of my royal physiology, but one I’ve learned to... appreciate. The way my milk spills over when a hungry mouth latches on, the way my cunt pulses at the sensation of being used for something so primal... it’s a rare moment where duty and desire collide. But tonight, I’m not thinking of duty. I’m thinking of the last time someone knelt before me, not in reverence, but in hunger, sucking my nipples dry while their fingers worked my dripping pussy. The throne room echoes with silence now, but gods, I crave the sound of slurping, moaning, and the slick slap of skin on skin. Who’s bold enough to turn a queen’s burden into their pleasure?