‘Tea’ With Her Highness
Mother Jemila listens to hear the running water of the upstairs shower. She smiles in satisfaction. Introducing son Kwame to the new member of the household... the Queen’s gift... has gone more smoothly than she expected. Then again, what teenaged boy would find objection to greeting a naked girl trained to respond instantly to any and all commands.
She thinks of the exchange which gave rise to the acquisition... the recent afternoon of leisure at the Palace... ‘tea’ with her old friend and classmate, the Queen...
“So how are things with the family. Kwame must be near graduation,” her highness sipping a well spiked mint julep.
“In a few weeks. Accepted at two British colleges. There is a decision to be made.”
The conversation comes as the two bask in the late afternoon African sun. A shaded second story porch over looks an expanse of well landscaped lawn. The Royal hounds frolic about, their playful hijinks entertaining the women as they catch up socially.
“In possibly leaving home for school... I have concerns. He’s not been with many girls... difficult to build a relationship while attending that prep school we’ve sent him to. So I don’t know how he’d fend for himself... in the dating sense.”
“Bed sheets a little crusty?” the Queen humorously suggests more than inquires.
Jemila nods.
“And husband Jafari? It must be near twenty years... such happiness for you Jemila.”
“Twenty years, yes. The happiness... well... there seems to be some ennui. Things becoming tiresome.”
“How so?”
“The intimacy... the... you know... male thing... needing... what he calls spice.”
The Queen smiles warmly and nods.
“The privileges of Royalty, Jemila. Whenever the Prince hints to me that there is lack of what you term ‘spice’ in the marriage, well... I initially fixed that by having the Palace guards prepare him to be cropped... thereafter threatening with a good caning if more ‘spice’ was required. But then came my own needs. So we settled... some spice for me... some spice for the Prince.”
Despite the close relationship, Jemila has not the temerity to ask of such details, deciding to tactfully back into further discussion. As she formulates words, the Royal hounds begin to play in earnest. Running, barking, growling... she cannot help noting that the huge Mastiffs are intact, the male packages most prominent.
“Your hounds, your Highness. Not fixed, remaining intact, but so gently playful, even with one another.”
“Yes, they’re kept... guess you’d say... fulfilled. It’s important... I suppose one can say that for all male beasts.”
“Well for Jafari, it’s the... you know... the desire for diversity.”
“Anal or oral?” the Queen shocks her good friend, smiling in being forthright.
Jemila becomes speechless, not expecting such a blunt question. Finally she finds words.
“Well, he hints at both. He gets neither, of course.”
“Finish your julep, Jemila. I’ll take you to the kennel... show you how the hounds are kept happy. But I will ask for your discretion. I use the privileges of Royalty for many purposes... to address many problems... which you will understand. And perhaps you will concur with my solutions... perhaps not.”
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