I indicate towards the pitcher filled with girlcum on the table, and Urta raises one eyebrow, unsure if I'm serious. I am. She slides it over with her skilled foot, letting me get another good look at her balls and base of her big cock. I smell the cum, appreciating the strong odor. I then take a small sip, tasting the girly cum, savoring the flavor before swallowing it down. Soon, I'm drinking large gulps, drinking about 1/3rd of it before placing the large container down. Some splashes over the side and onto the table. Urta smiles slyly at this, idly rubbing her big dick through her tight dress.
We begin discussing ourselves, and Urta surprisingly seems to know much about me, current events, and the world outside of their little communities. She tells me they have many secret friends in the Capitol, and even a few in the castle. They often visit the towns at night, disguising themselves as cloaked travelers, for trade, supplies, and entertainment. I am baffled that they are able to secretly make their way through such populated urban centers unnoticed, but apparently the beast-races have a knack for clandestine activities, both natural and learned through years of persecution.
After some talk, and a few shared drinks of booze and cum, we come to the most current event: the upcoming matter of my marriage, and my quickly approaching rule. Urta genuinely grieves at the loss of my father, saying that she respected him greatly, and is sure I will be a worthy successor. I also assure her that I will make every effort to ensure their kind are welcome and protected under my rule. She then asks me whom I plan on wedding. Urta is a very kind and charming woman, if a little on the alcoholic side. I can tell she's been hurt in the past, although I'm not about to pry further into the matter. A little drunk on her cum, I decide to answer in the best way I know how:
"I'm not sure, yet. At least, I don't think I'm sure." I reply, genuinely trying to weigh my options. My buzzed state has me feeling a bit more sappy and open than usual, "If things were different, perhaps you'd be a fine option, my dear. After all, if I can get a big load like this one every day, I'd be a happy, fat king." Urta laughs kindly at this, knowing the realm would not approve of such a marriage. Little does she know, I care little for the opinions of some racist farmers.
After some more heavy flirting, each of us legitimately enjoying the other's companies, we decide that it's getting rather late, and I've already been gone for some time. Urta assures me that I am more than welcome to one of their spare boats, and that a replacement wouldn't be hard at all to come across.
