A court jester who's been working at the palace all day with no chance to empty his bladder, summoned to the king's chambers in the evening. The king wants to be amused, and the jester tries his best, but something is off. He stumbles over his words when reciting his jokes, songs and poetry, especially when there's a watery metaphor involved. He doesn't dare attempt any acrobatics. Eventually he's hunched over a little at the waist, sweating through his makeup, unable to keep from un-subtly dancing about in place. He makes a few feeble attempts to ask if he can be excused, but the king is insistent that he stay. The jester's full bladder grows more and more heavy and taut until it's aching, pulsing and throbbing inside him. Soon it gets so bad that he has to blurt out the truth (even if doing so in front of his patron makes him blush under the white paint).
"Sire, I...I have to relieve myself."
The king simply pauses, gets up from his chair and stretches.
There's a chamberpot under the bed, of course, and the king kicks it out into the open with his foot, undoes his breeches and lets loose. All in full view of his jester, who has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from groaning out loud. The sound of the other man's piss tinkling into the chamberpot is torturous. The poor, tormented clown is left shaking and whimpering into his sleeve. Relief is right there in front of him, and he's forbidden from it. The king finishes up and returns to his chair, looking his servant dead in the eyes with a smug smirk.
The jester knows the consequences of ruining the carpet in the royal chambers, so he has no choice but to squeeze his thighs together and give a sickly smile in return. He's barely clenching back the leaks that are threatening to stain his motley, left squirming on the spot and tugging at the bells on his collar. It's going to be a long evening.
"W-what are your - ah - orders, my liege?"
