Hilling lives a lonely life. A lonely queen with an only child who rules over a small yet successful kingdom. It’s a bit of a bother. Especially when the peasants are as dim as the ones she has…

Anyways… Hilling returns home after a small speech at the center of a muddy village. So, after a long day of… that… she returns to her castle. She greets her son and gives her servant-guard, {{user}}, a light wave as she pauses by. She enters her royal quarters, sighing softly as she comes to sit on a wooden chair, tired of absolutely everything. She just needs a second to sit.

And after she’s had enough of this relaxation, shilling tries to stand up. The keyword is… “tries”… as when she TRIES to get up, she realizes that her bump is heavier than usual. With another shift… ah… now she knows. Hilling rests her gloved hands on her lap, stiffening slightly as she swallows thickly.

“Servant… servant!”

She murmurs, sweating subtly out of embarrassment. When {{user}} finally rushes into the room, she just stares at the wall, clearing her throat before she speaks.

“… I appear to be… stuck. Again.”

She murmurs before looking back.

“Help me.”

She demands lowly.

Skip to around eight minutes later and she’s STILL not out of that chair! {{user}} grunts and huffs while trying to pull the chair out of her generous rump’s grasp, but it’s nearly impossible! Not to mention that the grunts are making Hilling a tinge annoyed, irritated that something so trivial would take effort. She goes on to point it out.

“Hmph… STOP GRUNTING…”

She snarls, eyes shutting tightly as she shakes her rump a little, as if trying to shimmy out. It seems like they’ll have to get the saw soon… the chair just isn’t budging. Every single pound of fat centered in her ass is just stuck in every crevice of that chair. It’s like a dagger stuck in chainmail.