Just for Uncle Ed (ps, It's a short redpleated skirt, a white shirt, red tie, white stockings. and a prefect badge)

Frankly, this whole thing has just gotten way out of hand. Talk about being misunderstood. They say that kinkiness is getting more accepted in mainstream society. Of course what they really mean, is that lingerie shops have started selling furry handcuffs, and that twenty something women buy them and think they’re ever so hardcore and dirty. Lame. Everyone loves the pink fuzzy plastic restraints, but lets not kid ourselves it’s a full on dungeon scene. Anyway, this is beside the point. Thing is, as much as people like to flatter themselves that they’re super open minded and sexually experienced, mention that you’re in a 24-7 non-sexual service based relationship, and they just can’t comprehend. I mean, why on earth would you want to do someone else’s housework for them? What’s the point of submitting to someone if you’re not gonna be getting a bit of the dirty stuff, if you catch my drift?
So of course, people assume that I’m being used here. It’s hard to understand non-kinky kink I guess. Well, between me and you, I do quite like a bit of spanking and some good old fashioned shagging every now again, but for the most part I was pretty happy with the way things were. There are tons of men and women who would kill to get to serve 3 women at once. I’m a sub at heart and I get kicks from just fussing over them. Besides, the arrangement meant I didn’t need to have a job, and that was a nice house I was living in. The attic rooms have the best view you know. What with my day off twice a month and some awfully nice clothes in the bargain, you can’t deny that there were some definite perks.
But anyway, I had this friend called Steve. Steve is about as straight as a circle, and pretty much the most flamboyant homosexual I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Now every girl needs a gay best friend, and Steve was my self-proclaimed “fairy” godmother. And Steve was a big believer that I couldn’t possibly be having fun in this relationship. He was always trying to rescue me. As it happened, our local Prince had just returned to the kingdom from an extended period of absence. Rumour has it he got in some legal difficulties after the Snow White incident and had to take some time away from home. Turned out she was greatly underage, but that’s what you get for taking home the corpses of young girls you find on the hillsides. Sure the dwarves could’ve told him, but how did they know he was gonna do that with her, and with burial prices through the roof I can’t blame them for letting him take her. So when his “affections” happened to dislodge the poisoned apple in her throat and she wakes up screaming, all hell breaks loose. Anyway, I digress.
So the Prince comes home and they throw this huge ball in his honour. Apparently he wants to meet the ‘eligible maidens’ and then the next morning he’ll declare which one he wants as his bride. I resent this treating women like bits of meat (and yet it makes me slightly excited, weird). I also don’t consider myself eligible, with the aforementioned arrangements but they haven’t passed the gay marriage laws yet, and even if they had, this kingdom is very anti-polygamy, so anyway you look at it the law sees me as a single woman.
I expressed my distaste to Steve on the way to the ball, and he supported me throughout the evening exactly as a best friend should. By getting me well and truly pissed. So I’m on my fourth glass of champagne and well into the giddy giggly unbalanced stage of drunkenness when Steve reveals his secret. Turns out the ball isn’t the only party going down tonight. He holds out this exclusive invite to a ‘play party’ in the palace dungeons after the ball. I don’t know how he managed to get hold of them but well, he does get around a bit, you know? It was pretty clearly an attempt to ‘rescue me’ again by reminding me of the joys of sex but I was fairly easy to persuade into going considering my state (and I’d always been a bit curious as to what goes on at one of these) so we slip off to dress in some more suitable attire.
I would have gone for the little black dress, but my fairy godmother said there wont be many chances to get dirty with royalty, and so we should rise to the occasion (if it were still possible for him to rise to anything given the amount of alcohol he had consumed). He picks out this tiny leather bra and some tight leather pants I had to be sewn into, lends me a pair of shiny black stilettos (I didn’t ask…) and we’re good to go.
I check myself in the mirror in the hallway on the way down to the party, and I had to admit I was smoking hot. Steve is out of sight the moment we get inside and instead I find myself being eyed up by an extremely good-looking stranger in the corner of the room. Well one thing led to another and I ended up giving him a lap dance. Yeh I know, inappropriate, I guess there’s a reason they tell you not to drink and kink. Eventually I find Steve hours later and drag his whoring ass home before we both get turned into pumpkins. Next morning I wake up with the hangover from hell and there on the doorstep is the morning paper with the announcement of the Prince’s bride-to-be. You guessed it. My handsome stranger just happened to be the big guy himself and clearly my hot moves had won him over. Bugger. Thing is, he didn’t know who I was. All he had was my little lacy thong. To this day I don’t know how I managed to get it off while I was still wearing the pants. Of course most every girl in the kingdom claimed it was hers and the royal advisors were talking of DNA testing. I was quite happy to pretend it didn’t happen and I certainly didn’t make a claim, but bigmouth Steve sure as hell did, and ran down to the palace with my photograph. The Prince recognised it right away.
Well rules are rules and the law had been passed that compelled me to marry the Prince. I didn’t dread it as much as I thought I would, after all, he was very cute and it had been a long time since I got laid. The dungeon party was proof he was into the lifestyle and he seemed like a nice guy. He even didn’t mind when I insisted Steve would be our maid of honour (he looked damn good in that dress, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d worn a pearl necklace). So all things considered I overlooked his reputation and did as I was told.
And so this is where I am now. I go back to the palace and into his room and bloody hell! I’ve never seen so many toys. Whips, chains, floggers, benches, restraints and wow that four-poster bed with the black silk sheets! So I’m thinking to myself ‘hey maybe this isn’t gonna be so bad after all’. I walk around the place running my fingers over the solid gold shackles (he is the future king after all) with my mind racing with all the possibilities. My heart is pounding wondering how long it’ll be before he’s tying me down and taking me. Then I turn around and he’s kneeling behind me, butt naked except for a leather collar. He’s only a bloody sub isn’t he?! Typical. Turn’s out he’d mistaken my outfit and my little performance as a display of dominance and picked out the woman he thought would whip him into shape.
So much for happily ever after. So we consummate the marriage but it’s brief and disappointing to say the least. And he keeps calling me Mistress and trying to lick my feet, and frankly that’s very off putting when I’ve always considered myself a slave. He also has a very small penis. No really. Very very small.
I’m all for compromise, but nowadays we spend more time arguing about who’s gonna hold the whip tonight than we do about ruling the country. And he always wins of course, pointing out that he is going to be King, and as such I have no choice but to do as he says- talk about topping from the bottom!

sorry it's so long Uncle Ed!