My Queen


Tonight my princess, we will play a little game. You will be my exotic bride to be and your job is to make me break my vows of purity before we wed. I bought you a beautiful dress that will make you look like my very own princess and I have shined my shoes and will wear my best suit so that I can be your fairytale prince.

The only difference between our royal nuptials and the ones on TV are that I’m a very, very naughty prince. You know that and you lead me astray and then, you ensure that I will be punished severely and made to demonstrate my humility. I’m so very lucky that you will indulge me in this playtime, which I so very need. You are my escape.

The thigh high boots you wear under your princess dress will be revealed when you determine the time is right and I will thank you for it, over and over again, as the sting of your discipline ripples through my recently pressed trousers. I will be on my knees for you my princess and before the night is complete, you will be my Queen.

Every time I see something about the royal marriage on the television, in the news or hear about it on the radio my mind spirals. I become distracted. I imagine you, your eyes, so cold, but your hands so, so warm. Just tell me what you want me to do and I, your gallant prince, shall oblige. I was born to please you.

All day, every day, I am forced to live a masquerade. People come to me for direction, supervision, guidance and want me to be responsible for the mundane things that they do. Meanwhile, in my heart and in my mind, I am taken with far more important things. I am working on a list of the ways in which I will submit to you and prove my loyalty and worthiness to you.

Am I to give you pleasure tonight? Am I to service my personal royal highness? Or will you tantalise me and make me wait, painfully, imploringly. You know how little self-control I have when I am in your presence and yet, you are so spectacularly good at teaching me with blissful rewards and exquisitely timed punishments.

Would you like me to bring you a diamond ring tonight, to prove my commitment to you? Will I be permitted to call you ‘Ma’am’? Will you grace me with an audience? These are the thoughts I repeat in my mind as I anticipate our meeting this fine evening. How am I expected to waste my time in this boring office, with these simple people, who have no idea who I worship, obey and serve? But focus, I must. I have be able to scrape together the offerings you require to grant me time in your presence.

I watch the clock and don’t just count the minutes; I count the seconds. Tonight, my princess, you will allow me to dress you in your finery and I, in return, shall bow at your feet. Thank God for Cleopatra Escorts. They make sure that there will always be a princess who knows how to treat a wannabe prince like me. I am naught but a peasant in your eyes and for that, I will be eternally grateful.