The royal seamstress measured me for a new gown today. Her hands were so sure and commanding as she wrapped the tape around my waist, my hips, my chest. All I could do was stand perfectly still, my heart hammering, obeying her soft commands to 'lift your arms' and 'turn around.' It made me ache to be handled like that in my private chambers—to have a Master’s hands on me, taking my measurements not for silk and thread, but for his pleasure. To be told to arch my back, present my ass, or open my mouth, and to have no choice but to comply. The thought of being used as his personal plaything, my pussy dripping just from the sound of his voice giving me an order… it’s a different kind of royal duty I crave.