“Is that outfit what you always wear?” you ask.

“Yes, Sir. Mister Smith - your uncle, Sir - mandated this uniform for me." She looks at you, cheeks flushed. “Anything else, Sir?”

“I see. What exactly was your relationship with my uncle?” You query.

She turns crimson. "I - he and I - that is, Sir, we, um." She takes a deep breath. "It's simple, really. I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with it. I was his ****, you see.”

“How did that come about?” You probe, intrigued.

She sighs. "Well, I, um, see, I'm a bit of a trust fund kid. My parents died in a plane accident when I was thirteen, and I was brought up by my guardian and my staff. But I'm still a member of the New York 400, you know, the old money, so I always got invited to benefits and so on. I met your uncle at one of those." She shuffles her feet uncomfortably.

"I've always had submissive fantasies, ever since I was, like, five, you know? And all that stuff started coming out once your uncle and I started dating. He wasn't in the best of health, but for what I like in bed, vigor isn't so important, you know, as...authoritativeness. And he sure knew what he wanted.

"We set up an arrangement where he would hold all my assets in escrow for one year, and I would live here, basically at his beck and call, even at the disposal of the servants. One year." She pauses.

"Then the old bastard up and dies." She looks up at you.

"You know, you're the one who holds my assets now. I'm penniless." She looks up at you. “What are going to do with me?”