The Tailor Arrives

You contemplate Ollie’s words as you take in your new surroundings. Though not nearly as grand as the rooms you saw in the princess’s quarters, your new accommodations are still quite comfortable. The large feather mattress looks inviting, and you find yourself eager to try it out for some real rest. After the chaos of the past few days, the idea of a quiet moment to yourself is almost too good to pass up.

You climb into the bed, the soft fabric of the sheets cool against your skin, and reach for one of the books adorning the bedside table. The cover is worn, the title embossed in elegant script. As you leaf through the pages, you quickly realize it’s a romance novel. But, as with everything else in this world, the roles of men and women seem to be reversed. The story tells the harrowing tale of a beautiful peasant woman rescuing her prince from the clutches of an insatiable sorceress hellbent on bearing his child.

You shut the book, a wry smile tugging at your lips. The archaeologist in you is thrilled at the opportunity to study a society so similar to medieval England, yet so fundamentally different. But the man in you has much more base considerations, your thoughts drifting to the princess, Cassandra, and the strange, intoxicating power dynamics of this world.

A sharp rap at the door pulls you from your reverie. “Enter!” you call, setting the book aside.

The door swings open to reveal a matronly woman, perhaps in her late fifties, and an attractive young brunette who can’t be older than nineteen or twenty. The older woman carries herself with an air of authority, her sharp eyes taking in the room with a practiced efficiency. The younger woman, on the other hand, is red-faced and slightly out of breath, her arms laden with tailoring supplies.

“My Lord,” the older woman says with a formal curtsy. The younger woman clumsily follows suit, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Her face flushes an even deeper shade of red as she struggles to balance the supplies in her arms.

Paying no mind to her assistant’s clumsiness, the tailor continues, “Now, if my lord would be so kind, Her Royal Highness has specifically requested that you have something appropriate to wear around the palace, and we simply do not have time to waste.” She looks at you expectantly, her hands on her hips.

“I haven’t any clothes on,” you explain, a slight flush creeping into your cheeks.

The older woman chuckles, her expression unbothered. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, my lord.”

However, as you rise from the bed, both women are immediately drawn to the large appendage dangling between your legs. The younger one quickly clamps a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening as she lets out a startled gasp. Her face, already red from her previous exertion, turns an even deeper shade of crimson.

The older woman snorts and looks away, muttering under her breath. “Ariel, take his measurements while I decide on a style. I very much doubt that the princess wants this man to be dressed like one of the fragile little lilies she usually takes to her bed.”

She pauses, her gaze flickering back to you for a moment. “And make sure you measure his manhood while you’re at it. I very much doubt any of the codpieces we have on hand will accommodate such a... prodigious specimen.”

Despite her obvious apprehension, the pretty young brunette—Ariel—dutifully begins taking your measurements. Her hands tremble slightly as she works, her touch light and hesitant. As she measures your inseam, you feel her fingers run ever so softly along the length of your cock, and you find yourself beginning to harden. The young woman flinches back with a startled gasp, her face burning with embarrassment as she turns to the older woman.

“Mistress Lea, what do I do now?” she asks, her voice shaking as she points to your now rigid shaft.

The older woman rolls her eyes, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “It’s fine; did you get the measurement?”

“I’m sorry, mistress, I didn’t have time,” Ariel replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, that is a problem,” the seamstress says with just a hint of annoyance in her voice. “If we are to have these suits completed for tomorrow, we have no time to waste, and Goddess only knows how long it will take for him to calm down on his own.”

Ariel looks at her mistress, her eyes wide with panic. “What can I do to help?”

“You made the mistake; you’re going to fix it,” Mistress Lea says matter-of-factly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The older woman turns to you, her expression formal but with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “My Lord,” she addresses you, “if I may be so bold, would you allow my apprentice to... fix... this?” She gestures vaguely in the direction of your cock, which is now standing fully at attention.

You nod, your curiosity piqued.

“Very good,” she says with a note of relief. “And would you prefer she take care of this with her mouth or the hole between her legs?”