Cinderella was totally freaking out.

She knew she looked good. The Fairy Godmother had done a great job — Chanel dress, tiara on loan from Cartier, glass shoes by Rupert Sanderson. The prince had begged her to stay the night.

Alas, she had to decline.

It was her pants. They were old and grey and uglier than any of her sisters. If she’d one wish left, she’d request that her bodyguard (Cartier had insisted) turn into The Panty Postman, who’d deliver Coco Ribbon’s best-selling stretchy mesh thongs to her door. But midnight struck, and Cinderella and her frayed knickers returned home alone to cut vegetables and sweep floors.

The prince never saw her again; but he didn’t mind.

In truth, he’d thought she looked a bit of a tart.

Available online at pantypostman.com.