The goddess on the fire escape is you.
It was of critical importance that the prince be fooled (by the fine cloak), and know it was a trap (from the bindings) and still not be able to extricate himself (from the warm, inviting folds of the pinkish inner darkness of the cloak, gently spread open like the petals of a rare flower) (and also the undeniable draw of the breasts).
It was a good trap.  I was having a hard time leaving her alone for long enough to get her into the wagon, and it would be a struggle to leave her in the woods later, to say nothing of the difficulty of leaving her in a sufficiently orderly state as to be mistaken for a princess.
I had no idea where my assistant had found her.  He assured me it had been by legal means, and that the girl had come willingly without duress, but he was from across the sea and didn’t always have the same notions of these things I did, so I was a bit concerned.  But she seemed hale and healthy and well-cared-for, and not suffering any distress or trauma.  She ate well, and moved well, and slept well.
She didn’t speak, though.  I didn’t know if she was mute, or didn’t know our language, or if perhaps that was the only sign of whatever trauma she bore.   But she would look at me, with those eyes.
I had intended to keep her, well, fresh for the prince, so to speak.  But, as we prepared her for the big day, I was becoming increasingly glad we’d allowed plenty of time for delays of whatever sort, because those eyes.
It was actually she who had folded the cloak open just so, a little after we dressed her.  We hadn’t tied her hands yet.  It seemed like an excellent idea, as already mentioned, so I left it that way.  But now I saw it, every time I looked at her: shining red-pink doors standing open to mysterious depths, surrounded by the dark-furred cloak that would hide the treasure, surmounted by a glistening jewel that seemed made only for kissing.
I had work to do.  I put these thoughts aside.  But then, I would look up from my work for a moment, and there she’d be, sitting, one foot up on the bench beside her, and she bent forward to examine some detail or blemish of her thigh, running her hand over it in inspection.
But I had work to do.  Until I looked at her, and she hastily tucked her hand behind her back as if afraid I’d seen where she had it before.  Until I would swear I heard little moaning mewling noises, but she was sitting perfectly still and only looking bored, so perhaps I only imagined them.  Until I glanced sideways and saw her experimenting with the drape of the folded-open part of the cloak, and by that I mean carefully and deliberately shifting the edge of the cloak this way and that across her nipples.
I regretted not paying more attention to her earlier.  But there would be time later to study and explore her; after my plan had been executed.  If she wanted to stay on, I mean.  I had no intention to turn her out.
As I drove the wagon to the predetermined baiting location, I felt more sure I heard her making little vocal noises from inside.  I’d left my assistant behind to carry out other preparations, so I couldn’t really corroborate my observation.  When I came to the right place, I drew the wagon to a stop, halting the noise and clatter of its motion, and I was definitely hearing something from within the riding compartment.
I opened the door, and she was definitely moving her hands about under the cloak, lifting and stroking and pressing her breasts.  And whenever she touched one of her perfectly round nipples, she’d let out a little moan.
I checked the time.  We were well early; hours, probably.
And so I climbed into the carriage, and pulled the door shut carefully behind me.  I don’t know that she was very aware of me; she seemed pretty involved elsewhere.  Her hands were busy at her breasts, and she lounged back across the seat some, her long legs restlessly seeking a place where they fit, against the headrest or on the floor or sometimes reaching as if to rest on the ceiling.  Maybe she could reach; it wasn’t all that far.
I decided her legs were less busy, and more badly in need of occupying, and so I knelt in what room there was on the floor and insinuated myself at a moment when they were spread wide.  I slid my hands up her thighs by way of greeting, and she didn’t start or tell me to stop; I looked to her face to be sure, and though I believe her eyes remained closed, she nodded at me.  And with that, I need wait no longer; I dove in with my lips and tongue and just a little bit of teeth.
Her little moans got longer and louder, and her legs wrapped over my shoulders, and her hands tangled themselves in my hair for want of handles, and so she steered me to her liking, and I did my best to comply.  At length, she bucked against me with a great cry, and I gathered her to me as she suddenly relaxed, panting.
She looked at me, and I felt like she actually saw me this time, and she said, “That was delightful.”
I figured I shouldn’t be astonished at her speech, so I said, “I’m glad you think so.  Perhaps, after plans are done—”
“Yes,” she said with great interest.  ”Plans.  Will I see you after the plans are done?”
"I’ll be here to collect you and the prince myself.  May I ask—"
"Of course.  It was rude of me to say nothing, but I thought it likely you’d want a meek victim of a girl for your bait.  But… I had to make sure it was me.  To see if the feelings that come over me when I read the tales of sacrifices and rescues still appear, and grow stronger, when I’m part of the story."
"It seems they do."
She wiggled happily with her whole body.  ”And I’m not even set out for bait yet.”
"Well," I said.  "You’ll be even better bait than I could wish for.  Even if he doesn’t see you, the scent of your excitement and wanting should bring him in from miles away."
"But…" I thought about this carefully.  "Mind how you lure him."  I slid two fingers inside her, slowly, teasingly, and did not move them.  "I’d hate for him to learn things about you I haven’t had a chance to find out yet."
She rippled around me, and her hips shifted in tiny movements before she stilled them to look intensely into my eyes.  ”We’d best put things in motion.  There’ll be plenty of time for that later.  And I think it might be best if I’m not still moaning and rubbing when he arrives, so you’ll want to leave me some time to cool down out there.”
"I think I can do that," I said, withdrawing my fingers and wiping them clean hastily on my own clothing.  "I’ll need to get myself back into strategic mastermind shape."
And so it was that I sent her out into the woods on her own, to wait for her to bring back a prince for me.
I love the way the light catches on the ring of your collar, highlighting for me the way you tremble in anticipation.
Tonight, I am yours; do with me as you wish, only take me with you wherever you go, into fireworks and wonder and darkness.
"Both dresses were lovely on you, dear, but I’m glad we settled on the one that looked best with your hair, rather than the one that brought out your eyes.”
The bondage mimic is a dangerous strain of the wild hottie.  They may present themselves dressed in bits of string and cloth, and pose themselves so that they appear to be restrained, but the explorer should be aware that this is a trap.  
Even if all you do is bend close for a sniff, you may find that, suddenly, you’ve got strong thighs wrapped around your neck and fingers in your hair and even if you weren’t intending to have a mouth full of juicy cunt, you’ve got one, and you can’t escape.  And there’s no escape; she isn’t going to let go until you’ve satisfied her.  
Lucky survivors have come away with only their face dripping in juices, but the less fortunate have staggered back into town after being unaccounted for for several days, exhausted and sore and harrowed and covered in parallel tracks that we can only guess are from the claws.
"I never doubted you when you said you could get me off with your hands tied behind your back.  But I had to know if it was as good as I imagined, and … well, I think we need to find out if this was just a fluke, or if you can do it consistently."
"Read to me.  We can talk about what else to do at the end of the chapter."
Everyone talked about my partner, at the ball, about her porcelain skin, her candied lips, dressed all in gauze.
Nobody asked to dance with her, though there were whispers of those who wished to but were afraid she might break in their hands, in all her perfect delicacy.  Just as well, though; I don’t think I could bear to share her.
Inviting, adventurous, mysterious, a little dangerous, like one of those old-school fairies.  
Your mind, your eye keep trying to wander to her breasts, her body, but somehow, quite inexplicably, are always drawn back to her mouth— not really her mouth, not her lips, but her smile, the way she welcomes and challenges and dares you.  And then to her dark, shining, sharp eyes, which seem to contain the most concentrated energy of her spark, and are more real than the rest of her, eyes that look right through you, but in the way where she can read you like a book, not the way where she doesn’t know you exist.  
Because she does.  And she wants you.  For what, you may never know, even though you’re powerless to escape her event horizon, captivated by her life and warmth and danger as surely as if she were a leaping, licking fire.  Except she’s holding more than your eyes captive.  And it seems unlikely closing your eyes will help much.  
You’re pretty much fucked.  But at least you’ll probably be fucked in the very very nice way somewhere in the bargain.