Romans & histoires My Mistress's Eyes

Beatrice looked at me for a very long time. Her eyes were bright. Not with anger. And then, as she looked at my face, at the tears I had stopped trying to manage, something crumbled behind her eyes that I had never seen crumble before. Not in forty-one years. Not once. The composure she had worn her entire life like armour, the steel that had made her Beatrice Sinclair in every room she had ever entered, it gave way. Quietly. All at once. Her own eyes filled.

The mingled rush blurred her vision. When Lyra’s eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the overwhelming ascension, the mistress found the sweet bud between Lyra’s legs with one hand and her own with the other. She caressed the sensitive mounds bringing them deeper into their forbidden rapture. Her fingers circled, knowing not to apply direct pressure to the overly sensitive nerve bundles. The mistress’s lips quivered, losing herself in the savage beauty of the blurring boundaries between her and Lyra. They became a single, overwhelming pulse of desire and torment.

No fear, no pain, only a bitter urge to laugh. “I killed the baby?” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “That’s the biggest joke I’ve ever heard. You killed your own child, James! “And don’t forget your mistress! Weren’t you desperate to marry her all along? Well, congratulations! Now you can finally have what you’ve always wanted. Let that dead child watch as his father destroyed him just to play house with his adulterous lover!” James froze, his eyes wide with shock and terror, as if my words had struck something deep within him.

I open my eyes and take the card out of the blinding glow, and as my brain registers the card it looks blank, but I do as tradition states, spin around and hold it in the air for all to see. The gasps and the yelling starts, and I don’t understand why, so I bring the card down to my eye level and watch it. The card is black with what looks like six white silhouettes on it. There are colors beginning to swirl within each of the white silhouettes. Glancing up I see six figures walking toward me, but I can’t make out who they are. “Mistress to the Veil! The whore and her men must be sacrificed! You know the law! Kill the betrayers!”

I bend and pick it up but as I stand, my eyes connect with the most beautiful, breathtaking, golden orbs. Eyes that connect explicitly on mine.

Nerissa spat angrily, but Isabella shook her head. "But you also know the truth, Nerissa. Mateo and I, we never signed any divorce papers. You're living a lie." Nerissa sneered. "Oh, please. You disappeared, Isabella. In the eyes of the world, you were as good as dead. Mateo moved on. We're married now. That makes you the mistress, trying to worm her way back into his life!" Nerissa said heatedly, she's breathing hard, her cheeks and ears slightly reddened. Isabella feels like there's a huge knife that stabs her chest with every word she says.

It’s right of her to figure some distance between us is for the best with this manner of conversation. “Sienna has worked diligently for me for many years, and I care about her deeply. This has nothing to do with worth. However, it is evident to everyone looking into this home that Sienna is here due to your generosity, not mine.” “So?” She tucks her hands behind her back, all poise and elegance. “So, it is time to take Sienna as your mistress.” My heart beat stutters. Mistress? Vivid images of Sienna splayed out on my bed, her naked form nestled between my ivory covers, her sweeping curves beneath my palms flashes unbidden across my mind.

She will become a prisoner in a place she would've used to call 'Home'. I recall the look in her big azure eyes. Eyes so full of life and mystery. Like the sea, calm and beautiful but deep and treacherous. Swirling with colour. But beauty is just an outta shell, she is wicked within. They all are! But that expression comes to mind, "the eyes are the windows to the soul." If that even rings the slightest bit true, could she be an exception? No, she can't be. Even if she was it would not change anything now would it? 'why am I even considering this??' she will fade away and wilt like a flower one day, her beauty will not even last. 'unless I make it last?' but why would I?

It was 5:09 pm. Mia stood in the middle of her bedroom staring at portraits and large pictures of her and Jansen drooping on the wall she approached there she stretched her hand towards a portrait staring at Jansen's pair of eyes, his winsome smile, and his smooth cheeks she stroked the portrait softly and she tried to fight back the tears in her eyes, "what's going on? Your pictures are more present than you are." She listened to footsteps approaching her room, it was gentle and light she immediately sensed it was Isabella's she sniffed and kneaded her jowls and she rubbed her eyes and she wore a fake smile.

The Mistress plodded along as a steady pace with the servant struggling to keep up with her. Along the way there were numerous stops, because at each picturesque overlook Eve wanted to take pictures. Because she looked forward to the breaks and was grateful for any opportunity to rest, Trish enthusiastically modeled for Eve's camera. The Mistress was glad to see that her servant was cheerful about being photographed, not embarrassed and sullen as she had been a few weeks before.