Young Mistress Novels & Stories

he demanded, his voice sharp. Unease settled in the pit of my stomach as I slowly turned to look. Where my professional résumé should have been displayed in clear text, there was instead a bold red message, each word an accusation screaming across the screen: "I am the mistress who drove my lover's wife to her death. I deserve to die!" Before anyone could remove the damning words, a male student leaped up from the crowd, his face twisted in fury as he pointed at me. "It's her! This slut destroyed my family and forced my mother, the rightful wife, to her death!" he shouted, his voice shaking with emotion. "How can someone like her call herself a philanthropist?"

"Go for it! Doesn't it feel good to throw water onto that bitch's face? The other time, my husband brought his mistress home and I straddled her right away before slapping her again and again. It felt so fucking good!" "It's just unfortunate that the water wasn't hot. She doesn't care about her reputation anyway, so might as well just scald her." "I'm so proud of you, Madam. There's no need to waste any effort trying to talk sense into an immoral wench like her!" "Don't any of you notice that the mistress looks like a beauty guru? It wasn't clear from a far distance, but now that the camera's gotten closer, she looks so much like her!" "It's Lana!"

she murmured softly, "and you will, call out for Vespera, and let the darkness guide you. Allow the shame to make it all the sweeter." Lyra sucked in a breath, horror slamming into her chest, mortification curling tight in her gut. The Mistress ran a slow, lazy finger over Lyra’s swollen lips. “Mmm,” she mused. “Now that was delicious.” Lyra’s stomach turned. “No…” she whispered, but it was weak, unconvincing. “Oh, Lyra,” the mistress murmured. “You poor, sweet thing. You thought it was him, didn’t you?” Lyra turned her head to the side, humiliation scarring her cheeks, unwilling to admit what the Mistress already knew.

I know what this chat means, Alec will think twice before laying his finger on me ever again. * “Mistress do you want your hair in an up do or do you want it down.” My slave girl Kayla asked. “I want it down, that’s how Alexandro likes it. He likes to see my hair spread on the bed as he thrusts into me.” I said looking at myself in the mirror, I have come so far, a few years I was nothing but a slave girl and now I am the mistress of the quarter. I smiled at myself, soon I will set my people free from Alexandro’s tyranny, soon the witches will rule over silver lake.

Then she entered the restroom and began working, scrubbing the floor and cleaning between the tiles with careful precision. Justin observed her every movement like an unseen supervisor. He even noticed how she lowered her head deeply when passing a couple brazenly engaging in an intimate act near the hallway. “She’s actually… very beautiful.” The words caught in his throat. Justin immediately rubbed his face harshly, trying to erase the strange image that had crept into his mind. In his principles, there was no such thing as love. Especially not becoming a slave to a woman. “No. I can’t let myself get swayed by that girl. She’s too suspicious. Too calm. Too slippery.” His voice was sharp, la

I ate at the kitchen table with my back to it and watched half a movie on my laptop that I couldn't have described ten minutes after it ended. I brushed my teeth, turned off the lights and got into bed. Lay there for forty minutes staring at the ceiling. At midnight I got up, walked to the kitchen in the dark, and opened it. I didn't turn the light on. Just stood at the counter with the letter and the thin wash of streetlight coming through the window and read. The first paragraph told me Sienna was his sister. I stopped and read that sentence again. Then again. His sister. Richard Thornfield's illegitimate daughter. Twenty-four years old, alone in Portland, pregnant when she'd walked into F

"The note under her windshield. Eleven days ago." "Yes." "Damien, that is not a coincidence, and I need you to hear how much it is not one. The same week Marcus Vale authorized surveillance on Amelia's house, someone two hundred miles away pointed a woman with a legitimate six year old secret straight at your door. He is not trying to embarrass you. He is building a narrative. A man with a hidden mistress and a hidden child, exposed on the same week his ex-wife is fighting for her company. Do you understand what that looks like from the outside."

The mistress is powerless compared to the new lady of the house, after all a slave is still a slave. "But, are you certain begging will be enough? My lady, you don't look like the kind that is gorgeous even after people begged you. How about this, if you begged me, then I will give you the lord for a night, spending a passionate night with her husband is something that most wives will die for."

I asked firmly but deep inside I’m trembling in fear. “I don’t want to go around the bush Celeztine, I’ve been a very straight person. I want you to be my mistress.” He pointed out. “A M-Mistress?” “Are you kidding me S-sir? Who would agree on that? Who wants to be a mistress anyway?” I asked unbelievably. Is this happening? “No one wants to be a mistress but sometimes you have to analyze first before you reject the offer. Who knows this is your chance to save your father?” He uttered.

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.