The House of Seven Sins: Mistress in Training chapter 3, part 1 (18+ only)

Ella arrived outside the gate with the personal items allowed—various toiletries, razor and depilatory cream to cover all eventualities, even though she’d waxed on Wednesday, hairbrush, make-up, all the usual stuff—in a suitcase much bigger than her personal effects warranted. In there, all strapped in neatly, were various outfits, a jacket, three pairs of shoes with differing heel heights, and a nightshirt. There was no way she intended arriving As an afterthought, Ella threw her knee-length, white cotton dressing gown, covered in tiny multi-coloured roses, pansies, and something that looked like a weed, onto the top of her make-up bag. Just in case. She didn’t want to get caught roaming in her nightshirt if she needed a drink of water in the night, or a pee, or if the fire alarm went off, or something. It only just skimmed the crease joining her backside to her thighs, and often the hem got stuck there and she walked around with it clinging to her bottom. It always tickled when she detached it, the pull of it against her flesh leaving her with a brief tingle around the back of her thighs. It always made her wet.

She’d phoned the evening before, while she was making herself some pasta with pesto, to confirm when she should arrive for the interview. She’d waited for the ringing to morph into a voice, her finger absently tracing the top of her bra cups, and working its way into her cleavage. As her memory conjured up the Master, standing there against the door frame, her entire hand found itself grasping her left breast, leaving her breath wistful, all her senses hoping to hear her name wound around the Master’s tongue and his reply oozing like treacle into her ear once more. His impact had been much more lingering than she’d realised. She smiled: it could make for some harmless fun, inside her own head, at least. Maybe he’d become her go-to fantasy face when she wanted to stroke herself to sleep after a tiring day, or fulfil an urgent need in the shower while she was behaving professionally the rest of the time for the entire week.

She’d reached an older, male voice she didn’t recognise, which made her hand stop its arousal of her nipple and left it poking at the pasta with a fork instead. Apparently the Master had requested, as if he’d known she would ring, that she arrive at 6pm, ready for dinner at 7.30. It was then that Daniel had turned up, slightly worse for wear, demanding to know why she’d not stopped by the bank at lunchtime to give him a treat. One pull on her arm and a slap round her face later, she’d shoved him out of the door, telling him she hoped the toilet seat would slam down on his dick, and replicated her thoughts with the door. It had still been shaking on his hinges while she rubbed her cheek and sought out a bag of peas.

Luckily, Daniel’s tipsy effort physical one-upmanship had left no discernible mark, although it felt a bit bruised internally, and she was fine by the time she walked the length of the driveway. The trees cast a different shadow this time. The sun had circled almost behind her, and the trees on the bend drew a long shadowy criss-cross pathway to the door. She followed the darkness, glad to have the shade in which to cool down. Nerves and excitement coursed through her this time, battling for supremacy, which only succeeded in extending its internal struggle as she noticed several silhouetted figures at various windows. One palm stuck to the handle of her case, while the other glued itself to the strap of her handbag. She blew on them before knocking, but as she waited for the door to open they just seemed to get worse.

She could no longer see the figures in the windows, but the knowledge that they had been watching her left Ella with a shiver that felt like the brush of fingertips through her body, and which ended its journey in a hard throb between her legs. Nerves always ended up there in Ella: the hard throb faded into a spreading coolness that spread throughout the flesh, as if an invisible hand had placed a bag of crushed ice against her pussy. Unfortunately, although it gave the throb some release, it didn’t ease the pulsing nerves through the rest of her. When Henry opened the door and grinned widely enough to split his face, she entered the hallway, having a huge degree of sympathy with a lobster boiling in a pot for the delectation of those who had been hovering around the tank where the lobster floundered, with the sole intention of devouring it.

“Good evening, Mistress.”

“Hello, Henry.” She’d meant to ask him who it was on the phone yesterday, but his words caught her completely off-guard. As it was, she stumbled over the two words she did manage. Ella’s wide eyes and goldfish mouth elicited an immediate explanation.

“Master has given instructions to call you ‘Mistress’ during your time here. He’s asked that I see you to your room, first of all. It’s the first one on the right at the top of the stairs.” He pointed to the stairs, and started to race off towards the staircase, before stopping dead.

Ella, trying not to give any outward sign that she was a little disappointed at not seeing the Master at the very start of her week at the house, noticed Henry’s shoulders slump, heard the muttered, “Stupid fucker. Think.” She held her expression stoically, resisting the urge to laugh, as Henry turned around, a mortified face reflecting how little, if ever, he had performed the duties given him now.

“Mistress, may I take your case?”

Ella relinquished the suitcase with an “Of course”, and followed Henry to the stone staircase. Its base steps spanned three quarters of width of the room, their central portion lined with the plush but faded red carpet to match the centre of the hallway. She slid her hand against the intricately carved bannister as she climbed the stairs. Fifteen steps, and a right angle to three more, then another ten steps to the next floor. Walls were lit with fire lamps; it was the only source of light. Their flickering left the ghosts of flames in her pathway, and her insides began to thump hard in time to her now audible breath.

“Here we are, Mistress.” Henry opened a heavy panelled door in the stone wall and stood back to let Ella pass.

“Oh, wow!” Ella’s eyes roamed the room. Evening light streamed in through the floor to ceiling window, the cool lemon outside leaving shimmering turquoise across the walls as the beams found the blue velvet of the curtains. A four poster bed made of ash wood, dressed in a pale blue silk sheet and pillows and finished with a once rich royal blue cover mesmerised her eyes. It appeared to ripple on the bed, and everything in the room felt as if it was melding with her thoughts. She stepped into it, as if she had just entered the dreamscape of a mythological creature of the sea—a siren, maybe. “This is my room?”

“Yes, Mistress. Master expects you in the dining room when the gong sounds.” Henry turned to leave, and muttered something Ella didn’t catch. Spinning on one foot, he added, “The dining room is to the left of the main door, Mistress. It’s easy to find.” His eyes glowed a stunning cornflower, dancing with—what? Excitement? Nervous tension? His cock was bulging in his trousers once more. Ella smiled; Henry was really endearing himself to her, in every way. He was a very likeable young man. She wondered if he had somewhere to ease the contents of his clothes later. Did he live in? Maybe he had a girlfriend in town. She hoped so.

“Mistress—I just want to say, I hope you enjoy your first evening here. We want you to stay.”

With that, he was gone from the room. Her “I have every intention of doing so” spoken to the closed door. Ella frowned. Who was “we”?


There had been no instruction about what to wear for dinner, and no clothes in her room, either. Her nose wrinkled as she hunted through the drawers and opened the wardrobe doors to an empty space. Just as she’d expected. Digging out her black dress with the white trim, she tidied herself up, reapplied her make-up, twice, and waited on the edge of the bed for the gong. After a forever age, the clang echoed along the wall outside her room and tried to batter down her door. She pulled herself up straight, chest out, tummy in, and went downstairs.

The evening meal was substantial, to say the least. Silver platters containing four types of meat lay among dishes overflowing with a cornucopia of every vegetables imaginable, drizzled in the sweet and delectable stickiness of honey. Taking centre stage on the table were half a dozen different desserts which sat on plates or in individual glass bowls around the varying tiers of a stand. It was reminiscent of a fairytale castle built entirely from spun sugar and chocolate, both solid and melted, and oozing a dark, delicious river around each layer. The aromas intoxicated Ella as various servants manoeuvred about her with their enticements.

The Master sat on a high-backed oak chair, its arms carved in the shape of two serpents. His conversation with her was split evenly between genial small talk and an intense period in which he wanted to know about every job she’d ever had. Ella was grateful that he didn’t want to talk about her first solo orgasm or which way she liked being fucked most while she was nibbling on her melon starter. After the pre-interview, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She watched him as he nodded or shook his head at the variety of delights on offer, and she expected to see him click his fingers to get his cup filled, like the upper classes she had read about but never seen. Instead, he surprised her as he asked,

“Would you mind, Henry?”

She watched as the young man filled the Master’s cup; how smiles were exchanged, and how the Master said, “Thank you.” It was not the relationship she had expected to witness. Taking her lead from him, Ella smiled at the young woman who was busy laying food on her plate for her.

“Would you like some wine. Mistress?”

The girl’s voice quivered as she uttered the last of her words, and Ella raised her eyebrows. The poor girl had clearly never had to do this before. Ella looked up at the girl’s face and found it shot through with pink the moment she began to take in the soft brown eyes. Ella followed the length of the girl’s eyelashes to find a bud of colour sitting on the curve of her cheekbones. The colour intensified, appearing to radiate heat as it filled the girl and Ella traced it down the cheekbones to find slightly parted lips where the tip of her tongue hid just behind rows of beautifully even teeth.

“Yes, please. I’d like some very much.”

She watched as the girl’s hand shook, and how she nearly missed the cup altogether. A splash of wine caught Ella on the hand as she instinctively reached out to the jug to save the girl making a mess in front of her Master. The servant girl’s eyes caught hers, and Ella saw the rapid breathing that had begun in the girl’s bosom as she swung a glance towards the other end of the table. The lace at the top of her dress began to fill with flesh on every inward breath, and the smooth rounds became increasingly exposed, revealing the most delicate dip between them. The ties that ran down the front of the girl’s dress began to undo themselves, opening her garment down to her navel. Ella’s eyes remained transfixed, trying to take in what was happening, as the dress began to part at the front, revealing the full bloom of two beautifully rounded breasts. One side of the fabric fell away, and the young woman’s nipple came into view, hardening into a tiny red bud as Ella bit her lip, her eyes remaining on the flesh.

 Ella felt her hand being lifted, and her index finger taken in between a finger and thumb she could not see. Gently, the end of her finger was given to the nipple, and she felt herself drawn under the hypnotic spell of the circular motion her finger made as it rolled round over the hardness. She drew up her thumb and felt her digits lose themselves in squeezing, teasing the nipple into its maximum potential, as she had done so often with her own while her other hand had worked its way down the sheets to find the wet little nub that pulsated with desperation between her own legs.

She sensed, rather than saw, her other hand placed on the naked skin before her, and her own experience instinctively led her to stroke the skin with her fingertips, beginning at the curve of the ribs and sinking inwards to the centre. Her finger ran in circles around the navel, and slid out, reaching further inside the opening of the dress to find the voluptuousness of the young woman’s hip. Ella gasped as the shape of the hipbone moulded itself against the palm of her hand, and she began to pull the faultless pelvis towards her face.

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