The Mistress

By Aaron Majewski

Pre-Victorian London, seventeen fifty-nine. It is an age of propriety and morels, of place and behavior. Where your station and the rectitude of your comportment are all that matters. In the public sphere, at least.

Sarah requires that her husband take a mistress. Not only to satisfy his virile lusts, (as she puts it “oh Richard, we made love only three days ago!”) but also to protect their position of social prominence. She must convince him to take a kept woman before those quiet whispers rise into a clamor which might actually be heard above polite conversation over the cucumber sandwiches at the ladies croquette.
Those whispers, the ones which wonder if she herself might control her husband's purse strings.
Or that perhaps he is a poofter.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, he can not respond to her, down there.
Or worse, that he likes little boys.
Or perhaps, she is just such a bitch in the bedroom that he fears her wrath, if he follows in the footsteps of every man of wealth and taste who has gone before him.
But no, the truth of the matter is, Sarah's Richard loves her, as deeply as she loves him. And so he disdain's the unspoken morel code of his peers, and takes only her to his bed. Rather like a spoiled brat, Sarah complains.
This is something she can not permit to continue. Not if she wishes to hold her head up at the ladies card games ever again.
She begs him.
She cajoles him.
Finally, she tricks him.
With a little help from the maid.

Adapted from the author's stage play, enter a world of Victorian morels and cajolery. A delightfully humorous and deviously erotic romp as one humble wife forces her husband to grow up, and act as a man aught. To take a mistress, and to use her, as one should.

And look for the sister-piece, His Wife, in which Sarah, having got her way, faces her husband's punishment for her act of mephistophelian trickery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Majewski
• Release date: Jun 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466192720

Aaron Majewski

Author, screenwriter and playwright

Book preview

THE MISTRESS

By Aaron Majewski

smashwords edition

copyright 2011

all rights reserved

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The room seemingly glowed softly, a warm fitful glimmering which chased shadows back to the fancifully wallpapered walls, the oil lamps giving the darkness a warmth and a softness which made it comforting, rather than forbidding. The honeyed light burnished her hair with a tinting of bronze that set her brunette locks alight with zest. To the east, a reddish haze crept in through the giant ocular window, the sun stealing into her boudoir as songbirds trilled outside the pane, capering, Sarah knew with a smile, along the spreading branches of the oak sapling her beloved planted just by the wall.

Her bed, dominating the middle of the room, had already been made up, Sarah though was still in her silken nightdress, a shimmering silk the chromatic of a wet peach which her husband had brought back for her from a trip abroad, to what once had been the great and mighty Ottoman Empire. She sat on her plush divine before her vanity, softly stroking her favorite brush through her glimmering, shoulder length tresses. Sarah completely ignored the faint tracing of lines around her eyes, the tiny moues at the corners of her plump lips. She was far too self confident to worry about the simple signs of being over thirty, and her skill with blush and powder would erase them before she went anywhere in any case.

A confident knock drummed against her rosewood door.

The brush she ran through her satiny hair had been a gift, like the nightdress which covered her to the knee, but not from her husband. A wide silver back with an engraved design of her fathers' coat of arms, and broad bristles of soft waxed horse hair, it had been given to her by a youthful admirer one birthday shortly after her marriage. It had not truly been a point of contention, yet her husband had playfully pretended jealousy that night, joking, simulating that he was upset, ostentatiously showing that he was not jealous in truth, while at the same time showing her that he was, indeed, just jealous enough to want to know if he had a need to be concerned. She had gone along with his 'pretend' that night, and argued with him in play, and shown him he had nothing of which to fear. Then she had made up to him, and played with him, and that night, for the first time, she had permitted him to