The Devil’s Mistress (Part 1)

The Devil’s Mistress sits in her lover’s study reading The People vs. Alex Cross by James Patterson and is about halfway done with it, the trials and tribulations of a detective with a less than stellar record and state of mind transfixing her deeply. The air is still, and the silence is deafening if one pays attention to it; to the Mistress, silence is golden whenever she can get it.

The sounds of damned souls being tortured, chains rattling as they rip and tear people apart limb by limb, and the shrieks and screams that fill the eternal night get to be a little annoying after a while (the Devil never gets tired of them). And, the study is the only room in the mansion that’s soundproof; this gives her great pleasure, although not as great as when the Devil comes in angry and they have rough sex. The sounds of her butt cheeks flapping in the night as the Devil pounds that pussycat into oblivion doggy style, making her come and ooze like a waterfall and leaving the sheets wet and sticky.

The study is also the only room in the Devil’s corner mansion (because a corner office is so played out) that isn’t painted red and black, it is green with gold trim. The large, dark brown bookshelf is to her left and the desk sits just to the left of it by the door. She’s sitting in one of the two chairs in the sitting area with a brown coffee table stacked with magazines and ancient texts opened in different places.

She’s wearing a silky red dress the Devil bought her for her birthday last year which just so happens to be the anniversary of when she murdered her husband, Patrick, and his secretary Stacy Sanchez, by poisoning their food ten years ago. She found out he was having an affair and found them in their bedroom when she came back from a weekend trip to see her family in Jacksonville, Florida. She didn’t scream or make a fuss or go ballistic like most faithful wives do when they find their husband cheating. No, the Mistress had way more class even then.

She kept a serene and calm expression on her face and told them to finish what they were doing, that she knew he was sleeping around but said nothing because it made him happy and he kept her happy. Her expression got calmer when she discovered he was foolish enough to believe her. If after twenty years of marriage Patrick didn’t know how cold, calculating, and deceptive his wife could be, well, it was his funeral. Literally.

She didn’t speak about the topic again; in fact, she even let them have sex in the master bedroom for three months. Not so much as a word of protest. She listened as Stacy moaned and groaned in ecstasy, it even turned her on a bit. Judging from the sounds she knew Patrick was doing things for the Stacy that he no longer did for her when they were young and fresh, and that made her resentful. So, she made up her mind to murder them by poisoning their food. It was simple really, she went to the corner store and asked the clerk where he kept the rat poisoning and he told her where. She bought three containers and went back to her house and decided to make an old-fashioned favorite: white rice with fried chicken and vegetables and a red velvet cake for dessert.

One night, when Patrick came home from work with Stacy after a ten-hour shift and found dinner ready to be served, he was pleasantly surprised. He walked over and kissed The Mistress and Stacy walked over and they kissed cheeks like longtime friends, and they all sat at the table together. The Mistress whispered in Patrick’s ear that after dinner they can have a threesome, and that perked him right on up (along with that thing between his legs).

Patrick and Stacy ate greedily and complimented The Mistress on her culinary skills, and she accepted them gracefully. She then went and revealed the velvet cake with rat poison surprise as dessert and they had a slice (The Mistress told them cake was more Patrick’s thing than hers and she made it especially for him). The Mistress got up and went to freshen up and winked at Patrick as she did; she took her sweet ass time.

About thirty minutes later, she found them faced down on the table with white foam coming out of their mouths and velvet cake on their faces. She didn’t try to act surprised, scream and bring out the crocodile tears, none of that bullshit. She had way more class than that. Instead, she left. Just walked out the house with her smartphone and Louis Vuitton bag.

She scheduled a flight to Miami Florida and spent the next seven days living it up and tanning in the sun. That was when she met a nice, young, and tender boy named Max Devereaux who turned out to be the Devil in disguise. They went to a nightclub, got drunk out their asses and went back to “Max’s” room and had rough and wild sex, sex The Mistress hadn’t had in twenty years, sex that made her feel seventeen again, sex that was all but divine. He had that pussycat purring so loud the neighbors started cheering his name, and The Mistress was happy to scream it to the heavens.

She woke up that next morning feeling better than she’d ever been in her entire life. She didn’t just feel happy and relaxed, she felt satisfied. Max was sitting at the edge of the bed smoking a Newport when he asked her would she go with him. The Mistress was down for a one-night stand since she’s now single but running away with some guy she just met she wasn’t so sure about. She wasn’t exactly seventeen and crazy though she felt that way last night. That was when the memory of what she’d done about a week ago, at the time, kicked in and that made the decision for her. She went with him.

The Mistress didn’t die, and her soul isn’t damned; in fact, her body and soul are very much intact and connected to each other as per the Devil’s (Max’s) promise of immortality and eternal pleasure. The Devil (Max Devereaux) made the murder go away with a snap of his fingers and they traveled the world together. Paris, Reno, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Brazil, Australia. You name it, they went there.

The Mistress began living life to the fullest and for the next year, it was nothing but Pina Coladas, Margarita’s, Dom Perignon, and that rough, wild, and divine sex. She was so infatuated, so intoxicated by life’s pleasures that when he asked her to become his Mistress and promised her eternal pleasure the decision didn’t take any thought at all. He closed her the moment they’d met and so far, she’s glad they did meet.

Very glad.

Tell me what you think in the comments! I read and reply to all of them and welcome feedback for improving my stories, poetry, and insights. Thanks for reading!

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