The Young Mistress: A tale of the Twenties

By James Missaglia

Davis is a solid, working class chap, socialist and proud of it. Miss Eletta is one of the Bright Young Things - spoilt, rich and carefree. When she discovers that he has an interest in tying women up, she decides to see how kinky he can get - and teaching what class bondage really means…

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781785389658

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THE YOUNG MISTRESS

A Tale of the Twenties

James Missaglia

First published in 2018 by

House of Erotica Books

www.houseoferoticabooks.com

Digital edition converted and distributed by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

© Copyright 2018 James Missaglia

The right of James Missaglia to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Young Mistress

If you had asked Davis anything about the Rolls he could have told you. It’s current oil pressure. How the gearbox worked. The one thing he could not have said was why Lord Fulchester insisted it be driven at twelve miles per hour.

He lifted his eyes to the rear view mirror. The old man lounged in the back, reading ‘The Times’ and no doubt mentally counting his money. There were grim headlines today. More strikes. More pit closures. The stock market was sinking further, leading to greater unemployment for the working classes. None of that touched this old swine. His world rolled sedately forward at twelve miles per hour.

Davis sighed. Not all the family were like that. Take Miss Eletta, for example. Whenever he drove her, she would lean forwards over the seat back, half smothering him with her perfume, and tell him to put his foot down because she was late. She was always late for something. It took time to find the right fur coat and put on that much make up. He didn’t mind though. The new style of short dresses and shorter hair were a bit fast for him, but the young mistress carried them off well. He almost forgave her for being part of the Capitalist system of exploitation and oppression.

She stole the car, too. Well - not stole, obviously, because it belonged to the family and if the girl wanted to use it then she was entitled, licence or not. Only yesterday he had found the Rolls mud splattered and smelling like a tarts boudoir, all French cigarettes and cologne. And ’found’ was entirely the right word because Miss Eletta didn’t so much park the thing as abandon it and flee. He could spend half an hour looking round on the gravel to find where she had dropped the keys.

In the back, Lord Fulchester harrumphed and snapped the paper. Davis checked their speed. Nope, the needle was still where it should be, soundly between eleven and twelve MPH. A cyclist hurtled by them. Horses seemed to be making good speed. He continued at this funereal pace and ground his hands on the wheel until his leather gloves creaked.

Once they arrived at the station, Davis carried his lordship’s cases to the train, and then helped the ungrateful plutocrat load himself into