From Brat to Mistress to Hooker

By Saskia Lane

Melanie's mother's a powerful politician who neglects her. Flown to New York for her eighteenth birthday with her mother's alpha male fixer she soon becomes his mistress. The gangster tailing them mistakes her for a hooker and Melanie slips into the life of a high-class whore till her mother's heavies track her down in a striptease bar and she has to choose between being ganged or taken home.

Hot, with a plot. A full-length, standalone novella. 29,465 words.

… The restaurant serves seafood cooked in some sort of exotic Asian way. We sit at a small tête-à-tête table by the window. It feels very intimate, the plate glass looking out on a Zen rockery.

Phil smiles at me over the top of the menu:

"Enjoying your day?"

We're in a quiet, intimate corner. I don't know why I'm whispering:

"… Yes… yes I am..."

His hand closes over mine.

"You gonna thank your old friend Phil?"

I don't know how his lips come to graze mine. They just do. His lips brush mine, big and warm and powerful and demanding. His tongue insists on entrance to my mouth. There's nothing I can do but let my kitten's-tongue-tip flirt with his urgent mouth-meat, twine and grapple even if there are people looking. He says:

"Draw your chair up."

"Ey…?"

"Closer to the table."

I feel awkward scraping the legs of my chair up closer to the little table. My belly presses against the starched table-cloth.

He breathes his male heat on my face. His nostrils nuzzle my cute retroussé nose like a bull breathing in a helpless lamb.

"You're gorgeous, Mel. You know that?"

I sort of do, but I still can't breathe.

I feel his hand under the table close round my knee. He whispers:

"Spread your legs."

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vital Books Inc
• Release date: Dec 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223988519

Book preview

BOOK ONE: FROM BRAT TO MISTRESS

It’s the day I turn eighteen...

... I wake up early from a troubled dream with a slick of warm desire between my legs... for some unaccountable reason my pussy’s hot and moist...

... I guess it must be the dream I had, except I can’t remember any details of what I dreamed, just that my sleep has left me troubled, feeling insecure and unsure of myself, filled with a helpless yearning...

...Turning eighteen isn’t such a big deal... nothing’s changed this morning... I’m still the same inexperienced, slightly unsure-of-herself teenager who climbed into bed eight hours ago...

... I don’t know why I should feel restless and lacking in confidence. People say I’m pretty, in fact everyone says I’m really beautiful. Folks even say I’m attractive, you know, sexually speaking. I don’t know why I find it so hard to believe them...

Words float around in my head:

Eighteen today!

I wake up with a start. The words aren’t floating around in my head! They’re wafting into my brain from far above me, murmured by a strong, commanding voice.

Phil!

It’s my Mom’s chief of staff, the hunky dude who runs my mother’s political career!

He’s standing over my bed, his stunningly dark eyes looking down at me, his broad sensuous lips smiling at me, his powerful hand softly touching my shoulder through the sheet.

He stoops. His lips peck my cheek.

Wake up, Melanie.

That’s when I remember why my sleep was troubled. My Mom and Phil had a fight last night, a terrible argument, Mom screeching crazy things, her chief of staff becoming more and more reasonable, driving my mother even crazier. The argument was about me.

I yawn and sit up.

I stretch.

Expensive silk caresses my nipples. My cute teenage nipples are taut and tight, in fact engorged. My nipples are still erect from my dream... whatever my dream was... I can’t remember...

... One small, shapely eighteen-year-old breast— people say I have a nice figure— slips out of my low-cut chemise. I quickly slip it back, shield my untried loveliness from Phil’s eyes. He says:

Come on. Get up. We’ve got a flight to catch.

For an instant I wonder if Phil’s stealing me! He’s Mom’s lover as well as her chief of staff, and him and Mom have finally split up! Phil and my mother are going their separate ways and Mom’s chief of staff is taking me with him!

Then I realize how ridiculous that is. Mom and Phil love one another. Plus, Mom’s such a powerful, domineering person! The youngest woman ever to make the US senate! My mother will never risk the bad publicity of a public row over me after her messy divorce from my Dad.

A flight?

You heard me. New York. It’s your birthday, remember?

Some details of last night’s argument grow clearer in my mind.

Their fight was about the fact that my Mom never spends any time with me. She never has spent much time on me, ever since I was little. Phil was accusing my mother of leaving me to be brought up by paid help, au pères and housekeepers. It’s true. I’ve had a long succession of paid ‘mothers.’

Phil isn’t even my father or anything but he became really angry, accused my mother of ‘dumping me on the first person who comes along!’ He basically said Mom had neglected me all my life. It wasn’t very nice, but it was true.

It’s hard being the daughter of a powerful politician. My Mom’s famous, a real live senator, only thirty-nine but already sitting on prestigious senate committees. She’s a star member of the US Senate, on TV a lot, and when she’s not on TV my mother seems to do nothing but work— debates in the house, drafting bills, meeting foreign dignitaries. She’s permanently busy. What Phil says is true, my mother doesn’t have any time for me. She just can’t squeeze me in. Mom’s never had any time for me from since I was little. Phil still shouldn’t have got so angry but.

I slide out of bed.

My chemise is a nice damson color. It’s quite short, appropriate for a nightie on a hot summer’s morning, but for an instant it rucks up over the rounded softness of my butt, accidentally reveals the light fuzz of my unshaved bush. I pull the hem down quick.

New York? My birthday?

My eighteen-year-old body doesn’t feel any different from last night’s seventeen-year-old body. Slim and petite, my new curves very much on the small side compared to my mother’s heavy build.

Phil smiles:

You heard me. We’re flying up to New York. It’s your birthday. You deserve a special treat.

As both chief of staff and boyfriend Phil runs most aspects of my mother’s life. Perhaps it’s part of his job to run my birthday celebrations.

I look at him:

Treat?

His chiseled features crease in a stunning smile.

You only turn eighteen once.

It’s no surprise Mom’s chief of staff is handsome when he smiles. It’s not just when he smiles. Phil’s handsome full time. In fact he’s a total hunk. After a spell in the army—special forces, but Phil doesn’t like to talk about it much— he got some roles in movies, spunky action man roles, before Mom grabbed him a couple of years ago for her chief of staff, after she split up with my father. When Mom grabs someone she pretty much consumes their whole life. Now Phil’s given up the movies to be the moral plus photogenic support of my Mom’s political ambitions.

... But... I say, slipping on some panties and turning my back to him while I pull my chemise off over my head and hastily locate a bra. ... But Mom’s already bought me a present...

It’s downstairs in the garage. A brand new Audi A1 Sportback. Mom makes up for her lack of time for me by buying me expensive presents.

Phil grins:

Yeah, well. I’m gonna get you something a little more personal.

Personal? Like what?

His roguish smile can be quite breathtaking at times.

... Oh... I dunno... lunch... maybe some shopping... I just want you to have a special day today, Mel...

The plane up to New York only takes an hour. It’s still pretty early, only eleven a.m, when we land. Just eleven hours into this exciting new eighteen-year-old life of mine. (NOT)

I never know what to wear on occasions like this.

I’m a terrible judge of what outfit to choose for these sorts of outings.

I’ve chosen wrong for this day out with Mom’s chief of staff.

I know Phil likes me. I want him to appreciate my new eighteen-year-old allure but still, he is my Mom’s boyfriend, as well as her office organizer, I don’t want to show him up by wearing something inappropriate. I just feel generally as if I’ve chosen the wrong outfit.

I have plenty of expensive clothes, but nothing you’d really call revealing. Mom bans anything too risqué. I often have to appear in photos with her for news magazines and campaign ads and my mother insists I dress ‘respectably’, i.e. respectful of her political ambitions.

Phil’s already said he’s going to buy me a nice outfit so I’ve just climbed into a pair of skin-tight jeans with some slashes up the legs—I guess I’ve got nice legs, my tanned skin looks nice peeking out through the frayed slits—and a plain white Hugo Boss T-shirt, my bra showing somewhat clunkily through the loose cotton. I hope I’m not too casually dressed for a day in New York.

I don’t have much luggage either, just hand luggage, my rucksack with some water and my MP3 player and make-up in it— Phil has no luggage at all— so we get through Arrivals at La Guardia pretty quick and take a taxi into downtown New York.

Phil gives the driver detailed directions. Mom’s chief of staff seems to know his way around the Big Apple.

The taxi stops outside a shop with a Christian Siriano sign over the door. Mom’s boyfriend knows his way around New York fashion outlets too!

He looks at me:

Come one. Let’s get you something a bit more appropriate for that nice eighteen-year-old body of yours.

I wish he wouldn’t keep going on about my age. And my body too.

The minute I walk into the shop my head starts to spin. I’ve been in some pretty upmarket boutiques in Washington but never anything as trendy as this.

I breathe in the chic ambience.

The dresses on the racks are fabulously expensive.

They’re also very... I’m not sure what the word is... ‘daring’... ?... risqué...?... ‘revealing’...?

Go on, Phil smiles. Choose one.

I say:

They’re a bit...

Mom’s always insisted I dress conservatively.

Her chief of staff laughs:

Not at all! They’re just your style!

I try to laugh too. My laughter comes out a bit shaky. I say:

"You