MSM Excerpt – Chapter 1 (Part B) – Red Rose

This is an excerpt from the upcoming book ‘Mirror Secret Mirror’ – we’re posting the first 2 chapters online, over the next few weeks, in the run-up to publishing the book at the end of May. This is Part B – Click here to start at Part A.

The secret room was darker still. Katya lit a trident of crimson candles standing on an iron frame by the doorway. Hard heels clacked on stone as she proceeded into the chamber and began to ignite other similar torches. The candelabras stood ominously, like men waiting in the shadows, before the mistress kindled their flames and shed light on the darkness. The room was very large. One wouldn’t have thought there could be this much space left over in the building. It felt even more expansive because the wall adjoining the office was mirrored on this side as well. The ghostly reflections of the candle flames flickering in the echoed gloom.

Obscure objects and pieces of furniture loomed and cluttered haphazardly. Most of the items were concealed under drapes – deliberately hidden… horrors waiting to be ceremoniously unveiled. The room was dominated by a grand, oaken four-poster. The bed overflowing with regal-red curtains and spilling with silk and velvet. The surrounding floor skinned with thick, fur rugs. This was her husband’s secret place! The exhilaration tickled.

A slinking swagger as Katya moved over to the bed, flicking legs beneath her body to sit. She cocked her head and patted the mattress in summons. Charlotte shuffled into the room, the musky aroma of old incense itching her nostrils. Excitement tingling as the tops of her thighs brushed together. The sexy ghost of that evil, blood-red smile spotlighted in her mind. She placed herself on the bed. Katya sat diagonally behind, staring with unnerving intensity. The mistress seemed entirely immune to social awkwardness. The wife was definitely not. Charlotte began turning to face the other woman, but stopped halfway – freezing in the glare.

‘It is comfortable bed, yes?’ The boasting was relentless. ‘I insist on this.’

God, she was so unbearably smug. Deliberately smug. Sadistically smug. Charlotte felt the hatred flare up, bright and distinct. But only for a second – too hot to hold onto for long. The burn felt cold afterwards. Shaking her head, she noticed the chair, facing across from the foot of the bed. A metal skeleton of a swivel seat without cushioning, the steel armrests joined by a semi-circular pole looping around the back. Handcuffs dangling ominously from the arms.

‘You want see.’ Katya sprang to her feet, pulling the wife along with a flicking finger. So the two women stood side-by-side, looking down at the sinister item of furniture. The low seat was a mesh of thin, metal wires. Not designed to be comfortable: a macabre device. The dread clutched up as the mistress allowed Charlotte a few moments to muse. A little thrill of fear wriggling through the sexual tension. Katya must surely be able to hear her victim’s heart pounding now.


The mistress’ command was issued with absolute confidence. The hiss of the ‘s’ conveyed menace, whilst the abrupt finality of the order demanded obedience without hesitation. Charlotte turned and sat down, a sharp spike of excitement prickling up her spine… and dissolving into the bloodstream like poison. The chair was as uncomfortable as it looked. Even through her tights, she could feel the wires pinching and biting around her buttocks. A crooking broken point needling against her thigh. The wiry seat was small and didn’t go all the way back. If Charlotte was to lean on the narrow backrest, then she’d have to stick her ass out to overhang the rear edge of the seat. So she perched awkwardly, looking up to check whether she’d done anything wrong.

Katya made a brusque shooing movement with her fingers: an instruction to sit back. The wife winced as she shifted to sit with only her thighs on the mesh, her bottom spilling over the back of the chair – through the gap between the wire seat and the cold strip of backrest. She placed her arms along the rests and stopped moving. A shiver running through her bones. A shock of cold sweat on her skin. A gulp in her throat that wouldn’t swallow. The hissing rush of escalation.

The twisted chair had forced her into a highly undignified posture. The sitting equivalent of standing bent over with hands on knees and sticking her ass out in exaggerated submission. She didn’t dare look up – the humiliation of eye contact with the mistress would be excruciating. Yet part of her wanted to feel that – all of it. And all those repressed emotions swirling around in the depths: pain and torment, desire and frustration, love and hate.

Intense passions crashing in and out – a kicking from an anonymous crowd. But she could sense the submission-lust rising out of the emotional chaos – riding on it. Intensifying as the other feelings submerged into it. A delightful warmth kindling below the ears and then tingling through her body… goose bumps bristling as the energy rumpled under the skin. She was soaking wet – a flash-flood – loins lush and vulva throbbing with hot blood. Why did he have to choose such a ravishingly loathsome mistress? What a beautiful bastard! She felt her big, blue eyes lifting up, impaling themselves on Katya’s icicle stare – so cold, so hard, so strong… so wonderfully irresistible. She could feel the respect and esteem pouring out of her, spilling out of her eyes, floodgates splayed open.

It must’ve been the most pathetic thing Katya had ever seen. Her lover’s wife – ridiculed, insulted and humiliated – now abandoning any pretence of dignity to dissolve in submission. The mistress didn’t feel a tinge of pity for her victim’s wretchedness. How could she be so resolutely cruel, so unflinchingly vicious? Charlotte couldn’t help but admire her – it was impressive. How could anyone not be impressed? No wonder he loved her. He was right to. Beautiful, obnoxious, pure, loathsome, adorable, evil. She deserved it. The mistress leant in and reached down, the grate of the cuffs scraping up the right arm of the chair, stony-faced as she snapped the manacle around her victim’s wrist. The tight metal sent a chill through Charlotte’s bones. She was being restrained – becoming powerless – entirely at the mercy of the hateful woman her husband loved. What would the mistress do? She could do anything she liked! A few moments of silent panic as Katya paced around the back of the chair. Once the next cuff locked, the wife would be defenceless. But when the shackle clicked closed, the panic evaporated. The helplessness was perversely reassuring. A warm flood of relief as she was liberated from the possibility of escape. Totally at the mistress’ mercy – the totally merciless mistress.

The spiky protrusions in the wire mesh dug into her thighs, but the captive remained still. Katya took something from a hook on the back of the chair and held it out on show: a ball-gag. The victim wouldn’t even be able to scream for help. The mistress took the wife’s face in her hand, pushing thumb and forefinger into the middle of the cheeks on either side and squeezing. Sharp, pointy nails digging into soft, plump flesh: forcing the jaw open. Charlotte gawped as the rubber ball jammed in through the teeth. Face puffing out, mouth intoxicated with the chemical taste of embittered plastic.

The mistress pulled the cords biting tight into the corners of the lips and fastened the gag around the back of the head. Looking pleased with herself as she took a step back. Slow paces around to the rear. Gripping Charlotte’s shoulders and then swivelling the chair to face the nearby mirror-wall. It took a moment for the captive to realise what she was seeing. Despite the reflections of the candles, the wall was not actually a mirror on this side. It was a transparent pane of glass looking directly through to the office: a mirror on one side, see-through on the other. The office was dark and vacant, exactly how they’d left it.

The mistress lowered her body into a tall crouch behind the chair. Warm breath tickling the back of her prisoner’s neck. Then grabbing the lower rim of Charlotte’s skirt and pulling it up, exposing the tights and panties. The wife gave a stifled gasp as the bottom of the skirt was tucked into the top. Oh God, no! What was she doing? The mistress put her thumbs back-to-back and pushed them between the buttocks. Nails tearing into the fabric of the tights, ripping the material open from the middle. Peeling back to expose the bare flesh of the thighs… and the little, white knickers. The violation dizzying. The exhilaration of alarm. Oh God! Please, no! Charlotte’s head lolling in faint. Katya’s finger hooked into the underwear. Pausing to savour the shock… before ripping the panties down.

The wife cringed red-rose. Eyes shuddering shut as she visualised the mistress sneering down at her big, bulging bottom. Charlotte didn’t realise how beautiful she looked in all her glorious submission. Pretty, round face dewed in sweat and blossomed in blush. Little springs and coils of hazel hair bouncing around overhead. Body curled into a voluptuous ‘S’. The well sculpted delve and dimples at the base of her spine puckering as she kinked her lower back. Pointing her breasts forwards and jutting her tubby, little belly to kiss onto her lap. Shapely curves undulating up her calves and thighs before welling into wide, womanly hips. Buxom buttocks bursting out of the bitch-chair’s metal frame and out into the air behind. Like strangling wires around the waist of a juicy, ripe pear… and hanging it up in the darkness. The mistress inspected her lover’s wife’s body, for a few long seconds, before leaning in to whisper, ‘You have a big, fat fucking ass.’ Charlotte flinched, screwing her eyelids tight. ‘All the better for beating.’ A whisk of a slap, so the flesh wobbled. ‘You know your husband like to beat big, fat, sexy ass like this. You look just like… how he like… his submissive to look. But… he don’t let you play.’ Husky voice dripping with mock-pity and then sharpening. ‘Because you are so fucking sweet: cutie-pie; nice girl; good, little wifey; goodiegoodie-two-shoes.’ Her evil chuckle scoffed. ‘No wonder he is so fucking bored of you: frigid, vanilla, dull, domesticated. A good girl like you can never fulfil a bad man like that.’

Click here to read the next part.

Jessica Seaques
Jessica Seaques

Hi :) I’m Jess. I love traveling, daydreaming, drinking tea and snuggling cats (especially Baggins!). I also enjoy: provoking a response; pretending to be innocent; and getting into trouble. I dislike: forgotten tea that’s gone cold; blushing in public; and not being punished when I clearly deserve it.

I’m in my early twenties, recently finished university and moved to London looking for adventure… of which I found plenty…

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