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  MASTERING THE MISTRESS

  by

  Evangeline Anderson

  A muscular slave turns the tables on his unsuspecting mistress and teaches her an erotic lesson in submission.

  Mastering the Mistress

  Copyright 2015 Evangeline Anderson

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First edition: April 2015

  Table of Contents

  MASTERING THE MISTRESS by Evangeline Anderson

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About The Author

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  Mastering the Mistress

  Evangeline Anderson

  A muscular slave turns the tables on his unsuspecting mistress and teaches her an erotic lesson in submission.

  Copyright 2015 Evangeline Anderson

  Chapter One

  “Sslaves! Fresh sslaves for ssale—sspecimens in their prime! Fresh from the Carnal Houses of Orchids Ssseven.”

  The hissing voice rang in Solar M’Tex’s ears constantly as one of the filthy slavers who had captured him and taken his freedom prowled around the vast, echoing dome of the Flesh Bazaar crying his wares.

  At least Solar assumed he was in the Flesh Bazaar. He was blindfolded so he couldn’t see a damn thing. But that was what he’d heard the slavers saying when he and Captain Thrace were captured.

  Carnal Houses of Orchids Seven my ass, he thought as the voice went on and on. The slavers were trying to pass him and Thrace off as highly trained pleasure slaves when nothing could be further from the truth. They were Havoc born and bred, the both of them, and though Solar flattered himself he could be very pleasing in the bedroom when he had a mind to be, he hadn’t exactly been classically trained in the erotic arts.

  When he first woke up in the dirty metal cage in the back of the slavers’ ship with a throbbing head and a tongue that tasted like he’d been eating dirt, he had thought it was a simple robbery. The drinks at the sleazy little port bar must have been spiked—a common enough trick for thieves who wanted to roll a few off-worlders and snatch their credits. But they’d lost a lot more than their spare change—freedom was now a thing of the past too.

  At first he’d thought they were headed for the Pendarian Mines in the Vega galaxy or maybe they’d be forced to become fighters in the Blood Arena. But the hissing voices of the reptilian Xethian slavers had set him straight. Like other Havocs, he had a natural talent for languages and the words “Flesh Bazaar” were hard to miss. Sex slaves. He and Thrace were being sold into sexual bondage and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

  This is what we get for stopping on a fucking backwater planet like Padge for fuel and repairs, he thought grimly, But they’d had no choice—The Empress had a broken hydrogen scoop and they had run through their entire emergency supply of fuel just getting to the damn planet. There was no place else to stop for thousands of parsecs so it was Padge or nothing. And there hadn’t seemed to be any harm in getting a drink while the mech-droids looked the Empress over.

  Where was The Empress now? Probably the ship was still in dry dock and likely to remain there under the security code Thrace had placed on it. The rest of the crew might stay a few weeks—a solar month at most. Then, when it became apparent their captain and first mate weren’t coming back, they would drift away, looking for other employment. None of them were Havoc like he and Thrace were—they had no honor or loyalty among them.

  And forget about the ship—where was Thrace? They were in a tight spot and no mistake, but he was almost more worried about his captain than himself. Thrace hated slavery and anything to do with it. He refused to transport slavers on The Empress even when they offered three times the usual boarding price. Solar had once seen him take on three huge Jacian slavers at once in a bar fight though the cool and distant captain usually kept himself aloof from any kind of brawl.

  After knocking the three of them out, Thrace had taken their release mechanisms, found their ship, and set the entire shipment of slaves free. He’d done it all without a word but the dark look on his face had told Solar everything he needed to know. The entire crew had steered clear of the Captain for weeks after that.

  There was no doubt about it, Solar mused, Thrace had something personal against the entire slave trade though what it was, he had never confided to Solar. Then again, the Captain didn’t confide in anyone. He was a closed book, a quiet, brooding giant of a male who kept everyone at arm’s length, even Solar who had been working with him for the past seven years.

  Not that Solar was small himself. Havoc males were seldom less than six foot seven with muscles to match. Like their Kindred cousins, they possessed immense strength and stamina to go with their powerful physical forms. Unlike their cousins, they didn’t kowtow to the Goddess or bind themselves to females. Women were well enough when a male had an itch to scratch but a lasting relationship simply wasn’t in the cards. Havocs were nomads—they were smugglers and raiders, explorers and traders, not interested in settling down in one place and raising brats.

  Solar was no exception—he’d always scoffed at the stories of how the Kindred bound themselves to the females of their choice for the sake of “love.” A Havoc would never do such a foolish thing—a love bond was the kiss of death for a male with his genes. He had always been content to travel the universe in The Empress, never spending more than a few days in one place or more than a few hours with any given female.

  Well it looks like you’re going to be spending a whole lot more than a few days or hours around here unless you can figure a way out of here, a little voice in his brain whispered. Better get on that, Solar.

  “Ssslaves for sssale,” hissed his captor, monotonously.

  He wondered if Thrace was somewhere in the echoing dome being put up for sale as well. They’d been separated that morning by the slavers, before being herded into the transport that carried them to the Flesh Bazaar. Thrace had remained stubbornly silent as he fought grimly for his life and freedom but Solar had raged and shouted as he kicked and struggled until the slavers had fitted him with a pain collar. After that, a simple press of the remote lit up the pain centers in his brain like a supernova. He’d collapsed and hadn’t been able to stop their preparations.

  First he’d been stripped and then a pair of tight leather trousers had been forced on his long legs. He was left bare chested and his hands had been bound behind his back. A blindfold covered his eyes and then he felt the sharp sting of a needle in his throat.

  “Jussst in casse you decide to try and talk,” the hissing voice of the Xethian slaver whispered in his ear. Solar had opened his mouth to tell the son-of-a-bitch to go fuck himself and found he couldn’t say a word. “Don’t worry,” the slaver hissed. “It will wear off…but only after you are ssssold.”

  Then he’d been marched, blindfolded and dumb, into the loud, echoing space where he heard slavers shouting their wares from every corner. A long leather leash hung from his collar, tied to the metal ring fixed in the stone disp