La Chatte Heureuse Pt. 05 Ch. 01-06

Tessa's Total Submission

A La Chatte Heureuse (The Happy Pussy) story.

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Foreword

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Foreword: La Chatte Heureuse is an exclusive lesbian club located in an old mansion on a remote island in the middle of a lake. The complex consists of a recently refurbished mansion and a collection of one and two storey annexes. Members and staff of the club belong to one of three castes -- Mistresses, Ladies and Slaves. Each caste has its own privileges, dress-code and rules. Members of the Slave caste choose to stay on the island in one of three categories: general, field, and bondage. A fourth category of the Slave caste, 'chattel slave', is reserved for those slaves who are the exclusive property of a mistress for the duration of their stay on the island.

Staff of La Chatte Heureuse (& role):

Mistresses: Monique (Manager), Nicole (Receptionist), Rebecca (Slave overseer), Stephanie (Slave overseer)

Ladies: Fatima (Housekeeper), Grace (Steward for Mistress caste), Helen (Administration), Kirsty (Transport), Ruth (staff cook)

Slaves: Brooke (Administration), Elise (Administration), Judith (Maintenance), Olivia (Medical), Sheri (Housekeeping)

Principal visiting characters in this episode:

Mistresses: Faye, Melody

Ladies:

Slaves: Tessa, 'Pixie', 'Drippy'

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Part One: Winter Holiday

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Chapter 1: Day One, 22 December

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I do my best to keep my excitement under control. Yet again I check that I've packed the supplementary contract I received by email from the administration office of La Chatte Heureuse. The club will expect me to hand over a signed copy when I check in for my fortnight's stay on the island. My stay this time won't be as an ordinary member of the Slave caste, but as a 'chattel slave'... the exclusive property of just one mistress; Madame Faye. My doing so is a condition of Madame Faye's offer to pay my first annual subscription as a member of the Slave caste at the club. Two fortnightly stays on the island as her chattel slave are what I must endure in exchange for her generosity. Despite the potential risks, I still think I've got the better end of the deal. What's more, as her chattel slave, I don't need to pay for my accommodation.

The supplementary contract goes to great lengths to emphasize how much I will be in Madame Faye's thrall. Most of the much valued protection the club provides to members of the Slave caste from excessive maltreatment doesn't extend to chattel slaves. There's no limitation on how severely I can be punished; no maximum length of time I can be confined in a cell or kept in bondage; no daily free time to myself. Only the club's compulsory restrictions on mistresses' behaviour will apply; no life threatening activity; no mutilation; no starvation. That leaves Madame Faye with a lot of scope for activities I might not like, and it means I must trust her not to go too far. Which is precisely why the club normally prohibits a member from staying on the island as a chattel slave, unless she and her mistress have been in an established relationship for more than a year. However, Madame Faye is a major financial benefactor of the club, so exceptions are invariably made in her case.

"Are you having second thoughts, Tessa?" asks Madame Faye, as we ride side by side on the club's shuttle bus from the nearby town to the lake.

"No, Madame," I reply. "I was wondering what Christmas and New Year will be like on the island."

"A lot of silly games and frivolity, I would imagine," replies Madame Faye. "I've never been on the island at this time of year before, so it will be a new experience for both of us."

Madame Faye has been willing to arrange our fortnights together to fit in with my breaks from university study. Which means that Christmas and summer are the two periods that work best.

I look around at the other passengers on the bus. There are fifteen others on the twenty-seater bus, suggesting the island will have plenty of guests over the holiday break. Technically none of us adopt our caste roles until we are on the island. However, Madame Faye has insisted that I respect her position as my mistress in real life. That's not a great imposition as we live hundreds of miles apart, and we both have busy lives. We normally only communicate by email when we are not here.

"Are you wearing the outfit I provided under your coat?" asks Madame Faye.

"Yes, Madame," I reply, feeling slightly aroused at being reminded that I'm virtually naked underneath my long outdoor coat and boots. I've travelled across country dressed as I am.

Madame Faye is a professional fashion designer. Her high-end exclusive garments sell for eye-watering sums to the rich and fashion conscious. However, she also designs and produces more modestly priced clothing, including a range of very kinky wear. The leather outfit I'm wearing could more accurately described as a harness. Not only are my tits left exposed... a standard requirement for La Chatte Heureuse Slave caste members on the island... but my crotch is bare, framed by a triangular pattern of leather straps around my freshly shaved cunt. Only the steel collar I'm to wear on the island is missing from my attire. That remains in Madame Faye's care for now. All I know is that the collar is something special she has had made to her own design.

Having me change into my slave outfit before I left my university dorm was another of Madame Faye's orders designed to reinforce my submission. Sending her a selfie of me wearing the harness standing next to my dorm bed was proof that I had obeyed her instructions. Fortunately my room-mate, Leigh, had already departed for the Christmas break, although I doubt she would have been too shocked at the sight. Since my time at La Chatte Heureuse last summer, I've admitted to being a submissive lesbian to any of my close acquaintances who ask. Leigh certainly tolerates my kinky lifestyle, and even helps test my understanding of the exercises Madame Faye has instructed me to learn. In exchange I recognise that Leigh's sexual preferences are strictly for guys. I find Leigh really attractive, and I would happily have sex with her. Unfortunately, she never shows any spark of interest in anything sexual with me, so I don't make her uncomfortable by coming on to her.

My openness about my sexual preferences has been rewarded with the development of some interesting friendships. Even Madame Faye has approved of my choice of new friends. Strangely, I feel Madame Faye understands my needs better than my own mother. While my parents' lectures on the evils of intimate same-sex relationships have dried up for now, I know neither of my parents approve of my sexual preferences. It's a relief to them, and to me, that we aren't spending these holidays in each other's company. Besides, it isn't as though they are on their own over Christmas. They've gone skiing with my uncle and his family. I pity my cousin Jess, who has the same sexual preferences as me. Will she be bombarded with the same lectures that I used to receive?

I recognise Madame Violet and 'Pixie' among the other passengers on the bus. I don't know Pixie's real name. Many of the Slave caste prefer to use a pseudonym while they are on the island to avoid any real-life repercussions. Pixie and I met during my stay at La Chatte Heureuse last summer. I have mixed emotions about seeing Pixie here today. I had hoped that her mother had repaid her debt to Madame Violet by now, and that Pixie had been released from Madame Violet's thrall. Pixie had submitted to an onerous 'slave contract' in exchange for Madame Violet allowing Pixie's mother more time to pay her debt. It was only Pixie's apparent willingness to be Madame Violet's chattel slave that calmed my anger when I first heard about the arrangement. I wonder whether Pixie still feels the same way six months later.

"I presume you are still Madame Violet's chattel slave," I say to Pixie when I manage to sit next to her on the boat to the island. Madame Faye is busy talking to Madame Violet at the rear of the boat.

"Yes, but now it's by my own choice," replies Pixie. "My mother's divorce settlement came through, and she repaid her debt to Madame Violet. I was released from my slave contract about four months ago. But I discovered that I missed the lifestyle of being in Madame Violet's thrall. I've asked her to renew my slave contract, only without the limitations that were written into the old contract. We agreed to come to La Chatte Heureuse over Christmas and New Year to see how things work out... a sort of trial run of how life will be if we renew my contract without the previous limitations."

"Limitations? From what I observed, I thought your previous relationship was pretty intense," I reply.

"It was... up to a point. Like your relationship with Madame Faye over summer, there were agreed limits to the type and duration of the punishments Madame Violet could impose. Those limits won't apply during this visit. Or ever again, if we renew my slave contract."

"Then we are both in the same boat, so to speak," I smile as I turn to admire the winter scene along the shoreline.

I feel relieved when the boat berths at the island jetty. My thick winter coat keeps me warm enough on land, but the breeze across the lake had a noticeable chilling effect. Pixie and I separate and join our respective mistress for the walk to the administration building. We all report to the reception desk to check in.

Those of the Mistress caste are processed first, which, I discover, includes any chattel slaves accompanying them. I hand over the signed supplementary contract I received by email and show the required identification. I'm not sure how often people try to impersonate members in order to stay on the island, but the likelihood of them succeeding seems extremely low. Madame Faye completes her part of the registration and we go to find her assigned suite.

The suite is in the same building where Madame Faye stayed last summer, although the facilities in this suite are slightly different. Last summer there was a queen bed for Madame Faye, and a cage large enough to enable a slave to sleep in a foetal position. This suite has two beds, a queen size bed for Madame Faye, and a nearby single bed tucked into a curtained alcove, presumably for me. I notice that there are wrist and ankle cuffs chained to the frame of the single bed.

"Put your coat and other belongings in the cupboard over there, Slave Tessa," commands Madame Faye.

Calling me 'Slave Tessa' indicates that for the rest of our stay on the island, we are mistress and slave at all times. I remove my coat and boots, and put them with my other personal possessions in the cupboard. I put my watch, money and cards on the shelf inside the cupboard. I'm left standing in nothing but the leather harness Madame Faye provided.

Madame Faye locks the cupboard, removing my access to my belongings. Then she slowly studies me like a piece of desirable property. I was already feeling aroused, but Madame Faye's close scrutiny makes me go weak at the knees. I hope this exercise is going to end in some serious sexual play, although I know and accept that I have no say in the matter.

Our rising emotions are interrupted by a knock at the door. From Madame Faye's reaction, she is clearly expecting a visitor.

"Answer the door, Tessa. If it's Madame Violet and Slave Pixie, then invite them in," says Madame Faye.

"Yes, Madame," I reply, unsure what I should do if the visitor is someone else.

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Chapter 2: Day One, 22 December

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Fortunately the two women standing at the door are the expected pair. I invite them in, and fall into step next to Pixie, while Madame Violet walks to where Madame Faye is waiting. The two mistresses briefly hug and mock kiss each other before settling down onto the large couch by the window.

"Kneel before us, slaves," orders Madame Faye.

Pixie hesitates for a moment, unsure whether she should obey Madame Faye's command. By rights, only Madame Violet can give orders to Pixie. However, a nod from Madame Violet in Pixie's direction has her joining me kneeling on the carpet in front of our respective mistress. We initially lean back to sit on our heels, but Madame Faye signals for us to rise so that our upper legs are vertical and our backs are straight.

"Hold your hair away from your neck," comes the next order.

Pixie and I obey. Madame Faye reaches into a bag and produces two identical slave collars. The previous chattel slave collars I've seen on the island are simple lightweight, one-inch wide, steel bands fastened with a decorative padlock. The slave's name is engraved in white letters on a small black plaque that is screwed to the collar with tiny set screws. The collars in Madame Faye's hands are entirely different.

Each collar is about three inches wide and predominantly made of spongy black rubber. Two half-inch wide springy horizontal steel bands are inlaid into the outside of the rubber, about half an inch from the top and bottom of the collar. Three sturdy steel rings are riveted to the collar so they sit at the front and either side of the wearer's neck. The metal backplates for the rings also hold the steel bands in position on the collar. An additional metal plate on the collar is obviously for the slave's name plate to be affixed. The method of fastening the collar is ingenious. A fourth, rear ring is bolted rather than riveted to the collar. Aligning the thinner ends of collar at the back enables the bolts for the rear ring to be fastened with a special tool to hold both the collar closed, and rear ring firmly in place.

Madame Faye hands the collar for Pixie to Madame Violet, and together they place the collars around Pixie's and my necks. The steel bands around the collar act like a stiff spring, so placing the collar around our necks isn't a simple task. The two ends of the collar need to be pulled far enough apart to slide the collar into place. Both mistresses manage to prise the ends of the respective collar wide enough apart to fit it in place around our necks. The final step of bolting the collar in place is a bit fiddly, but Madame Faye has obviously practised on a dummy. Moments later both Pixie and I are well and truly collared.

Only our nameplates remain to be added. Those are provided by the club, so we must wait until one of the administration staff delivers the nameplates. In Pixie's case, her nameplate will have been stored following her last visit. In my case, a brand new nameplate will be quickly engraved. When I was here in summer I wore the simple chain collar and the white individual lettering of a regular member of the Slave caste.

"The pair of you can make some coffee while we wait for your nameplates," says Madame Faye.

Pixie and I make a move to stand up, but Madame Violet puts her hands on our shoulders and pushes us down.

"No. You can both crawl on your hands and knees to the kitchen," says Madame Violet.

I quickly glance at Madame Faye to verify Madame Violet's order. I take the lack of a countermanding order as confirmation that I'm to obey Madame Violet's instruction. Pixie and I crawl over to the suite's kitchenette and only then do we stand. The weight of the collar around my neck suddenly becomes very noticeable. It's a snug fit that inhibits my head movements. Wearing this for two weeks will be quite a challenge. I soon discover that as long as I move my shoulders when I turn my head, the collar isn't unduly troublesome to wear. The presence of the collar is having an effect on my libido. I was already feeling aroused, but now I detect that my cunt is getting moist.

Pixie must also be feeling the weight of her collar, but she seems less disturbed than me at the restriction to her neck movement. Perhaps she's more accustomed to wearing large collars. Those I've worn before amounted to little more than glorified necklaces. However, I can tell from Pixie's expression and the furtive way she touches herself, that she's finding this experience arousing. Suddenly Pixie's hand strays to touch one of my erect nipples and she gently tweaks the hard nub. Moments later she leaps backwards with a cry of surprise, clutching the front of her throat.

"Behave, Pixie!" admonishes Madame Violet, holding a small device in her hand. "Your collar has metal studs touching your throat. One press in this button and you get an electric shock."

I've heard of control collars before, but never seen one, let alone experienced wearing one. I give Madame Faye a questioning look.

"Yours too, Slave Tessa," laughs Madame Faye, holding up a similar device. "See."

I flinch as a brief, low-intensity, jolt ripples through my throat. It feels like the sudden shock you can get from static electricity. On other parts of my body, the jolt would be no more annoying than a pin prick, but my throat is more sensitive to the effects of the shock. Which is presumably why the studs are positioned where they are. As soon as my breathing is back to normal, I resume making coffee for the two mistresses. We haven't been instructed to make drinks for ourselves, and neither Pixie nor I want to risk another shock from our collars.

We serve the coffees to our mistresses. Our mistresses have resumed their conversation, and are generally ignoring Pixie and me. In the absence of being given any specific instructions, I resume kneeling on the floor, facing Madame Faye. Pixie joins me a few moments later. It's difficult not to fidget, but I'm wary of receiving another shock through my collar.

Our ordeal is interrupted by a knock on the door. I look at Mistress Faye, who simply nods in my direction to indicate that I should answer the door. I quickly obey. It's Madame Rebecca, one of the staff mistresses at La Chatte Heureuse.

"I wish to speak with your mistress," says Madame Rebecca to me.

I'm unsure whether I should invite Madame Rebecca inside, or ask Madame Faye to come to the door. If I make the wrong choice then Madame Faye will punish me later. However, that's the nature of our relationship, so I stop dithering and stand aside so that Madame Rebecca can enter the suite.

"Ah! You're here as well, Violet," says Madame Rebecca when she joins the two mistresses. "That's handy. I can discuss what I want to say with both of you at the same time. Please will you dismiss your slaves. This isn't something they need to hear."

"Um. Sure," replies Madame Faye, intrigued by what Madame Rebecca says. "Tessa. Pixie. Go to the main kitchen down the corridor and prepare a meal for the four of us. Wait there until we collect you."

Pixie and I leave the suite and go to the kitchen further down the corridor. It's mid-afternoon so I'm unsure what sort of meal we should make. We all had a light lunch in town before we boarded the bus, and it's too early for an evening meal. Pixie and I take the opportunity to make ourselves a hot drink while we check what food is available in the fridge and larder.

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Chapter 3: Day One, 22 December

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While Pixie and I work in the kitchen, I consider the possibilities that await us both over the next two weeks. Madame Faye is obviously satisfied with the collars that she has designed and made. The finished product is both attractive and practical. I presume that as long as the collars survive two weeks of continuous use, she'll start producing them for sale as part of her expanding range of kinky wear. Madame Violet has already asked her for an extra collar to give to a friend.

A couple of small posters on the notice board near the kitchen attract my attention. The schedule of planned activities on the island means that Madame Faye may need to revise some of her plans for our stay. It appears that the dungeon in the old mansion is closed for the next few weeks, and the one in the Slave quarters basement will be unavailable for a few days around Christmas Day. Both Madame Faye and I have a strong liking for punishment and bondage, with physical sex a secondary consideration. That differs from Madame Violet and Pixie, where bondage and sex are more important to them than delivering and receiving punishment. In their case they can simply play their games in Madame Violet's suite. The options will be more limited for Madame Faye and me.

Of course, Madame Faye may decide that she and I shall join in the festivities. However, sitting around a huge table stuffing yourself with copious amounts of food isn't my idea of time well spent on this island. It's not that I'm antisocial, more that I regard my time here as a precious commodity. I've worked hard with my studies, and now I need to let off steam. I would much rather spend the time having Madame Faye put me through my paces in the dungeon. With the right training and experience, I feel that I could go far in the shadowy world of dominance and submission, and achieve some of my more bizarre ambitions. I only wish Madame Faye had the time to fully train me herself. Unfortunately, I know that she is already pushing her work schedule to the limit by taking a two week break at this time of year.

"We could make a high tea," suggests Pixie. "One appropriate for the season."

"Yes. Let's do that," I reply.

"Do you think we should check with our mistresses first?"

"Hmm. I'll sneak back into the suite and see if they can be interrupted," I reply.

I left the suite door slightly ajar when Pixie and I left. Consequently I'm able to quietly enter Madame Faye's suite unobserved. The sitting area is out of sight of the entry door, so I stand by the door and listen.

"Here are Pixie's and Tessa's name plates. I'll need to know by tomorrow evening if you are willing to let either or both of them help with the preparations," says Madame Rebecca.

"What do you think?" Madame Faye asks Madame Violet.

"Yes, I think it might give me a chance to observe Pixie when she's not focused on pleasing me. She's trying her best to get me to renew her slave contract, and I confess that I'm tempted to do so. But I need to be sure this is what she really wants. You know what it's like spending months training a new slave only to have her decide the relationship isn't giving her what she needs."

I cringe at those words. I'm sure Madame Faye could have done without Madame Violet unintentionally reminding her about Sophia. Madame Faye had told me the story about Sophia when I was here last summer. They had spent nearly a year together, but ultimately their relationship came to nothing. Madame Faye invested a lot of emotional capital into balancing her hectic workload, while attending to a gorgeous, but needy, slave. Believing that Sophia wanted a long-term relationship was an unfortunate mistake that Madame Faye has sworn she won't make again. Madame Faye has already made it clear to me that she fully intends to play everything one step at a time.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," replies Madame Faye. "I'll have Tessa help out as well."

The sound of movement in the living area has me scuttling into the corridor and back to the kitchen. Pixie and I are soon joined by our two mistresses.

The cold weather outside has encouraged most visitors to stay inside the well heated accommodation blocks. There are twenty suites in this block which is reserved for those of the Mistress caste. Of those, six suites provide additional accommodation for a chattel slave. Judging by the amount of activity in the common areas, most of the suites must be in use.

While the club supplies a good range of food to each accommodation block, it is up to members to prepare and cook the ingredients using the well appointed kitchens. At the moment, the kitchen is occupied by five slaves including Pixie and me. The other three slaves have the standard chain necklace around their necks, indicating they are 'general' or 'field' slaves. As usual, a few members of the Slave caste have been assigned to prepare meals in the Mistress caste accommodation. Mistresses aren't expected to do anything so menial as prepare a meal, although occasionally some of them choose to do so. Chattel slaves are only expected to cook for their own mistress, although most mistresses allow her slave to help the other slaves if necessary.

"The kitchen is soon going to get chaotic with so many visitors," observes Madame Violet.

"That's not our problem to resolve," replies Madame Faye. "The slaves must decide how to share the kitchen facilities. Now, let's see how well our two slaves have managed."

Pixie should take most of the credit for putting together the high tea. I feel we have done extremely well in the circumstances, although the additional festive food in the larders undoubtedly made the task easier. Since Madame Violet's suite is the closest to the kitchen, our mistresses decide that the four of us should savour the high tea in Madame Violet's suite.

Once in the suite, Pixie and I lay out the platters of food. Our two mistresses sit side by side on the couch, while Pixie and I take turns in serving them.

"Slave Tessa, you may help yourself to something off the platters you have prepared," says Madame Faye, looking at Madame Violet to see if she will allow Pixie the same treat.

"You too, Pixie," adds Madame Violet, following Madame Faye's example.

While mistresses would normally eat their fill before allowing slaves access to the leftovers, they have broken with usual practise and allowed us to partake in the food. Everyone on the island seems to be getting into a festive mood, and I'm grateful for a temporary relaxation of some of the normal rules of behaviour.

I select a cake and two biscuits from the platters, before kneeling on the floor facing my mistress. I'm careful not to make a novice's mistake of sitting in a chair. Instead, I kneel down in what I hope is a graceful way. This is one of the things Madame Faye has had me practise over recent weeks. I've practised this enough times, although not usually holding a crumbly cake. I sit back onto my heels in one of the several slave presentation positions Madame Faye has had me practise since the last time we were here. I carefully select a spot that is close enough for Madame Faye to reach me if she leans forward, but far enough back that I'm not crowding her. It's the sort of attention to detail that Madame Faye expects from her submissive.

Pixie is less graceful in her movements, but she displays an understanding of the basics. Perhaps Madame Violet isn't so demanding of her slave. I know that if I had lowered myself before Madame Faye with the awkward movements Pixie performed just now, I would have been made to do it again... and again, if necessary. Madame Faye expects perfection from her slave, and she rarely accepts anything less.

"Has Tessa kept up her training since you were last here?" asks Madame Violet of Madame Faye, respecting the normal rule that a slave is only spoken to by her own mistress in these situations.

"I certainly hope so for her sake," laughs Madame Faye, knowing full well that I've enthusiastically obeyed her demanding training schedule. "We shall find out over the next day or so whether Tessa has completed the training exercises I set her to my satisfaction."

"It must have been difficult checking on Tessa's progress when you were both living so far apart," says Madame Violet.

"The distance between us certainly presented a few challenges," replies Madame Faye. "Fortunately Tessa's room-mate at university, Leigh, was willing to assist in a few ways, in exchange for a supplement to her living allowance."

We finish eating the spread that Pixie and I prepared, saving a few cakes and biscuits for later. Madame Faye reaches into her pocket and produces the nameplate for my collar. The black plate has 'Tessa' in clear white letters with a yellow 'buttercup' symbol at the end. Madame Rebecca left the tiny screws and a screwdriver with the nameplates, and Madame Faye proceeds to fasten my nameplate to my collar. It's a fiddly exercise that takes several minutes to get right. Madame Violet follows suit with Pixie's nameplate. Since the collars aren't club property, there shouldn't be a need to remove the nameplates again.

"Madame Violet and I have volunteered both your services to help with preparations for the various activities over the next week or so," says Madame Faye to Pixie and me once the nameplates are securely fastened. "Needless to say, I expect your performance to be flawless, Slave Tessa."

"Yes, Madame," I reply. "What are we expected to do?"

"You will find out tomorrow once Madame Rebecca can organise the work parties."

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Chapter 4: Day One, 22 December

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Madame Faye takes me back to her suite once Pixie and I have cleared away the empty plates. There is still a lot of activity in the corridor and common areas. The festive atmosphere is very different from my visit to the island last summer. I suppose the cold weather has driven more people indoors. Even a walk across to the recreation building is something to be weighed against mistresses entertaining themselves in their own suites. For those of the Slave caste, having to keep our tits exposed all the time doesn't encourage lingering outside for any longer than necessary.

The majority of mistresses don't have a personal 'chattel slave' with them, so some will have commandeered one or more of general slaves staying in the slave quarters. That adds to the number of people in this building, creating a crowded feeling as you walk about. Fortunately Madame Faye's suite is one of the larger ones, so she and I have plenty of space to ourselves.

Of course I don't know what plans Madame Faye has for our time together. I presume we will be spending some time in the basement dungeon of the Slave caste quarters. I'm told the dungeon is heated in winter. I hope so. Even in summer the basement dungeon can get chilly at night.

"Stop daydreaming, Tessa," chides Madame Faye as we enter her suite. "Go and change out of your leather outfit and put on a set of the lacy corset and panties that I've left on the shelf above your bed. In future you are to wear a corset and panties while you are inside this suite. Unless I want you naked, of course. However, keep your leather outfit ready, as you'll need to change into it every time you leave this suite. No exceptions. Understood?"

"Yes, Madame," I reply, moving towards my bed.

The lacy under-breast corset and panties are virtually transparent, and are clearly designed as sexy underwear. There are three identical sets of the lacy items on the shelf above my bed head, which resolves any problem about laundry. A thicker band of material at the top of the corset lifts my tits up and slightly apart. The corset fastens down the front with elasticated loops and decorative hooks. It's a tight fit, but I can just get the corset to fasten.

"The corset is a bit tight, Madame," I say.

"As it should be. We don't want you putting on weight while you are here. The size should be perfect. Your room mate at university was very helpful in providing the information I needed."

"It might rip when I move about, Madame," I reply, puzzling over when and how Leigh could have obtained my measurements.

"Unlikely, it's made of a new synthetic material that is stronger than it looks," replies Madame Faye. "However, you will be punished if you damage your clothes in any way. So be careful!"

"Yes, Madame."

"Now go and prepare a bath. I presume you can remember the duties of a bath slave?"

"Yes, Madame."

I quickly run the water in the bath, hoping there is enough hot water in the cistern. At university a hot shower is a luxury enjoyed only by those who get up before dawn. While I'm used to bathing in tepid water, I doubt Madame Faye will be so tolerant. With so many guests staying here at this time of year, the resources of La Chatte Heureuse will surely be stretched.

Fortunately I can recall Madame Faye's requirements for her bath from my last visit to the island. The depth and temperature of the water, and the addition of scented salts are details that come back to me despite the intervening months. It's surprising how the threat of punishment makes you remember such things.

It isn't as though I'm afraid of being punished, nor the severity of the punishment. I find the prospect of being punished and restrained highly arousing, which is why I so readily agreed to be Madame Faye's chattel slave in the first place. That said, Madame Faye made it clear that I'm not to deliberately disobey her instructions, nor to provoke a punishment. Any manipulation on my part will be subject to disciplinary action that Madame Faye assures me I won't enjoy. Which is is all part of the game. We had a workable relationship last time we were here, and I've every expectation we will achieve the same this time around.

"Your bath is ready, Madame," I say when I'm satisfied the bathwater is the correct depth and temperature.

Of course, I should have expected differences from last time we were here. Previously Madame Faye undressed herself in her bedroom before entering the bath. Only then was I to enter the water behind her and begin to wash her body. This time I'm required to undress her in the lounge area. And what should have been a simple task is complicated by Madame Faye firstly blindfolding me with a latex open-airway hood. The hood fits over the top of my head and covers my eyes and ears but leaves my mouth and most of my nose free. The hood fits snugly against my face. I'm plunged into a world of total darkness. The padded ear section muffles all sound, so that I'm completely disoriented.

"Can you hear me, Slave Tessa?" comes Madame Faye's voice from the ear pads, which clearly contain tiny speakers.

"Yes, Madame," I reply.

"Can you see me?"

"No, Madame. Everything is completely dark."

"Good. Now I'm going to attach a leash to your collar so that I can guide you where you need to go. If you feel a short tug on the leash, then turn in the direction indicated. If you feel a continuous tug, then walk slowly forward. If the leash goes slack, then you should stop and stand still. Unless you are carrying something, you should then place your hands on your head. Understand?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Good. Let's see how well you perform with minimal verbal instructions."

I feel the leash being clipped to my collar. That's followed by a short tug to my left. I turn in that direction and walk forward when I feel a longer tug on the leash. I sense from Madame Faye's scent that we are standing very close to each other.

"Reach forward and undress me, Tessa," comes the order through the ear pads.

I obey. After a bit of fumbling, I locate the buttons and zips that hold Madame Faye's blouse and skirt in place. Fortunately Madame Faye cooperates with my actions, slipping her blouse off her shoulders and arms without my needing to do so. Her bra is harder to undo as I haven't previously seen it. I can't determine whether it's front or rear fastening. After a minute or so I decide to simply pull the bra up over Madame Faye's head. Again she cooperates with my actions allowing me to remove her bra by this method. Her panties and stockings are easier as they simply need pulling down. Conveniently, she has stepped out of her shoes before we began.

The whole exercise involves a lot of touching and stroking. My hands touch her naked breasts and cunt several times in the process. I can't hear any reaction from Madame Faye, but the way she leans her body towards my touch gives me the impression that I'm arousing her. Satisfied that I've removed all her clothes, I stand up and place my hands on my head as a signal that I've finished.

"No, no, Slave Tessa," says Madame Faye through the ear pads. "You haven't removed my jewellery. That's a black mark to be redeemed later."

Shit! What jewellery was Madame Faye wearing? I hadn't paid much attention to what she had on. Like every mistress here, she's wearing a necklace with her name on it. Rings? Bracelets? Earrings? Yes, I think she was wearing two rings on her fingers. I fumble for her hands. I soon find her arms and glide my hands downwards until I reach her hands. No bracelet but two rings, one on each hand. I slide them off and hold them in the palm of my hand so that Madame Faye can put them somewhere safe. I then reach for her ears, but she isn't wearing earrings at the moment. I'm sure she normally does so, but she must have taken them off herself. I run my hands down her face and throat until I find her necklace. Fortunately it's one with a simple clasp that I can manage to undo without seeing it.

Finally we make it into the bathroom. Madame Faye steps into the bath while I fumble to undress myself. Fortunately removing my clothes is only a matter of unhooking six elasticated hoops on my corset, and dropping my lacy panties. Madame Faye holds onto my leash the whole time.

"The water isn't as warm as I require it to be, Slave Tessa. That's another black mark."

I could argue that the water was the right temperature ten minutes ago, and that I wasn't aware of the undressing game we were going to play. However, I hold my tongue since whining would only earn yet another black mark.

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Chapter 5: Day Two, 23 December.

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A short sharp jolt through my collar wakes me the next morning. I quickly suppress my cry of alarm so as not to wake Madame Faye. I quickly recall her instructions about my early morning routine. The controller that triggers electric shocks through the studs pressed against my throat is programmed to wake me at six-fifteen in the morning. Five minutes later the time-lock on my ankle shackles will release, enabling me to get out of bed. I've fifteen minutes to attend to my ablutions before commencing my duties. Tidying the room, making my bed, washing any dirty crockery, preparing a breakfast tray, and starting Madame Faye's and my laundry, all need to be done before Madame Faye wakes. Fortunately the tasks can be completed without causing too much noise. At this hour of the morning the communal kitchen and laundry facilities should be unoccupied, although both are large enough to accommodate several people using them at the same time.

At seven-thirty I'm to take a breakfast tray to Madame Faye. She hasn't given me precise instructions about what the tray should contain, although I remember her likes and dislikes from our time together last summer. While Madame Faye enjoys her breakfast, I'm to complete the laundry and any other tasks that weren't finished earlier. Nowhere in this schedule is there provision for me to have my breakfast, so I quickly eat while I'm making Madame Faye's breakfast.

The routine is easy enough to manage, although constantly changing between my leather harness and lacy underwear is a nuisance. I could risk disobeying Madame Faye's instructions and wear my lacy underwear outside of the suite at this early hour. However, I can't be sure I won't be seen by an early riser who might betray me to Madame Faye. Similarly, I don't want to risk Madame Faye seeing me working inside her suite in my harness.

My early morning tasks must be completed by nine o'clock, by which time Madame Faye should be dressed and ready for the day ahead. What happens next is entirely at Madame Faye's discretion. At some point during the day I will need to make her bed, but there doesn't seem to be a set time to do so.

"Did you sleep well, Slave Tessa?" asks Madame Faye when she walks into the living area of the suite.

"Yes, Madame," I reply, which is partly true.

Trying to sleep with your ankles shackled to the bed frame isn't easy. Nor is overcoming the disorientation I felt after wearing the latex hood for nearly three hours yesterday evening. The enforced blindness and silence played tricks with my mind. Relying on touch alone was a new experience that wasn't entirely unpleasant in the circumstances. The erotic experience of washing Madame Faye in the bath while I was blindfolded was memorable, as was her reciprocal fondling of my body.

"This morning we shall make use of the dungeon in the basement of the Slave caste quarters," says Madame Faye. "It seems that the dungeon will be closed for the following four days."

I recall seeing a notice in the kitchen to the effect that general and field slaves would be granted a deferment of any punishments incurred over Christmas. The notice emphasized that the four days of grace were simply a deferment, and not a remission. I suppose that will also mean that the dungeon will be busy after Christmas while all the delayed punishments are carried out.

"I thought the closure only related to general and field slaves, Madame," I comment, hoping that I'm not going to regret my words.

Using the various facilities in the dungeon is something Madame Faye and I both look forward to using during our stay on the island. What we have done so far is arousing, but in reality it is the sort of play that could be done anywhere. Losing the use of the dungeon for four days means scaling back the intensity of our games.

"Hmm. You may be right. I shall check with the administration staff later on," replies Madame Faye. "Now put on your harness and we will go down to the dungeon."

"Yes, Madame. Do you wish me to clear your breakfast tray first?" I ask

"No. You can leave that for one of the slaves on cleaning duty."

Madame Faye changes into an outfit that consists of a white blouse, black leather waistcoat and matching knee length skirt. Calf high leather boots complete the ensemble. I, on the other hand, am naked apart from my collar and the leather harness criss-crossing my torso, leaving my tits and cunt bare. As a concession to the weather, I'm allowed to wear a pair of black canvas shoes.

We leave the suite a short while later. As usual, I walk three paces behind Madame Faye. She collects one of the many communal coats left hanging by the entrance door that are there to protect members from the chilly weather outside. I know not to help myself to a coat without permission, which isn't forthcoming. At least it isn't snowing, but the cold wind causes goosebumps to form on my skin.

"Walk briskly and you won't feel the cold, Tessa," chortles Madame Faye.

Yeah! Right! However, whining and complaining will earn more black marks, so I grit my teeth and endure the short walk to the Slave quarters in building E4. Fortunately the inside of the buildings are well heated, so it doesn't take long for the chilling effect to wear off once we enter building E4.

There's very little activity inside the building, although there is plenty of evidence that it was a hive of industry not long ago. I recall that at this time of the morning, all the residents of the Slave quarters are required to report to the Slave Holding Area inside the administration building to be given their day's work assignments. The handful of Slave caste members still here are the ones assigned to cleaning up the kitchens and bathrooms after the flurry of activity earlier.

"You know the way to the dungeon, Slave Tessa," says Madame Faye as she hangs the coat she borrowed onto a hook provided by the entrance for that purpose. "Lead the way."

The slaves working in the kitchen stare at me as I walk past. My destination is obvious this close to the stairs leading down to the dungeon. Is it relief or envy that those watching me feel? I'm aware that most members of the Slave caste prefer to avoid punishments in the dungeon. Many are often willing to suffer all kinds of humiliation in their efforts to avoid being taken downstairs. Few succeed, but that doesn't stop them from trying. Personally, I dislike being humiliated in front of others. If I've made a mistake or disobeyed an order, then I'll willingly accept whatever punishment I've earned. I refuse to grovel and plead in a futile effort to escape any punishment. Besides, being punished turns me on. During my last visit to La Chatte Heureuse I explored some of my boundaries for enduring pain and torment. Obviously I don't want to be beaten senseless, but according to the staff mistresses, I've an above average tolerance of pain, and endurance for confinement. That was largely revealed when I passed the club's 'flower test' last summer and I earned the right to wear the yellow buttercup symbol next to the name on my collar.

Being a 'buttercup' alerts the mistresses that I've a preference for bondage and punishment, but a lesser tolerance for humiliation. Most mistresses will respect what the buttercup symbol signifies, although there's no compulsion for them to do so. Unfortunately, some mistresses will regard any slave as a non-being to be used as the mistress desires. Madame Faye once had a reputation for being in that category until my appearance on the scene. Her bad reputation hasn't been entirely erased, but she and I have so far got along well enough.

I stop at the outer grill door leading into the dungeon itself. I cannot go further without a mistress unlocking the palm-pad controlled lock. The inner grill door acts like an air-lock, effectively preventing any escape. Once I'm inside the dungeon, I can only leave in Madame Faye's, or another mistress's company.

The dungeon is slightly cooler than upstairs, but it is still warmer than outside. Madame Faye and I examine the various frames and equipment in the room. Some items are the same as last summer, but a few new additions have been made. A pair of shackles hanging from the ceiling attract my attention.

"These are new," says Madame Faye, noticing the shackles that have caught my eye. "I wonder if the height of the cuffs is adjustable?"

The device consists of a stout chain looped through a steel ring in the ceiling. The two strands of the chain hang vertically, ending about a metre from the floor. A linking chain between the two strands allows the chain to be moved up and down, but prevents it from being removed from the overhead ring altogether. Each cuff is attached to one of the strands using a simple but effective spring clip. Altering the position of a cuff on the chain should be easy.

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Chapter 6: Day Two, 23 December

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We continue our exploration of the dungeon. There's a new rack on the wall hosting a larger selection of whips, floggers and paddles than before. Madame Faye takes a few moments to study them while I examine one of the three new 'fake' braziers strategically placed around the dungeon. The 'glowing coals' effect of the braziers is impressive, and the braziers are obviously the source of heat in the room. However, when I get closer I realise the heat is coming from the base of the brazier, and that the 'coals' are perfectly safe to touch.

The only alteration to the dungeon cells is the discreet addition of a monitoring camera inside each cell. Previously any form of camera or monitoring device had been forbidden inside all of the buildings. However, I recall an item in the club's newsletter a few months ago advising that they were being installed inside the cells. The club rules require an hourly check on all slaves confined to a cell. Finding enough volunteers to carry out the task at night was sometimes difficult, so monitoring can now done by remote camera linked to screens in the administration office should the need arise.

"Come over here, Slave Tessa," calls Madame Faye, interrupting my examination of one of the braziers.

I obey at once and join Madame Faye at a new piece of equipment. A wooden yoke is dangling from the ceiling by two heavy chains. The yoke is positioned so that a prisoner is made to stand with her neck and wrists secured to the wooden beam while punishment is delivered. Needless to say, I'm told to position myself so that I can be restrained by the yoke.

The height of the yoke is adjustable, and Madame Faye sets the height so that I must stoop slightly, or carry the weight of the wooden beam on my shoulders. Neither option is comfortable, but I suppose that's Madame Faye's intention. While I'm trying to find a comfortable position to stand, Madame Faye goes over to the rack of whips and floggers. I know from past experience that she will prefer one of the whips, but she makes a show of considering the other implements.

So far Madame Faye hasn't instructed me to undress. Now that I'm restrained by the yoke, I'm unable to do so myself. While my leather harness leaves most of my torso exposed, it will nevertheless get in the way of any flogging of my back and arse. The design of the harness enables removal without needing to free my neck and wrists from the yoke, but Madame Faye shows no inclination to strip me.

"Have you been punished with a paddle before?" asks Madame Faye.

"Yes, madame," I reply. "You punished me twice with a paddle last summer."

"Ahh! Yes, that's right. I remember now," muses Madame Faye. "But that was only on your arse, wasn't it?"

"Um. Yes, madame," I reply.

"Then I think it's time we see how well you respond to being paddled on your thighs. Prepare yourself."

A flood of emotions flash through me in a matter of seconds. I feel a mixture of excitement and arousal in anticipation of the experience. However, there's also a twinge of fear at the level of pain that may be involved. I've no idea how painful this punishment is going to be. However, I've no option but to prepare myself as Madame Faye has ordered.

Thwack!

Madame Faye doesn't waste time in delivering the first stroke. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out on the first stroke. It has become a matter of pride for me to silently endure at least four strokes of whatever punishment I'm receiving. My thighs are unaccustomed to being punished, so the level of pain is a new experience. However, it is well within my ability to endure, so I steady my breath and count the first stroke.

"One, Madame. Thank you," I call.

The suspended yoke isn't the easiest device with which to restrain me for punishment. Apart from the weight on my shoulders, my ability to move a step or two in any direction makes it harder for Madame Faye to line up her stroke. That increases the risk of a miss-hit causing injury or landing on a more sensitive part of my body. Despite the spreading pain, I do my best to stand still. I know I must trust in Madame Faye's ability to land her strokes in the right place. Like everything else in our relationship, trust is essential between us.

By the sixth stroke I can no longer stop tears steaming down my face. But I refuse to plead for mercy, nor do I utter more than a short grunt or gasp from the pain. I continue to count the strokes, although in a very ragged way. Mercifully, six strokes is all that Madame Faye intends to deliver.

"Go and lie down on a bunk in one of the cells," says Madame Faye, releasing me from the yoke. "I'll fetch some cream to treat that sore."

I do as Madame Faye instructs, although I can only manage a hobble at the moment. While she is absent, I take a look at my abused thighs. One of the strokes has hit the small fold in my skin where my arse joins my thigh. A short red welt has formed along the line of the fold and it is quite painful. I dry my tears away with my arm. I probably look a mess, but that is nothing to be ashamed about here.

What I should probably be ashamed about is my building arousal. By rights, lustful thoughts should be the last thing I'm feeling. But my nipples and clit are tingling which to me is a tell-tale sign of my body's need. I don't ignore my building lust and promptly start playing with my nipples and clit. The pain in my thighs is promptly merged into a building orgasm. Do I dare risk disobeying one of Madame Faye's golden rules... 'no orgasms without her approval'. In my current state, that's a difficult decision. However, months of practising obedience to Madame Faye's commands, I'm able to restrain tipping myself over the edge.

I'm still in a highly charged state of arousal when Madame Faye returns. However, I've succeeded in satisfying my immediate urges without losing myself into an orgasm. My new found ability to control one of my body's most basic needs is a triumph of sorts.

"You've been playing with yourself, haven't you Slave Tessa," observes Madame Faye as she rubs cream over the sore on my thigh. "Have you disobeyed my orders and allowed yourself an orgasm?"

"Yes and no, madame," I reply. "The punishment aroused me, but I've been obedient and denied myself fulfilment."

"Hmmm. Well your cunt is wet, so I'm not convinced," says Madame Faye pushing her fingers into my cunt. "Perhaps another lesson in obedience is required."

My heart flutters at what Madame Faye's words may mean. She can get very inventive with her 'lessons'. Even when I was at university she would email instructions that I was expected to follow. I did so willingly, although I now realise that my room-mate Leigh was secretly observing my obedience. However, it appears that whatever lesson Madame Faye has in mind now is going to be saved for another time.

We return to Madame Faye's suite around mid-morning to find a large envelope addressed to Madame Faye waiting on the main table. To my surprise, she doesn't open the envelope, and simply places it on her bedside table.

"That can wait for later," mutters Madame Faye to herself, clearly knowing what the envelope contains. "Get changed, Tessa. We shall develop your skills wearing the hood once more."

A strange feeling flushes through me. It's part excitement and part worry. This is precisely the sort of activity I've been eagerly anticipating, but now the moment of truth has arrived, I worry that I might not be up to the challenge. Fortunately, Madame Faye has no such doubts about my abilities.

Yet again I'm deprived of sight and sound, and must rely on smell and touch alone. Madame Faye proves to be a good teacher and I'm soon able to respond correctly to the tug on my leash. She only speaks to me through the earphones in order to correct any of my mistakes. Our session lasts for a couple of hours, during which time I overcome any residual fear from my reduced senses. I successfully perform several tasks, some of them sexual in nature. The experience leaves me with both a sense of achievement and a desperate need to frig myself.

"Next time we shall try some of those routines with your hands bound behind you," says Madame Faye when she finally removes my hood.

"Yes, Madame."

I wait patiently for Madame Faye to remove my leash. Instead she leads me to her bed where she guides me between her legs. I dutifully bring her to an orgasm with my tongue while suppressing my own burning need. I'm careful not to rush my worshipping of her cunt, since Madame Faye will only allow me to come if my attentions please her first. Fortunately, I succeed in my task and Madame Faye allows me the relief I desperately desire.

[end of part one]