Chapter 10: Tessa. Thursday, week 4

Thursday morning is a warm pleasant summer’s day. I feel content, despite waking several times in the night when my ankle fetter restricted my movement as I rolled over. By now I’ve recovered from my week long ordeal during the special event in the tower. The aches and pains I acquired during the event have faded, although I still have erotic dreams from my time under Madame Lash’s wicked attention in the Sheik’s Harem.

My bed by the window of the dormitory in building E4 is the same one I was given when I arrived on the island. As a slave, I know I have no say in the matter, but I would have been disappointed if I’d been allocated a different bed after my week in the tower. Fortunately, those on the administration staff here are sensitive to the needs of everyone, not just the mistresses.

Slave Lauren is the only other slave who attended the special event and who is still here. At first she was reluctant to talk to me, but yesterday she broke her silence. Madame Claire, a mistress who attended the special event, and is still here, is paying for Lauren’s extended stay until Saturday. Apparently Lauren’s stay was to be as a ‘general slave’ like me, but her failure to give the mistresses the information they wanted during the games, means she’s now here as a ‘field slave’. She’s not thrilled at the heavier duties required of her as a ‘field slave’, but I think she accepts the consequences of failing as a spy. I’ve no sympathy for her predicament, but that doesn’t stop me from talking to her. The special event was designed to be fun, and bearing grudges afterwards is silly.

“Have you heard the rumour,” says Lauren to the eight of us currently sharing the dormitory with her. “Madame Faye is due to arrive today.”

I recall Madame Selena mentioning a Madame Faye during the first week of my stay. If what I’ve heard is true, then Madame Faye makes Madame Lash look like a saint. However, I’m cautious about rumours spread by slaves. I found Madame Lash to be hard but fair, contrary to several rumours I’ve heard about her during and after the special event. She even invited me to contact her once I’m back in the real world. I’m not entirely sure what she has in mind, but she hinted at offering me some well paid contract work. I’m tempted to find out more.

Madame Stephanie unlocks our ankle fetters and we all make a dash for the showers or the kitchen. My bed is at the end of the double line of beds, so I’m invariably the last to be unlocked, and last in line for the toilets. I suppose I could use the chamber pot under my bed, and empty it after breakfast, but I’ve so far resisted that option.

As usual we all report to the Slave Holding Area in the administration building by nine o’clock. From there we will be allocated to work parties. We’ve finished cleaning the tower after the special event, so today will be a new set of chores. The ‘field slaves’ get the less desirable heavy tasks, while general slaves are allocated to lighter duties. That doesn’t mean we work any less hours, simply that we aren’t expected to do heavy manual tasks.

Unless more slaves arrive today, we are down to fourteen slaves, excluding the three ‘chattel slaves’ belonging exclusively to a mistress. The first week I was here, we numbered twenty six slaves, and there were forty at the special event last week.

“You can always tell when Madame Faye is expected,” says Slave Bess as we wait in the Holding Area. “Several slave bookings get cancelled at the last minute, and early departures increase.”

“Clearly you aren’t one of those quitting early,” I say.

“No. I’m fortunately the wrong type for Madame Faye’s tastes. She likes her slaves to have some meat on their bones, and with well proportioned arse and tits. A lot like you in fact. Unless you are a masochist, I suggest you try to keep out of Madame Faye’s line of sight.”

“Is that possible?” I ask.

“No. But it might help your psyche to believe that it’s possible.”

I’m assigned to a work party cleaning the windows and floors in the mistresses accommodation block, building E3. It’s far more luxurious that the cramped slave dormitories of E4. Bess and I join Slave Sheri and Lady Fatima, the housekeeper, gives each of us a bucket and cloth, and instructions to clean the inside of the windows. We set to work, starting at different locations along the corridor. Five of the suites are in use, so we need to knock and ask permission to enter. It’s a regular Thursday routine, so none of the mistresses object.

I walk into the suite of Mistress Violet to find her slave ‘Pixie’ lying spread-eagled and naked, with her wrists and ankles chained to the four corners of the bed. The steel collar around her neck proclaims her to be a chattel slave, and Madame Violet’s exclusive property. I do my best to ignore the scene, but I can’t help a twinge of arousal at the sight. Pixie must sleep in the cage along the side wall of the suite. I haven’t seen her in E4, and there’s no other bed in here. Of course, she could share her mistress’s bed, but the mattress and rumpled blanket in the cage suggests otherwise. It’s none of my business, so I promptly set about washing the pair of windows in the suite.

“I’ve seen you around over the last few weeks, Slave Tessa,” says Madame Violet. “Are you a regular member?”

“No, Madame,” I reply. “I’m here for six weeks as a prize for a competition I won.”

“Hah! Yes. I remember Monique mentioning it a few weeks ago. Do you like it here?”

“Yes, Madame,” I reply truthfully.

“Do you think Pixie likes it here?”

“I don’t know, Madame. We haven’t met before.”

“Then it is high time that you got to know her,” says Madame Violet.

Looking at Pixie bound helpless on Madame Violet’s bed does funny things to my insides. I can’t determine whether I’m feeling jealous, fearful, or just plain aroused. Perhaps all three. Pixie is moaning softly as though pleading with her Mistress to do more than watch her writhe on the bed.

“Here,” says Madame Violet, handing me a vibrator. “Make this bitch come. Not that she deserves it after last night.”

I don’t pretend to know what occurred last night, but Pixie is lifting her cunt as though begging for me to do as I’m bid. I comply with Madame Violet’s order and run the vibrator over the offered cunt. I’m far from being an expert in doing this on another woman but Pixie is so aroused that I don’t think it matters. Less than a minute into my assault, Pixie lets out a muffled scream as an orgasm wracks through her.

“Thank you, Madame. Thank you,” weeps Pixie.

I don’t fail to notice that Pixie is thanking her mistress and not me. I switch off the vibrator and offer it back to Madame Violet.

“No, no,” says Madame Violet. “Once is not enough. Pixie needs to learn the penalty for denying her mistress.”

Again, I’ve no idea what any of this is about, but using a vibrator on an eager cunt is a simple enough task. I resume my assault in Pixie’s cunt and before long she is visibly aroused. The sight before my eyes arouses me to fever pitch. I slip my free hand under my skirt and reach for my clit.

Thwack!

Holy shit!! I drop the vibrator. Both my hands instinctively grasp my arse, which feels as though it’s on fire.

“Dirty slut! How dare you play with yourself without permission,” snaps Madame Violet wafting her cane in the air. “Now pick up that vibrator and make Pixie come.”

A month ago, I might have simply run out of the room. But my experiences over the last three and a half weeks have taught me that fleeing like that would be a huge mistake. I grit my teeth and suppress the tears forming in my eyes. My arse is going to hurt for quite a while. That was no gentle swat, but a full-on slash of Mistress Violet’s cane. I fumble for the vibrator, take a deep breath, and resume my work on Pixie’s cunt.

Pixie is easily aroused and my task is relatively simple. I count three orgasms before Madame Violet decides that my task is complete. She takes the vibrator from me and proceeds to use it on herself. To my shame, my own juices have been flowing down between my legs despite the red-hot sting across my arse.