Chapter 11: Tessa. Thursday Week 4.

I’m not surprised to find that Slave Pixie, two other chattel slaves, and I, are required to prepare lunch for the mistresses. Fortunately lunch is a buffet that consists of easy to prepare salads, breads, cheeses and cooked meats. The chattel slaves have everything well in hand, so there’s relatively little for me to do.

Almost by magic, several mistresses arrive within a minute of each other. The mistresses help themselves first and are soon busy gossiping at the main table. The four of us help ourselves to whatever food is left over. We eat in silence, since the chattel slaves quickly hush any attempt by me to engage in a conversation. One by one, the mistresses finish their meal, and those with a chattel slave call her to their side as they leave the room. Madame Faye isn’t in a rush to finish her meal, so I start to clear away the empty plates.

“Leave that, Tessa,” says Madame Faye. “A work party will come and tidy up later. Come over here.”

By now there’s only the two of us left in the dining room. I stand facing Madame Faye, who is sipping coffee at a glacial pace. She’s obviously not in a rush to leave.

“Have you had enough to eat and drink?” asks Madame Faye.

“Yes, Madame.”

“Perhaps you can manage a bit more,” says Madame Faye spreading her legs apart.

I could play dumb and simply wait for her to explain what she means. However, after nearly a month here, I know what she intends me to do. She’s testing me. I drop to my knees and move forward so my head can reach between her legs. She lifts her skirt slightly giving me a good view of her shaved cunt.

“May I, Madame,” I say, unsure whether I should ask permission or simply begin.

“You may, my oh-so-polite slave. Feast away,” sighs Madame Faye.

I push my tongue into her cunt and begin to probe deep inside her moist passage. I move my hands to hold her thighs in position, but Madame Faye pushes them away.

“Keep your hands behind you, Slave Tessa. Let’s see how good you are with that tongue.”

I comply with her wishes, and I do my best to arouse her with my tongue and lips. I feel nervous as I’m not experienced at this sort of sexual play, and Madame Faye has a reputation for punishing poor performance. I’ve no idea how well my performance measures up to Madame Faye’s standards. Her juices flow freely but I don’t detect any sign of an orgasm, even after teasing her clit. Throughout the ordeal, she continues to sip her coffee as though bored by the whole episode.

“Enough, Tessa,” she says after a while. “We shall return to my suite and freshen up. Have you sampled the dungeon in E4?”

“Yes, Madame. Madame Selena introduced me to it three weeks ago. And last week I spent time in the tower dungeon during the special event.”

“Good. That means I don’t need to show you what happens if I feel the need to punish you.”

We return to Madame Faye’s suite and I’m instructed to strip naked and take a shower. It’s an odd time of day for a shower, but I do as I’m told. When I’ve finished I return to the main room to find that Madame Faye has laid out one of her designer dresses. It’s a beautiful gossamer outfit that highlights rather than hides my body.

“Put that on,” says Madame Faye.

I obey, although why I’m being made to dress like this is a mystery. I resist the temptation to ask the reason. While my tits are covered for the first time in nearly four weeks, the flimsy gossamer top clings to my curves like a second skin. If anything, the outfit is more indecent than walking around with my tits exposed. Not that such things matter on the island.

“I know what you slaves get up to when you have your free time. I expect this dress to be returned in good condition, so I suggest you forego any of the usual sex games. For the next ten days I am the only sexual partner I expect you to have.”

As if to reinforce her command, Madame Faye locks a chain belt around my waist, making it impossible for me to remove the dress without ripping it. I’m sure this isn’t what Madame Nicole specified about being without restrictions during my free time, but I can accept this limitation for now.

“It’s nearly three o’clock,” says Madame Faye. “I’ll be waiting for you outside the administration block at exactly five o’clock. Don’t be late. Now go and enjoy your free time.”

The other slaves will not be allowed their free time until later. That means there will be nobody in the recreation building with whom I can socialise. I know I’m being used like the meat in a sandwich in a battle between Madame Faye and La Chatte Heureuse’s management, but I can’t see what I can do about it.

I have unrestricted access to the administration building and, bizarrely, the stables. To enter any other building, I’ll need a Mistress to unlock the exterior and interior doors. It’s a pleasant afternoon, so I take a walk along the wooded path to the stables. It’s one of the oldest buildings still in use, possibly pre-dating the current main house itself. It’s many decades since the stables were last used to house horses, going back to the days before the valley was flooded to create the lake. These days the primary use for the stables is to provide shelter to any slaves who miss the deadline for lock-up, and must therefore spend the night outside.

The stables are also one of the few buildings that those of the Ladies caste can use during the day. The facilities and activities at La Chatte Heureuse are geared towards servicing the needs of mistresses and slaves. Those of the Ladies caste cannot participate in most of the activities, and they must settle for sunbathing, walking and generally amusing themselves. A few volunteer to perform routine checks on the slaves in the dungeon, which I presume is a popular task because it helps relieve the boredom of doing nothing.

I enter the stables, which are much bigger than I imagined. The stone floor is kept clean. The days when straw littered the floor are long gone. I soon realise that I’m not alone. A tall dark haired woman in her late forties, dressed in a smock, is sat at an easel, painting. I’m about to back away to avoid disturbing her when she sees me.

“Don’t leave on my account,” says the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Um ... Tessa. Slave Tessa, Madame,” I reply, unsure whether she’s a Mistress or Lady. Her necklace is hidden under her smock collar.

“Lady. Lady Lydia,” replies the woman. “No mistress would waste her time on the island painting pictures. Do you like painting?”

“I’ve never had a talent for painting. My artistic schooling focussed on music, Lady.” I reply.

“That’s a nice dress you are wearing. It looks like one of Faye’s creations. Has she made you wear it?”

“I don’t mind wearing it, Lady,” I reply, surprised at her observation, and the thought that Madame Faye actually designed the dress. “I suppose it would normally be worn with a slip underneath.”

“Not if it’s one of Faye’s creations it wouldn’t. No, I’m sure you are modelling that outfit just as it has been designed to be worn. Come here and tell me what you think of my painting.”

I don’t question how Lady Lydia knows about this dress. I approach her easel to take a look at what she is painting. Some artists get touchy if you try to look at their work before completion, but Lady Lydia clearly isn’t one of them.

I look at Lady Lydia’s handiwork. It’s three-quarters finished, with the stables in the background more advanced than the young woman in the foreground. The woman’s posture appears almost saint-like, but instead of some religious artefact, the woman holds a whip.

“Has Madame Faye been sitting for you, Lady?” I query when I recognise the woman in the picture.

“No. I sketched it from memory. Hell will freeze over before Faye stays still long enough for a portrait.”

“You must know Madame Faye very well, Lady,” I say. “I recognised her in your painting even though it’s not yet complete.”

“Yes, I know her quite well. Faye is my niece. I was the one who introduced her to La Chatte Heureuse. I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing.”