Chapter 1: A Step into the Unknown

How does a 22 year old woman with negligible previous sexual experience end up working at a place of debauchery like La Chatte Heureuse? My urgent need for a well paid job is a good excuse for my initial fall into the dark but alluring world which La Chatte Heureuse offers its members. But that doesn’t explain my decision to stay, nor my willing participation in the additional duties Monique has ‘invited’ me to perform. Can I ever return to what most people regard as a normal life? If I tell you my story, then perhaps you can answer that question for me, because I simply don’t know if I’m able to go back. Nor am I sure if I want to return to normality, even if I could.

My job application to work for an organisation called La Chatte Heureuse was partly due to a mistake. I recognised the organisation’s name as being French but I wrongly translated it as The Happy Cat. Since I like cats I took the name to be a good omen. Only when I was invited to attend an interview did I realise my error and that The Happy Pussy has nothing to do with pussies of the domestic pet variety. Should I have cancelled my application the moment I realised my mistake? Probably; but my situation was getting desperate. The massive storm which hit the town where I live destroyed the trailer home I was renting and flattened my employer’s premises. Suddenly I found myself homeless and unemployed. Living in my car soon lost its novelty appeal but I had insufficient savings to do anything else.

Despite my non-existent experience in anything remotely kinky, I convince myself that I am broad-minded enough to at least attend an interview. After all, this is simply an interview for a receptionist position, so what can go wrong? I could always turn the job down if I didn’t feel comfortable at the prospect of working there. Besides, the job has an added benefit. Because of the remote location of La Chatte Heureuse, a place in the on-site staff quarters comes with the job. That’s a big plus from my point of view. By taking the job I will solve my two major problems at the same time.

When I check the map to see where La Chatte Heureuse is located I discover that it is on an island in the middle of a lake, a long way from anywhere. Fortunately my would-be employer is conducting interviews in a town within easy reach of where I have parked my car.

I enter the office at the address I’ve been given for my interview. I manage to avoid blushing or fumbling my words when a gorgeous dark haired goddess dressed in a sexy black leather outfit greets me and introduces herself as Monique. I’ve never determined if Monique is her real name, but my first meeting with her goes surprisingly well. We discuss my background and my reasons for wanting the job. I decide to be honest ... more or less ... and admit that my current situation is dire. Monique seems sympathetic to my plight but I can’t tell if it influences her decision.

There are three hopeful applicants being interviewed for the receptionist position and, for whatever reason, I’m the one who is offered the job. I accept immediately without making too many further enquiries. If you consider that to be jumping in at the deep end, then I’m not going to argue. But by now my desperate situation is getting even more desperate. With the worst of the storm damage having been cleared, the local police are having a purge on homeless people living anywhere within the town limits. I’ve had a run in with them twice in the last three days, and now they’ve threatened to impound my car if I don’t find other accommodation by Saturday.

Monique gives me instructions of when and how I’m to report for work. The location of La Chatte Heureuse is so remote that they operate their own shuttle bus service between the nearest towns and the lake I saw on the map. From there a boat will take me across the lake to the island. The shuttle bus will collect me on Thursday at eleven o’clock.

I arrange to store my car and unneeded belongings in a lock-up garage and I wait with my luggage for the shuttle bus to arrive. I’m feeling nervous, but I’m also more than a little excited at what I regard as an extremely daring act for me. An unmarked 12-seater minibus arrives on time and a group of seven women disembark. A few say farewell to one another, but others simply fade into the background. I’ve no idea who they are, but I presume they are members of La Chatte Heureuse. The bus driver checks my identity and those of four other women who have been waiting in a cafe nearby. I’d noticed them earlier, but I hadn’t realised that they were also waiting for this bus. They had made no effort to approach me even though it must have been obvious from where I was standing that I was going to be a fellow passenger.

“Sorry for all the security,” says the driver as she insists on checking the contents of everyone’s luggage. “It’s better to deal with any unauthorised items here in town rather than further up the line.”

Monique’s instructions made it clear that any cameras, computers, mobile phones or recording devices of any description are prohibited at La Chatte Heureuse. It’s a rule applied to all members and employees without exception. That in itself should have alerted me to the nature of the activities carried on there. So far all I know about La Chatte Heureuse is that it’s a ‘women only’ club which provides a playground where members can participate in special events and generally relax and play to their heart’s content. All for a price, of course. My mental picture of the place before I arrive is of some sort of sapphic paradise. However imagination and reality are rarely the same.

My fellow passengers on the bus talk quietly among themselves, clearly wishing to keep their conversation private. I don’t intrude even though the occasional overhead sentence intrigues me. I’m still feeling too nervous to join in their conversation uninvited. After about ten minutes the bus turns off the highway and takes a narrow winding road through a heavily wooded valley in the general direction of the lake.

“Are you the new receptionist?” asks the driver, who seems to be willing to talk once she realises the other women are excluding me from their conversation.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’m not sure what I’m letting myself in for, though.”

“Hmm. Greenway House isn’t the sort of place everybody likes,” muses the driver. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine if you are broad-minded enough. I’m Kirsty, by the way.”

“Hi Kirsty, I’m Nicole. You said Greenway House?” I query. “I thought the place was called La Chatte Heureuse.”

“La Chatte Heureuse is the organisation which owns the house and grounds. This whole area was once called after the 19th century industrialist Obadiah Greenway. But the mines, factory and town which bore his name have all gone. All that remains these days is his grand house and its grounds ... and a lake surrounded by a huge expanse of wilderness. The local mines which made Greenway his fortune all played out in the 1930s, and Greenway Falls became a ghost town when the engineering works closed a few years later. Then in the 1950s the government decided to build a dam at the southern end of the valley and create a huge reservoir. Greenway Falls ended up deep under water. Only Greenway’s mansion remains, although now it’s a pleasant lakeside estate on an island rather than as it appears in old photographs; a forbidding castle-like property perched high on a hill. With the lake acting like a moat, and the rugged country and steep hills surrounding the area, the mansion continues to enjoy a level of seclusion rarely found these days. Of course, you can only come and go by helicopter or boat.”

“How long has La Chatte Heureuse been at the mansion?” I ask.

“Just over five years. Before that it was owned by some reclusive cult which believed that the end of the world would occur in 2012. When it didn’t the cult started to break up and the house was eventually abandoned. La Chatte Heureuse bought it for next to nothing and started setting up its exclusive operation in a wing of the house. Last year the owners decided to expand their operation to make use of the whole house and grounds. Buildings are being repaired and extra staff employed.”

“So who owns La Chatte Heureuse?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s an answer you really want to know. There’s definitely a larger organisation in the background, but who they are or what else they do is a closely guarded secret. The local operation is run by Monique, but I’ve never seen anybody likely to be her boss. Since this shuttle bus is the only vehicle used to carry people to and from the lake, I get to see nearly everybody.”