La Chatte Heureuse (The Happy Pussy)
Copyright© 2021 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 91: Amber: Afternoon in the Dungeon
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 91: Amber: Afternoon in the Dungeon - The Happy Pussy is an exclusive women-only club located on a remote island. Nicole suddenly finds herself unemployed and homeless. The advertisement for a receptionist position at the club is her lifeline. Only when the sexually inexperienced Nicole arrives on the island does she realise exactly what sort of activities are carried on at the club. She is drawn into the dark and alluring world of debauchery the club offers and which push her moral boundaries to breaking point.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Slavery Lesbian Fiction BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Spanking Double Penetration Food Masturbation Sex Toys Squirting Slow Illustrated
Amber
I’m not sure why Madame Melissa wants us to eat our lunch in the dungeon. There’s plenty of free space in the Slave caste dining area. However, one thing I’ve already learned about Madame Melissa is that there is a purpose to everything she does. The walk down the corridor to the dungeon entrance is a twenty second walk, but I learn a lot about what is going to occur from those few moments.
“May I use the toilet before we begin, Madame?” I ask as we walk past the bathroom facilities.
“No,” replies Madame Melissa. “You can use the facilities in the dungeon.”
I don’t recall seeing washing and toilet facilities in the dungeon, but I wasn’t paying any attention to those details last time I was in there. Madame Melissa unlocks the dungeon with her palm print, and we step through the entrance. The air-lock design of the entrance means the dungeon is secure at all times, increasing a slave’s feeling of imprisonment. It’s all part of the mind games La Chatte Heureuse offers its members to improve the lifestyle experience.
“The toilet is over there,” says Madame Melissa, pointing to a narrow alcove in the corner of the dungeon.
The alcove contains a metal bucket with a wooden lid. A ten-litre container of water stands on a low stone shelf nearby. A bottle of sanitizer rests next to it. The last time I used such a crude facility is when I was camping with my parents one summer holiday.
“Is there any toilet paper, Madame?” I ask nervously when I cannot see any.
“No,” replies Madame Melissa. “You’ll need to use your hands. Just make sure you wash them thoroughly afterwards.”
I’m torn between using my safe word to demand use of a proper toilet, or swallow my pride and use the bucket. I look at Madame Melissa for a moment before resigning myself to suffering the humiliation of relieving myself into the bucket. After all, it isn’t as though I haven’t done it before, albeit I was nine years old at the time.
I place my plate of food on a nearby table and proceed to use the bucket. Madame Melissa waits nearby, but she doesn’t embarrass me further by watching. At least the bucket is clean, and somebody has place a chemical solution at the bottom to suppress the odour. I convince myself that this is no worse than our family camping trip in the wilds all those years ago.
When I’ve finished and cleaned myself up, I return to where Madame Melissa is waiting. She hands me my plate of sandwiches and waits patiently while I devour them.
“Tell me what went through your mind when you realised that I expected you to relieve yourself in the bucket?” asks Madame Melissa.
I confess my initial thought about using my safe word, followed by my decision to swallow my pride and obey.
“Good. Not many women new to the Slave caste would be so compliant. Do you have prior experience at living a submissive lifestyle? Were your parents strict with you when you were growing up?”
“My parents weren’t particularly strict, but the group I hung around with at school was very hierarchical. I guess I wasn’t pushy enough to join the upper tier, so I often got told what to do.”
“Hmmm ... That’s consistent with your reaction just now, but not necessarily the reason for choosing to be a Bondage Slave. Now, hand me the leather crop off the table over there.”
I look nervously at Madame Melissa, but obey without question. She takes the crop and after a few practise swings, lands a sharp stroke across the right cheek of my arse.
“Tell me why I did that?” asks Madame Melissa in a firm voice.
I push back my urge to utter profanities at the sudden assault on my arse, and look at her in bemusement.
“Think. And think hard, Amber,” snaps Madame Melissa. “In ten seconds you’ll receive another one ... unless you come up with the right answer.”
I’m hopeless at coming up with answers while subjected to a short time limit. I wrack my brain for whatever it is that Madame Melissa means. It doesn’t surprise me when time runs out and my other arse cheek gets walloped. I want to resist, but common sense tells me that will only make things worse.
“What did we discuss about etiquette last night, Amber,” growls Madame Melissa as another ten seconds starts to run out.
“Madame! I forgot to address you as Madame when I spoke before, Madame.”
“Right. Don’t forget in future,”
I soon realise that Madame Melissa is simply testing my boundaries. For the next hour or so she moves me from one piece of equipment to another. The dungeon is well equipped with a large selection of bondage toys and devices.
I’m variously bound in chains, rope, and harnesses. I’m fastened to spreader bars and frames as we work our way through the different devices in the dungeon. I’m not certain what Madame Melissa learns from these seemingly random choices of bondage. I eye the plentiful choices of paddles and whips laid out on a nearby table, but so far they remain unused. I also I eye my favourite device, the Sybian, but that sits idle in a corner.
“We’ll take a half hour break before we move onto the next phase,” says Madame Melissa. “I’m going to lock you in one of the cells while I catch up with some of my other work in the office.”
She looks at me as though waiting for me to object, but when I don’t, she escorts me into one of the cells. The cell is small, just big enough for a narrow bed with a thin mattress and blanket. There’s a chamber pot under the bed, but otherwise the cell is bare.
“Press the red button on the wall if you cannot endure the confinement. Whoever is on duty in the administration office will release the door lock. Don’t use the button unnecessarily as the club rules require us to then review your suitability to continue as a Bondage slave.”
“I understand, Madame,” I reply, reasonably confident that I can manage a half hour of confinement.
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