La Chatte Heureuse (The Happy Pussy)
Copyright© 2021 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 63: Melissa: A Sense of Gravity
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 63: Melissa: A Sense of Gravity - 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
The suitcase is bulky and it doesn’t fit on the trolley with the rest of Madame Faye’s luggage. I wheel it down the E3 corridor behind me while pushing the porter’s trolley with my free hand. It’s hard not to let everything bump against the walls. The wheels squeak every few metres, and each squeak makes me wince. I feel nervous about doing this alone. There should have been four White cats at the jetty to handle the new arrival’s luggage, but there were only two. Tessa realised her mistake at the last minute. She asked me to help, and I didn’t want her to feel worse than she already did.
Helping the White cats around the resort makes me feel useful. It also gives me an insight into how the resort operates at grass root level. That isn’t something you can learn from behind a desk, or reading endless reports. In sixteen months, sooner if I marry, I will own this resort. I must use this time to understand what Madame Chloe and I are getting ourselves into. Once Gateway House becomes mine, my father’s executors and Madame April will no longer be involved in running the resort, so Madame Chloe and I must be ready to take over.
Of course, I could sell the resort once I obtain control, but I’ve no intention of doing so. Although I never anticipated enjoying this lifestyle, I cannot deny that my liking for the heady mix of sex and submission has been an eye opener for me. It’s a lifestyle that suits Madame Chloe as well. She likes to dominate women, and I like to be dominated. We’re a perfect match as the pale red stripes on my arse will testify.
A few months ago I would have thought someone insane if they told me I would spend my days with my tits exposed for all to admire. Now it just feels natural; perhaps with a hint of naughtiness included. I just hope Madame Chloe continues to give me the leeway that I need to explore the boundaries of my own desires. She can be very strict at times, particularly now that I’ve agreed to marry her. If I overstep some undefined boundary, then out comes Madame Chloe’s crop and we make a trip to one of the dungeons where my arse gets walloped.
There are times when I feel that Madame Chloe is being overprotective. We’re engaged rather than married, so I think I should be granted some degree of latitude. I respect her Black cat status by adding the honorific ‘Madame’ when I address her. That’s for our own protection as well. Our relationship must appear to be purely that of mistress and slave to prying eyes. Our engagement is secret for now, and romantic feelings must never be revealed in public.
I knock softly on the door marked E3C. “Madame Faye? Your luggage.”
The door opens almost immediately.
And Madame Faye stands looking at me. She’s not quite how her reputation portrays her, but she’s fearsome nonetheless. Madame Faye stands in the doorway like she stepped out of a magazine. She as perfect hair, perfect poise, perfect everything. She looks at me with a focused curiosity that makes my stomach twist.
“Bring it in, Slave,” she says in a surprisingly warm voice, although I notice she called me ‘Slave’.
I understand my lowly position in her eyes, so I behave accordingly. I nod quickly and wheel the large suitcase inside, placing it beside the wardrobe. I return for the rest of the luggage. Once delivered, I step back, hands clasped in behind of me, waiting for her to dismiss me. But she doesn’t.
She studies me like a tiger assessing its next meal. Not in the way Black cats usually do with a quick assessment before moving on. Madame Faye’s inspection is slower, like she’s trying to read something written on my skin.
“You handled unloading the luggage well at the jetty,” she says. “Particularly as I don’t believe in travelling light.”
I’m not sure how to reply. “Oh. Thank you, Madame.”
“It was a mess down at the jetty,” she continues. “But you stepped in. That shows initiative.”
My cheeks heat at the unexpected praise. All I did was to assist when Tessa asked me to help, not as a result of my own initiative.
“I was just helping out, Madame” I say quietly.
Madame Faye steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can smell her perfume. It’s undoubtedly expensive, and it’s overwhelming my senses.
“You’re new,” she says. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yes, Madame. I’ve arrived here just before the reopening. I’m employed as a general labourer and gardener.”
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t look like a gardener. Apart from the traces of soil underneath your fingernails, and a faint odour of compost in your hair.”
I freeze, suddenly self-aware of my appearance. “I ... I’m sorry, Madame. I didn’t have time to clean myself up before the launch arrived.”
She smiles. “That’s alright. I wasn’t complaining. You seem ... softer and more thoughtful than most of the other Slave caste members. Pretty with it.”
My heart stutters. I don’t know what to say. No one talks to me like this. No one notices me like this. Madame Faye steps even closer, and I feel the warmth of her presence like a hand on my back. I was warned that she is dangerous, and now I understand in what way. I feel myself being drawn into her snare.
“What’s your name?” she asks, even though she can read my name on my necklace.
“Melissa,” I whisper.
She repeats it softly, like she’s tasting a fine wine. “Melissa.”
The sound of my name in her voice sends a strange shiver through me. My nipples have gone hard, betraying my mounting arousal. In the circumstances it’s totally inappropriate behaviour. But my time at Greenway House has already taught me to be more attuned to my own sexual needs. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t react like this. And I shouldn’t let Madame Faye stand this close. But my traitorous body desperately needs for Madame Faye to draw me into her thrall.
My thoughts suddenly switch to Madame Chloe and our secret engagement. She’s my anchor, always steady, protective and certain. Guilt floods my chest.
“I should go, Madame,” I say quickly. “I need to return to the gardens.”
However, when I try to step back, Madame Faye gently touches my arm. Just a light touch that is barely noticeable. But it stops me like a shackle around my wrist.
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