Chapter 4: Cucumbers
The final building on our tour is the tower-like structure that was once the main house. I presume the original owner, Obadiah Greenway, had it built like this to intimidate his neighbours and employees. I can’t imagine any other reason for someone to build his house like a 12th-century castle. There are wide steps leading up to the single entrance to the tower. The strong wooden doors open into the second floor. Despite the austere outside, the inside of the tower is remarkably inviting. I don’t know if this is as a result of the refurbishment or whether it has always been this way. The room we enter is a huge open area with staircases in each corner leading to the other floors. The floor is covered with boxes and stacks of furniture which those working in here are moving to the other levels. There’s plenty of light despite the small narrow windows high in the wall. This has been achieved by building the five floors above us like a square doughnut wrapped around a tall atrium.
“This floor will be where special events are held, Lady,” says Brooke. “The floors above and below will provide accommodation for members participating in those events. It will mean that we can hold more special events and not interfere with other members who want to use the regular facilities. I think Madame Monique is hoping to run special events almost continuously.”
“Does La Chatte Heureuse have enough members to support that level of activity?” I query.
“I don’t know, but Madame Monique believes that we do, Lady. All the previous special events have been fully booked, and it’s only the shortage of accommodation and facilities which have prevented more members from staying here at other times. The number of members here at the moment is fewer than usual because Madame Monique made it a requirement that members staying here this week must help with finishing the refurbishment of the tower. Unfortunately there were a lot of members who had booked to stay this week but cancelled at the last minute.”
“Too afraid of breaking one of their nails, I presume,” I reply.
“Something like that, Lady.”
We stand for a few moments watching the activity going on around us. A group of women are busy moving furniture from a stack at the back of the second floor and hauling it up to the higher levels using a winch mounted in the atrium. It’s easy to identify the Slaves by their naked tits, and Mistresses by their leather clothing.
I look around me and notice the diverse age range of the members. Before arriving I had assumed that the club’s members would all be in the twenty- or thirty-something age range. That age group is well represented among those here, but at least six of the members I can see are in the forty-plus age group, and at the other end of the scale, another four look to be no older than their late teens.
“How did all this furniture get here?” I ask, realising that the boat we arrived on would need hundreds of trips to carry all this here.
“There’s a service road at the north end of the valley. It connects the highway with a storage warehouse at the wharf we use for transporting supplies. Trucks deliver the goods to the warehouse and twice a week there are contractors who come to move whatever is in the warehouse onto the barge moored at the wharf. Lady Kirsty collects the barge and brings it to the island. Field slaves are assigned to unload the barge and store the goods wherever they are required.”
Because of all the activity going on in the tower, we skip a tour of the upper levels. However, we take a brief look at the lower floor which has been fitted out as accommodation for Slaves participating in special events. The four dormitories in the depths of the tower are smaller than those I saw earlier this afternoon, each housing twelve slaves. The rest of the floor is allocated for bathrooms and storage facilities. Unlike upstairs, this level seems to be ready for use.
With our tour complete, Brooke and I return to the administration building where Brooke introduces me to Ruth, whose normal duties include cooking and preparing our meals. She seems anxious to return to her regular duties, especially as the two slaves normally assigned to help her are currently busy working in the tower.
“If there is nothing else that you require, Lady, I’ll return to my duties,” says Brooke to me.
I would normally thank Brooke for showing me around, but I remember that she’s a slave, and that I should treat her as such. I simply confirm that she can return to her work while I collect the other top and skirt I selected earlier. Ruth mentioned that the evening meal starts at seven o’clock, so I’ve a couple of hours to kill. After placing my spare uniform in my wardrobe, I go to find the kitchen to see if Ruth needs a helping hand.
“Bless you, dear,” says Ruth in a motherly sort of way. “Get an apron from the drawer over there. Wouldn’t do to spoil your nice new uniform.”
Ruth must be in her late thirties or early forties. She’s kept herself fit and she could pass for someone ten years younger if you didn’t study her features too closely. Like me, she is dressed in a sexy black vinyl outfit although hers is a slightly more modest style to mine. Her footwear is more appropriate for working in a kitchen than my boots, but there’s not much I can do about that at the moment. I find an apron and Ruth sets me to work preparing a salad.
“How many are you cooking for?” I ask.
“Just the staff and guests. The members organise their own meals. There are various facilities for preparing meals around the estate ranging from the kitchenettes in the Mistresses’ rooms to the large communal kitchen in E4.”
I recall from my tour that each building has an alphanumeric identifier, and that E4 was the slave quarters Brooke showed me around. I don’t recall seeing a kitchen when I was there, but I was preoccupied with seeing the dungeon, and I didn’t look around the whole building.
“So the Mistresses prepare their own meals?” I ask.
“If they want, but usually they get one of the slaves assigned to the task.”
“So who allocates the slaves to all these different duties?” I ask.
“Stephanie oversees the slaves, and Grace attends to meeting the needs of the Mistresses. The Ladies are left to organise themselves, although I expect that dealing with them will become part of your duties.”
The kitchen is spacious and well equipped, so we soon have a meal underway. In helping Ruth, I feel less guilty about creating extra work for Ruth by diverting Brooke away from her regular duties, particularly the ten minutes we spent with our romp in the stables.
“How long have you worked at La Chatte Heureuse?” I ask.
“Since it opened,” replies Ruth. “Monique and I are old friends from our days at college.”
“You must like working here. Have you never wanted to leave?”
“I love cooking and the lifestyle here is to my liking. When I say Monique and I are old friends, I should perhaps have said that we are lovers.”
“Oh! That’s … um … interesting,” I say clumsily. “It must be nice having somebody special in your life.”
“I’m sure there will be people here who may appeal to you, Nicole,” says Ruth. “I think young Brooke has taken a fancy to you. Play your cards right and you could become lovers. Or there’s Olivia. She’s a year or two older and she’s unattached at the moment. Or you can form a relationship with a club member, although they are usually short-term affairs since few members can spare the time, or afford the cost, of staying here for more than a few weeks.”
“So staff having sexual liaisons with other staff or club members isn’t forbidden?”
“Oh my goodness, no! Not only is it allowed, it is expected. If you ever find yourself wanting sex with anyone here, don’t be shy about asking them. Nobody will take offence, even if the answer is ‘no’. Slaves must submit to the demands of a Mistress, but that’s the only situation where on-demand sex is tolerated.”
I pause our conversation while I digest what Ruth has told me. There were certainly women I saw this afternoon whom I felt attracted towards. But could I ever be bold enough to walk up to someone I hardly know and ask to have sex with them? Perhaps I could manage it in the right setting. I didn’t have too much difficulty with Brooke. When I break out of my thoughts, I realise Ruth is standing behind me. She unfastens the neck and waist straps of my apron and places my apron on one side of the workbench.
“Am I permitted?” she asks.
I could act dumb and ask ‘permitted to do what?’, but after our conversation, and this afternoon’s events, I’m not going to appear to be a naive fool. So my answer needs to be yes or no.
“Yes, okay.”
Ruth doesn’t hesitate. She reaches around me and unfastens my top. I don’t resist as she removes it. I try to turn around to reciprocate her advances, but she gently holds me in place so that I remain facing the worktop with Ruth standing behind me. Seconds later her hands are roaming over my tits. My nipples are already going hard, but Ruth’s ministrations help them to become as hard as bullets. I can feel my arousal mounting, and I encourage her increasingly firm massaging of my tits by letting out sighs of contentment.
I can feel her breath on my neck, and I do nothing to stop her as she lifts my hair to one side and sinks her mouth into my neck. Before long, she is nibbling my neck and ear, and I’m surrendering myself to her demands. But each time I try to return the favour, she gently … and not so gently … keeps me where I am.
Then Ruth’s hands drift down to my skirt. Before I can react, she has the fastener undone and my skirt is around my ankles. My panties soon follow and her hand forces my legs apart. Since I don’t resist her blatant sexual moves, she continues with her assault on my body. First one finger … then two … then three, start exploring the inside of my cunt. The fact that my cunt is wet only encourages Ruth to delve deeper and more rigorously. My moans of pleasure only embolden her to go further.
I’m at her mercy and I couldn’t be happier. I make no resistance when she pushes me forward so that I’m bending over the counter. I take a glance behind me to see her holding a large cucumber. Surely she isn’t intending to fuck me with that?
When I was a teenager, I once masturbated using a banana. But that turned out to be a bit messy when the banana broke open as I brought myself to a peak. This cucumber is not only larger, but it provides a more solid rod.
“Cunt or arse?” asks Ruth.
“Either,” I reply, too far gone in my arousal to care.
“Or both,” laughs Ruth, producing a second cucumber.
I don’t answer because I’m too scared to admit that the prospect of double penetration has been both a fantasy and a fear I’ve nursed for several years. Ruth takes my silence as consent to push the cucumbers into both my waiting holes.
I gasp at the sensation and I’m nearly brought to tears. I’m at the verge of pleading with Ruth to stop when she detects my resistance and eases back on the pressure. But only for a moment. Seconds later, she continues to work both my assailants. Back and forth, back and forth pump the cucumbers. The pain rapidly transforms into pleasure and Ruth pushes the cucumbers deeper and deeper into both holes while maintaining a constant motion. She’s obviously experienced at doing this, because she seems to know exactly what I will tolerate and what I need. At times, she allows me to hump the cucumbers while she holds them steady.
I come with a muffled shriek and I feel my juices trickling down my leg. At least I hope it’s my juices I feel and that I’ve not crushed the cucumber like I did the banana all those years ago.
Once my orgasm subsides, Ruth continues to work the cucumbers inside both my cunt and my arse. She works me up to a second orgasm which is every bit as strong as the first. Only when I’ve achieved that does she remove the cucumbers and place them on the workbench. She allows me to stand and she briefly turns me around to kiss me on my lips.
“That was nice, dear,” she says. “Now get dressed and wash the cucumbers. We need them for tonight’s salad.”
It takes all my willpower not to blush when all the staff and guests sit down for our meal that evening. There, in the centre of the table is a large bowl of salad with sliced cucumbers on a plate at the side. Nobody seems to know that the cucumbers were shoved into my cunt and arse earlier, and I’ve no intention of telling anyone. Ruth assures me that they are perfectly safe to eat after being thoroughly cleaned, but I’m not so confident.
By now, I’ve been introduced to those on the staff I haven’t already met. Like Ruth said, Olivia, the doctor, is a few years older than me but she’s already giving me hints that she’s available for sex if I’m interested. Brooke seems open to sex with anyone and everyone, but Kirsty and Grace don’t seem interested, and as a Mistress, Stephanie could simply demand sex with any slave. Judith is an enigma. She’s in her late twenties and seems slightly out of sorts with this lifestyle. Ruth and Monique make up the current complement of staff.
The three builders who are the club’s guests are Holly, Brianna, and Zoe. They are friendly and polite, but I detect a hint of disapproval at what goes on here. But apparently they are being well paid, so they’ve swallowed their objections and do the job they’re paid to do with a smile.
“Have some cucumber, Nicole,” says Monique as she offers the plate to me.
I suspect that this is some form of initiation test. Ruth will undoubtedly have told her lover of our little game in the kitchen. I want to belong here, so I steel my nerves and help myself to a few slices.
We all settle down to eat. I’m sitting next to Grace on my left and Judith on my right. Olivia is sitting facing me, jiggling her tits each time she detects me looking in her direction. It’s an offer I feel inclined to explore in due course. Grace’s attention is monopolised by Stephanie, who is sat on the opposite side of Grace. Consequently, in between the silent game I’m playing with Olivia, I spend most of my time talking to Judith.
“How long have you been at La Chatte Heureuse?” I ask Judith.
“Two and a half years, Lady,” replies Judith.
“And when did you join the Slave caste?”
“From the beginning, Lady. When I arrived here, I was what we now call a chattel slave. My mistress was a much older woman. She had a heart attack not long after we got here and she had to be flown to hospital. She said she would come back for me, but she never did.”
“Perhaps she didn’t survive the heart attack,” I say.
“Oh, she survived, but she took a liking to a new slave. She stopped paying for my keep at La Chatte Heureuse but didn’t tell anyone until a large bill had built up. I was abandoned here with a huge debt which I’d no means of paying. Madame Monique took pity on me and let me work off the debt. This place was like home to me by the time I’d paid off the debt. I have nowhere to go if I leave here, so in some respects I’m trapped here. But it’s a pleasant enough prison.”
“Have you ever considered changing to being a Lady or Mistress?” I ask.
“Only briefly. Despite what I said, I like being a slave. I prefer people to have sex with me at will. It absolves me of any blame for enjoying such a perverse lifestyle. But I rarely get fucked, so I can get despondent.”
“Ruth told me that only Mistresses can demand sex with a slave. Are there no Mistresses who will attend to your needs?”
“Madame Monique is too attached to Lady Ruth to demand sex with me, Lady. Madame Stephanie gets her fill of sex from the slaves in the slave quarters. And although there are a couple of mistresses among the members who take advantage of me in the way which I want, they are only here infrequently.”
Judith’s story leaves me with a mixture of feelings. At one level, I’m sympathetic. I want to understand her better and, if possible, to help her to fulfil her needs. At the other extreme, I simply want to fuck her brains out since that’s what’s on offer. What happened to my own moral code which would make such a thought abhorrent? Have I been corrupted by today’s events, or has a hidden door to my inner self been unlocked and my suppressed feelings allowed to roam free? I would like to pretend the former answer is true, but if I’m being honest with myself, it’s the latter.
“How do you like the cucumber?” asks Monique, interrupting my introspection.
“Very nice,” I reply, realizing that this is a test. “They are much tastier than the usual cucumber. It must be something to do with how they were prepared.”
The laughter from several of those around the table indicates that Monique and Ruth aren’t the only ones who know about what happened in the kitchen. It is all good-spirited jesting, but I’ve clearly passed an initiation test of sorts.
The meal is unhurried and conversations flow back and forth for quite a while. Finally Monique signals that the meal is over and we leave the dining area. I don’t fail to notice that three slaves, who must be from those staying in the slave quarters, enter as we leave and begin clearing the table. Olivia, Brooke and Judith, as the three slaves on the staff, also remain behind to help them.
I spend an hour or so in the recreation area upstairs talking with Kirsty and Grace. Each tells me a bit more about their experiences here. While they seem content with their lives, to me, their lives sound a little boring and monotonous. I can see why Brooke couldn’t remain one of the Lady caste, and I suspect I’ll end up the same. But whether I want to become one of the Mistresses or a Slave is the million-dollar question I keep asking myself.