Professional Treatment

Professional Treatment

“Splendid. Right this way please.” Mrs. Gradvoyre’s voice startled me from my submissive daydream. She collected my papers and led me upstairs to a long locker room. “You may pick any of the free lockers. Strip and store your possessions within.”

Extremely aware of her presence and occasional glances, I peeled off my clothes and folded them neatly within a locker.

“Your undergarments as well.”

“O-oh, but I presumed...”

“Whilst that lingerie is indeed rather flattering on your figure, I’m afraid they’ll be in the way of the scheduled bath. Rest assured, your potential outfit kinks will be seen to by the personal assistants, should you request them.”

Outfit kinks? My face burned like a pepper. I’d scried Lucky Gimp's wardrobes and knew they had everything from sexy underwear to full on latex skinsuits. Since I was already here, I figured I might just as well give it a go once or twice; feel what it’s like to be an objectified rubber doll.

Like a good girl, I folded my stockings, lace bra, and panties and presented myself to Mrs. Gradvoyre.

She inspected me from legs to horns. “Very good. A moment please.“ Mrs. Gradvoyre locked my locker and pocketed the key. Not gona lie, there was something oddly hot about someone else taking away access to my stuff. “This way. You’ll need to be washed first.”

“Washed? Oh, um...” I covered my breasts and crotch in shame whilst keeping up with her.

“Yes, Miss Ion?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but will you be my service assistant? If so, what should I address you as?”

“As a Full Service guest, you do not have a personal service assistant appointed. I will be merely getting you situated in your room, with all that entails. Of course, I’d be happy to attend to a cute girl such as yourself, should you request me specifically.”

Cute girl? Woosh is the sound of cheeks reddening. The habit of spending decades even centuries in heavenly isolation between trips to the mortal realm had refreshed my social awkwardness. I cast my eyes to the floor and smiled like a fool.

Stained glass doors parted before Mrs. Gradvoyre and a paradise of mosaic tiles, soft moans, and hot steam veiled waters spread before us.

“The public baths,” Mrs. Gradvoyre helpfully narrated, as a tanned elven woman restrained and gagged in shibari hobbled past us, following a uniformed woman presumed to be her assistant.

We passed by guests of all descent and gender. All were bound. Assistants scrubbed the helpless guests’ bodies, fondled their soft bits, stroked their vulnerabilities. A young redhead screamed against her gag, her body buckling as she came all over the soapy fingers of an effeminate elven man.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Gradvoyre parted a curtain, leading us to a small room with bundles of ropes, gags, and restraints decorating the turquoise tiled spa walls. “Miss Ion, stand at the center if you would, so that I may begin tying you up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, totally without a stutter.

Mrs. Gradvoyre picked up a polished steel collar, a thick tall one with some heft to it and a single o-link at the front. She slipped behind me, and, with professional care, eased the metal around my neck.

“Seems I guessed your size correctly. You have a beautifully delicate neck, Miss Ion.” Inescapable steel clasped shut with a click.

My heart skipped. “Thank you.”

Weight of the metal pressed on my neck, though not uncomfortably so. I traced a finger down the front, dangling on the link, whilst Mrs. Gradvoyre finished locking me up. Her delicate fingers brushed my shoulder.

“Just to be certain, it’s not overly tight, is it?” she asked.

“No, it’s comfortable. I-I like how it lighty cinches around my neck.”

“Splendid.” Mrs. Gradvoyre fetched several pools of white cottony rope, a basket of washing implements, and a steel spider-gag. “Are you flexible, Miss Ion?”

“Somewhat,” I admitted, studying with cautious anticipation the way she unspooled rope.

“On a scale from elven ranger to a dwarven miner?”

“I would wager myself to be closer to the elven ranger.”

“Splendid. In that case, could you raise your arms so that your elbows meet behind your head, whilst lowering your palms behind your upper back, in a prayer of sorts. That’s right. Yes, very good. Now hold still.”

I did as told as deft fingers began slipping soft cotton rope over and around my shoulders and arms. After a moment, rope tightened. My arms were bound in place, secured by knots I had no hopes of reaching. Oh-so delightfully helpless, my desire began to flare wet-hot as Mrs. Gradvoyre’s fingers traipsed over my ribs, up my exposed armpit, where a tiny tuft of platinum-blonde hair bloomed. She tugged on it.

“Ahng...”

“Fret not, Miss Ion. You’ll be squeaky clean and smooth by dinner time. Now, please hold your mouth wide open.” Mrs. Gradvoyre picked up the spider gag.

“Aaahh...”

Cool plastic pressed against my pucker. Slick pressure applied. My gate parted. I squeezed my eyes, focusing on deep breaths as Mrs. Gradvoyre pressed the piston. A flood of silky warm liquid flooded in at a steady stream, filling up the unspeakable nooks of my behind. A small pressure began to swell in my tummy. I felt the need grow. Pressure intensified. The rope harness around my abs grew tight.

“Mhng!” I cried, kicking my feet in the air.

“You are doing good,” Mrs. Gradvoyre cooed, stroking my neck. “A little more. Do you think you need a break?”

“Hak... ahh... nhuhhu.” I shook my head. Spit was hanging low from my tongue, staining the bathhouse tiles. I steeled my resolve.

More cleaning fluids filled me, and then some. The entire load left me feeling bloated, filled, and oddly satisfied. I caught a few nearby gazes, and saw at once how obvious my perverted enjoyment was to them. Anyone who caught a glance of my behind would’ve seen my thighs damp with arousal.

No sooner had the tip of the syringe slipped out, than did another object press against my anus. I moaned, unable to hold still.

“A plug, Miss Ion, please don’t struggle.”

Whimpering, I managed to loosen my butthole, allowing the thick anal-plug to plop in and settle in place. My ass might’ve cum a little.

“There we go. We’ll let the cleansing fluids sit for a few minutes. Now up we go, come on.” Mrs. Gradvoyre helped me into a kneeling position before her. I shifted my weight, incredibly aware of the pressure in my ass and my slightly distended tummy pressing against the ropes. Drool, snot, tears, and all manner of disgrace was sliding down my face. Mrs. Gradvoyre, of course, cleaned them gently with a small towel.

She picked up a toothbrush and applied paste, then took a hold of my chin. “Try not to choke on your spit, Miss Ion. I’ll be cleaning your teeth and tongue.”

“Mngh. Nghahh-huh?”

“Apologies, Miss Ion. I’m not certain I understood. Would you like to take a pause?”

“Nggh... Nu-uh.”

“Very well.” Fingers pinched on my tongue, drawing it out. Bristles began brushing, tickling. My body exploded into frantic squirms, held in place only by the bondage and firm grip on my tongue. Swish-swush the brush went, drawing a waterfall of foam from my lips. I did my best to endure, whimpering and wishing for seconds to tick quicker as the brush left my tongue and moved to the teeth. By the end of the ordeal, my tongue and teeth had been violated with minty freshness and stained my cheeks with tears.

Mrs. Gradvoyre set aside the cleaning instruments. She then removed my gag. “An open mouth gag may be hazardous during your bathing. Would you like to remain free, or have it replaced with a watertight one?”

“Ah... Mmhh.” I licked my lips clean and swallowed. “Uhm... My butt...”

“The time will soon have elapsed, but you needn't worry of it. Now, would you prefer to be gagged again, Miss Ion?” My first answer must’ve been a peep too quiet, because she repeated her question louder—loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “Miss Ion, would you prefer to be gagged during your bathing or not?”

I cast my eyes down, squirming atop my full ass. “D-do you have dick-gags?”

“Of course. The panel sealed versions are bath safe. What size would you like your dick-gag to be?”

Large please! Biggest one you have.

What my lips managed to say was, “M-medium?”

“Splendid.” Mrs. Gradvoyre turned to a nearby staff-member. “Jones, could you fetch Miss Ion a medium panel dick gag?”

“At once, ma’am,” Jones, a ruggedly handsome man replied, casting my pitiful state an unabashedly leery gaze. A minute crawled by. My rear still felt all too full, like an overloaded boat ready to plummet into the depths. Jones returned with a six inch rubbery cock attached to a head-harness.

“Thank you Jones,” Mrs. Gradvoyre said, as she began adjusting the straps. “Miss Ion, if you would.”

“A-aah?”

A cock answered my question. I tasted rubber all the way till the end of my tongue and little past it. Happy horny thoughts swam through my head as the gag was fastened and secured with a lock. I didn’t even realize that I’d been bent over Mrs. Gradvoyre’s knees, before she gripped the stopper of my butt-plug.

“Are you ready Miss Ion? Please let everything out.”

“Mhg?” My surprise was muffled.

Stretching, stretching followed by a plop. All hell broke loose as my guts exploded. I won’t go into details, but needless to say the humiliation of releasing an enema (even a clean one) into a bucket around onlookers, is something I won’t soon forget.

Once I was hosed clean, Mrs. Gradvoyre led me to a shower. She donned a swimsuit for that affair—a sexy one-piece that matched her black hair.

I rather liked the way she looked and looked at me, while her hands spread soap over my bound body, scrubbing and sliding wherever. Fondled by expert hands, with a mouthful of cock, my arousal reached its peak around the time shampoo was rinsed off my hair. Had my fingers been free, they’d have already groped my slutty twat. I had less than zero self control when it came to shlicking. Thankfully, my self control wasn’t the deciding factor at Lucky Gimp.

After cleaning up, we slid into a large open bath. Mrs. Gradvoyre held me on her lap, humming idly as we soaked in the relaxing warm water. Her hands admited my body and her words landed compliments straight into my soul, calling me a cute girl more than three times within the half an hour we spent in the bath! But as fun as it was, that bathing session was only the beginning.

Excited by the prospect of finally getting to experience a professional bdsm session, I bit hard on my gag and let Mrs. Gradvoyre exchanged my bath-ropes with fresh ones, after which she led me to my room.

That's where I finally realized I’d been tricked.