“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…”

“Raise your tongue.”

“Anggh?”

“Yes, very good.” 

Cold taste of steel entered my mouth. The ring forced my jaws painfully wide, allowing my tongue to loll in between. My drool began to spill immediately, a dollop chasing down my chin despite an effort to swallow it. Mrs. Gradvoyre dried it with a warm towel, before it could splash on my breasts.

“There we are, all snug and ready, aren’t we, Miss Ion?” She beamed, a hand on my hip.

I nodded. “Nghah, huehhh…”

“Now, let’s get you clean.” She slipped a hooked finger through my collar, and with brisk steps, led me back to the public baths.

All at once I felt scores of eyes groping their way across my exposed flesh, gazes meeting mine with amused, knowing looks. My nips were hard and my pussy glistening with more than a sheen of sweat and steam, and they knew. They knew I was a horny girl enjoying being displayed like a trophy before them. A few of the other patrons cast sympathetic looks my way, moaning a greeting.

“Miss Ion, take a seat here,” Mrs. Gradvoyre instructed. When my tush squished against the worn mahogany stool, she added, “Hold your back straight, and please spread your legs, as wide as you can.”

Despite the embarrassment, and because of it, I obeyed, standing ever so lightly on the tips of my feet to keep my knees high, thighs wide, and back arched. Panting through my open mouth, I held the position wordlessly, whilst Mrs. Gradvoyre browsed her basket. A straight razor and a squirt-bottle of shaving cream appeared in her hand.

“Now relax and hold still, Miss Ion. If you have anything to say, please request my attention and I’ll remove the gag.”

“Huhah,” I replied in acknowledgement, not questioning why I’d been gagged in the first place.

Soon, Mrs. Gradvoyre’s hands were painting my legs, crotch, and armpits in soft cream. I held still, breathing calmly. Every so often, she paused to pat my drool-stained chin with a towel, lashing me with embarrassing reminders of the fact that I was helpless enough to require such pampering.

I froze when the razor kissed my calves. A whimper escaped my lips. The blade skirted over my sensitive skin, leaving behind an odd thrill of danger. The armpits were even worse. I felt that even the slightest motion would make the sharp blade cut through me.

“You have spectacularly smooth skin, Miss Ion,” Mrs. Gradvoyre remarked.

“Gha-huh.”

Her fingers pressed on my thigh as she knelt between my legs, bringing the blade to my inner garden. I bit on my gag, swallowing a squeal.

“And a pretty pussy. I must say I’m rather envious of your lilac-grey complexion. It is as if your entire skin is a flower pedal.”

“Ngghh…” My head swooned. My pussy throbbed.

The last shear of her blade left my labia mirror smooth. “There we go. Did you have any anal hair, Miss Ion?”

“Gha? Nu-uh.” I shook my head.

Mrs. Gradvoyre nodded, lips pursed tight. “Just to be sure, let’s check.”

“Hu? Nu-uh, hah dhon’t hahh haih gheh.” I protested.

“Fret not, Miss Ion. It won’t take long.” Mrs. Gradvoyre took control of my collar, and guided me to lean me backwards. I struggled for balance, falling if not for her hold of me. The mature receptionist leaned down, parting my butt-cheeks to inspect my asshole. “Seems smooth.”

She returned me upright, my cheeks hot with a fresh new arousing flavor of shame.

“Please stand up and hold still.” Mrs. Gradvoyre took a spool of fresh rope, wrapping it about my torso into a cinching web-pattern. She loosened my arm-bondage and guided me to fold them neatly against my lower back, where they were bound again and fixed to my rope harness. My legs were then bound with another spool of rope, tight white rope wrapping over and over my thighs above the knees to hobble me.

Gently, guiding me by my collar, Mrs. Gradvoyre bent me over her knees as she took a seat. I was left to drool on the floor and squirm against my new restraints, while we waited for another staff-member to bring Mrs. Gradvoyre something.

I looked up. My asshole puckered up in shock.

“Miss Ion, were you not expecting an enema? I’m afraid it is a mandatory part of your washing.”

“Uhu…” Wild-eyed I stared at the arm-sized plastic syringe.

“Do you like anal, Miss Ion?”

“Nhhhgh…” I lowered my eyes, nodding sheepishly.

Mrs. Gradvoyre’s voice was a gentle purr. Her fingers parted my plump ass cheeks. “Good. Please relax. You may feel very full for a while, but I assure you, that is entirely natural, so try to bear with it.”

“Ng-hah!”

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.