by Collared_Angel

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© Copyright 2019 - Collared_Angel - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; FM+/f; D/s; drug; captive; bond; gag; naked; massage; clean; salt; oil; punish; steamroom; bdsm; spank; enema; force; pain; hum; nc; X

Part 1: A Ritual Cleansing

“Ah, coming around, are you dear?” a honeyed voice cooed. I almost thought I knew the voice, but couldn’t quite place it. “Yes, I know it’s not very comfortable for you,” she continued sympathetically, “but that’s part of the scene isn’t it?”

Scene? What was that supposed mean?  I continued to feign unconscious while I tried to take stock of my situation. From the motion, the uncomfortable hump beneath me and the woman’s voice above, I was fairly certain I was on the backseat floorboard of a car. I thought it must be a very nice car, since the road noise was almost imperceptible and there was a fair amount of floor space. There was a thick ball of fabric in my mouth with the ends tied securely behind my head, and my hands seemed to be bound behind my back with a soft rope. I waited for the car to hit a bump and used the sudden lurch to disguise my attempt at pulling my hands free. The rope held firm and a sudden strain on my ankles told me I was in a hogtied position.

There was a weight on my hips, and I tried to peek beneath my lashes to see what it was. I was facing the rear seat, and a pair of shiny black stiletto boots rested casually atop me.  My gaze couldn’t help but follow the long legs up to a trench-coated figure and a pair of sensuous red lips curved in a wicked smile.

“Now dear, don’t play coy, I know you’re awake. Wouldn’t you like to know what’s going on?” She invited in a teasing tone. I opened my eyes and glared at the woman, with a shrug of my shoulders toward the gag. I could make noise around it, and perhaps she might distinguish one word in three, but I wasn’t about to debase myself for her pleasure as she obviously wanted me to. “Come now,” She goaded, “play along for me. Ask me why.” I bit down on the gag and sharpened my glare. Her heel moved incrementally so the stiletto rested on the soft spot just inside my hip, and one eyebrow arched in a graceful question. A moment later, there was a burst of pain in my side as she dug in the point. She gradually pushed harder and deeper until I was forced to gasp out “why, please, why?” It came out fully unintelligible, a pathetic plea. Choose your battles, I told myself.

“Why I’m glad you asked!” She purred happily, as the stiletto returned to its cross legged position atop my hip. “I’ve been watching you for some time now, you know, watching you go to bars and munches and play-parties, pretending at being a Dom.” Now it was my turn to arch a brow at her.  Clearly she hadn’t been watching closely enough: there was no pretending where my proclivities were concerned. I might not be the biggest or the baddest Mistress, and I played with mostly gentle toys, but I knew well how to get into a sub’s head, and several sought me out for that very reason.

“Oh yes, you know how to play the game,” She laughed derisively, “and you’re certainly cruel.” Cruel? I couldn’t think of how- none of my games were particularly mean spirited, and I was friends with many of my former playmates, several of whom would be happy to resume relations should I be so inclined. How could I be cruel? My confusion must have shown. “Yes cruel. You play your teasing games, get their heads and their hearts all twisted up, and the moment they give themselves up to you, you toss them away like trash. And you don’t even have the decency to cut ties- you string them along with crumbs of affection, and the poor things eat it up like the starving pups they are.” Her voice dripped with so much disgust I couldn’t help but blush. I shook my head.  It wasn’t like that, they were flings, friends with benefits at best. They knew that going in, and we were all adults.

“No no, you’re not capable of seeing that, are you?” She mocked. Then she shook her head as if to dispel her own disdain,  the sympathy returning to her voice. “You aren’t capable of understanding what you do, because you’ve so deeply subjugated what you are and what you need. That’s why I’m here, you know: I see all the misguided potential in you, and I’m going to bring the real you out into light.” The last was said with such earnest sincerity that it struck fear deep within like nothing else had, though I couldn’t quite understand why. My fear was so strong it made it hard to breathe, making me dizzy and disoriented. As my head spun, the reason for my panic was shaken to the surface: this woman wasn’t just out for a laugh, or seeking some sort of apology or bribe. She was a demented fanatic on a crusade, and she would be satisfied with nothing short of her goal, whatever that might be.

“Deep breaths through the nose, dear,” she advised. A bottle of champagne had materialized and she was carefully pouring a glass. My gaze followed the bubbly trickle flowing into the glass, still trying to come to grips with my situation. The wicked smile returned to her lips, “Don’t worry dear, Vinnie will have us home soon, and you’ll get a welcome glass too.” She raised her glass to me and sipped as she turned her gaze out the window of the limo.

Finally coming out of my shock, I began to struggle in earnest. She glanced down and gave me a slight kick with a gentle warning, “Behave.” I struggled all the harder, but between the hogtie and the limited space all it did was make me an uncomfortable footstool for her. She shrugged, ”Have it your way.” She held a sickly sweet smelling handkerchief to my face, and I fell into insensible darkness.
I awoke laying on my stomach on a padded table, like one you might find in a spa. My face lay framed by the padded hole of a donut shaped headrest, and I found myself looking at the floor. There was a small dish filled with water and floating lilies, the scent of eucalyptus and lemongrass drifting up. Relief suffused my limbs as realization dawned: this was the first day of my vacation.  I must have drifted to sleep during my massage, the scents and the masseuse’s hands combining to give me strange dreams. I moved to push myself upright, but my hands remained fixed by my side, and my head was firmly strapped to the donut pillow. I drew in my breath to shout for help went the honeyed voice murmured in my ear, “Welcome back, and welcome Home.” A pair of slippered feet came into view, and I felt soft hands on my back. “You’ll note the gag is gone- you’re welcome to scream for help, though of course no one will hear you...”

I was sorely tempted to do just that, but common sense told me it would be a waste of energy. “What do you want? What are you doing?” I demanded in voice that quavered only a little. She answered gently, as though explaining to a simpleton, “I want to help You become you. It will take time to deconstruct this shell you’ve built, but only when you are what you were meant to be can you be truly happy.” I shuddered as she grazed her nails across my back. She continued, “as for what I’m going to do to you, we’ll be starting with a ritual cleansing. You know, purification and new beginnings and all that.”

As she spoke, I heard the opening of a door and soft footsteps. “Please!” I called urgently, “please help me! I’m here against my will, please get me off this table! Hurry! Now, please!” Tears stung my eyes as I heard my captor’s laugh, “Ah good, finally some begging- I was getting worried you might be a bit slow, or had lost your wits, but it seems I just underestimated you.” She was worried about my sanity? It was almost laughable. I struggled against the table and called to the unseen person again. “Hush now, that’s enough. Nora’s one of mine. Or Vinnie’s, technically,” she amended. “Nora could never say so, but she always had an eye for Vinnie, you know, so I gave her to him on his employment anniversary as a reward for both their faithful service. They get on quite well, and I’m sure Nora would tell you how much you’ll enjoy it here, if she could. Wouldn’t you Nora?” A garbled affirmative came from behind me, and a tear rolled down my cheek.

She patted me on the head. “That’s right dear. Now Nora, we’ll have the mint salt scrub with a ginger spritz, if needed, followed by an hour in the steam room to release those nasty impurities. And don’t be too gentle- tears cleanse the soul, you know.” This last was said to both of us before she padded out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her. I waited a moment, closing my eyes and listening carefully to be sure it was truly only me and Nora still in the room. Nora seemed to be mixing something, and by the time she was done I was reasonably certain it was just the two of us.

“Listen Nora, please, you have to help me. Untie me and we can both get out of here.” She said nothing, but proceeded to scoop a bit of her mixture, presumably a salt scrub, onto my back. The scrub was cool, but her warm hands gently massaged the scrub into a uniform coating across my back. If I wasn’t tied down and terrified, it would have been pleasant. “Listen, I know you only agreed to all that stuff earlier because that evil bitch was in the roo-“ A hard slap to my ass cut me off and Nora’s hands grabbed the back of my neck hard, grinding the scrub in painfully as she leaned into my ear and enunciated around her gag “No!”  The pain made me gasp.

I whispered to her, “Can she still hear us?  Look, I know you’re scared, but we can do this together.” I could feel her trembling slightly and took heart, “look, all you have to do is keep scrubbing, and just loosen up the restraints as you go. I’ll get free and take you as my ‘hostage’ and we’ll get out of here. That way if anything happens and we get caught you can say it was all me. We can do this!” Her trembling deepened; it was a moment before I recognized the soft, panting snorts as laughter, and felt the first stirrings of despair. It quickly gave way to anger, and I cursed her violently, “You stupid fucking cow! Let me go, you bitch! You and your fucking mistress can go straight to hell!”

I shook and I thrashed, struggling against my restraints to no avail as she scrubbed me hard, grinding the salt against my skin at every curse word and slur against her mistress. As the adrenaline of my first fury wore off, I realized that the mint oil in the scrub, which had started as such a pleasant cool tingle, was beginning to sting my raw skin. I left off my cursing, but it was too late; I’d roused Nora’s ire and now she punished me with rough ablutions. Soon I would have sworn there were a hundred, thousand cuts on my back and arms and legs, every one of which now seemed to be on fire. It wasn’t long before I’d begun crying in earnest and begging for mercy. “Please, I’m sorry, you’re not a bitch, She’s not a bitch, I’m sorry, I take it all back!”

Finally Nora relented; she brought a pitcher of cool water and poured it slowly across my back and arms and legs until all the salt and oil was gone. I watched the water disappear into drain tiles below the table as she gently toweled me off. She spritzed another light oil across my back and limbs; it stung a little before spreading a pleasant warmth. Ginger is both an antiseptic and an analgesic, the part of my mind that loved trivia informed me. I was so exhausted that I hardly noticed Nora moving around the table, clipping and adjusting various straps, until she came and unfastened my head strap. For the briefest moment, I thought she might let me go, but I was quickly disillusioned.

She had carefully attached a second strap from each my left leg and left arm to the right side of the table, and vice versa for my right arm and right leg. The tie downs all along both sides of the table were actually winches that somehow tied into the levers she was now adjusting: as she winched loose the original straps that held me face down, the new straps tightened in equal measure, slowly rolling me over until I was back in my original position, only face up. She gave the levers one final tightening before returning to draw the head strap snugly across my forehead. I gave a token struggle, but I was tiring, and the motion made my back sting again.

I watched Nora as she removed the original straps, now gone slack and useless, and I wondered if I beheld my own fate. What I could see of her was lovely: long brunette hair curling down from a tight, high pony tail to drape across a loose masseuses’ top with matching pants in the Thai style. When the light was right, her slender figure and ample breasts were outlined through the thin material. Though her attire suggested comfort, she held herself so stiff and upright that I suspected a tight corset must be hidden underneath. She wore slippers now, but still walked on her toes as though unused to being in flat footed shoes.

And of course, there was the gag. It was a muzzle gag of sorts, perfectly formed to cover her whole jaw from the ear forward, rising up over her mouth to just under her nose. A strap ran up from just behind the right eye, over the top of the head, and connected again to the muzzle just behind the left eye, anchored by one strap around her forehead and one running behind the neck at the jaw. There was a removable insert at the mouth, and I was willing to bet the current insert was phallic shaped. 

I considered renewing my struggles, but discarded the notion as Nora picked up the scrub bowl again. She looked at me and cocked her head in a silent question; the idea of the harsh treatment my back had received being applied to my sensitive front filled me with terror. “No, please, don’t,” I whispered. She gave an affirmative nod and pushed one finger to my lips in warning. I silently nodded, tears beginning to trickle. She didn’t scrub with the ferocity she’d used on my back, but my breasts and stomach were still bright red and I was still crying and pleading by the time she was done. I welcomed the cool water and the ginger spritz, but I wasn’t given long to enjoy it.

It was almost a relief when Nora adjusted the table into an upright, chair-like position and simply rolled me into the steam room. I was so sore and tired from my struggles that I wasn’t sure I would have had the strength to attempt an escape if the opportunity had presented itself, and the knowing I’d missed what might be my only chance would have been unbearable. I sat impatiently, wondering why they would put me in here; the steamy warmth was pleasant against my naked skin, and now I had time to think, to compose myself and come up with a plan... How had I gotten in that car, and what did the Mystery Bitch want with me? More importantly, how would I get free?

Shafts of hot, thick steam flowed up through the vents as I considered, and the warmth was quickly becoming unpleasant. Soon I started sweating, and my thoroughly scoured skin began stinging from the salt. Worse though, the steam was so thick it was difficult to breathe. I began panting, open mouthed like a dog, the air now so thick and wet I was sure I was more likely to drown than to get enough oxygen to sustain me. All thoughts vanished from my mind, save one: air, breathe, need air!

I barely registered it when I was wheeled out of the room, what seemed like days later. The cool air hit me and I gulped it in like a fish being dropped into water. I was sweat-soaked and boneless, and when they untied me all I could do was slide helplessly to the tiled floor of a room that looked much like a large shower. The cuffs on my wrists and ankles were quickly attached by short chains to bolts in the floor, which were positioned to allow for a kneeling position. I had carefully lifted myself into a sitting position when suddenly I was assaulted with a spray of lukewarm water. After the interminable heat the water felt cold, and soon I was shivering and struggling against my bonds.

“There now, wasn’t that refreshing?” Came the hated, honeyed voice. For the first time, I was able to turn my head and view my captor in full. If I didn’t despise her, I would have thought she was beautiful. She was tall, still in stilettos that accented long graceful legs leading up to a tasteful, professional skirt. An athletic figure with luscious hips and a trim waist was complemented by a thick black belt with three buckles over a flowing white top. Her sable hair was held back in a businesslike bun, and rich red lips and dusky shadow set off her perfect olive skin and lustrous amber eyes. “Yes, a fresh start, cleansed from the inside out is just what you needed. And what better way to cleanse than with your welcome toast?”

She snapped her fingers at the door, summoning a new minion. A male figure appeared in the door, hulking and clad only in a black scrap of a loin cloth and matching cloth hood, almost executioner-style. Still somewhat befuddled from my recent travails, I could only stare as I tried to work out what was about to happen to me. She trailed one finger down his muscled chest and the catlike grin returned. “Yes, pretty isn’t he?” My eyes widened and I choked on my breath, gasping as I began fighting my chains with everything I had left.

“ENOUGH!” She boomed as she slapped my ass, hard, commanding my attention. “You’re going to hurt yourself, and he’s not here for That. You’ll have to ask nicely if you want That.” She paused, “Very nicely...” Her voice trailed off and she smiled again as she considered the prospect. I didn’t trust her, but it seemed clear to me that she had a detailed plan for me, which she intended to follow to the letter.  If she said rape wasn’t part of it (at least at this point), I thought it likely the truth. And she was right- my abraded back had begun hurting again and I’d caught one wrist painfully hard on the cuff. I shook it out as much as I could, giving a huff and glaring at her. In my mind I hurled foul insults at her, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say them aloud.

“Much better,” she nodded. “Proceed, Maslin.” The hulk moved around me and produced something like a tiny sawhorse padded with rubber. He placed it beneath me, latching the legs to catches in the floor designed to immobilize it. One by one, he extended each leg, until it pushed against my chest and my hands just barely remained flat on the floor. He continued to push the rear up a few more notches so I was on my tip toes in a downward dog position. I tried to struggle, thinking the bitch had had lied to me after all, but once again I was fully immobilized.

“And now for that champagne I promised you, my sweet!” She intoned in a mocking voice. I felt her hands graze the cleft of my ass, smearing something warm and gooey. “Stop!” I screeched out. “Stop, you filthy cu-“ Maslin casually backhanded me in the face before squeezing my cheeks hard. Before I could recover, he had caught my tongue and was expertly threading it into the center of a narrow three-piece vise, with my lower lip following into the bottom vise and my upper lip into the top. He tightened the bolts sharply with a huff of satisfaction, leaving my protruding tongue and lips tightly trapped and making me incapable of anything more than throaty grunts.

“Ah-ah dear,” the honey-voiced bitch admonished, ”you’ll find that all my creatures are fiercely loyal to me, and they don’t appreciate hearing me spoken of in such coarse language. And how are we supposed to celebrate your arrival when you’re being so rude?” She questioned in a lighthearted voice. “I suppose I can’t blame you for being nervous,” she continued, “we are giving you a whole new life after all! Here, look dear, nothing to be afraid of. And it’s easier if you don’t fight...”

She held a pear shaped plug out for my inspection, slathering it with lube while I grunted protestations and sobbed. “It’s special, you see?” She continued, tilting the top towards me so I could see the narrow hole running through the center. She returned to my rear, humming happily as she inserted the plug into my ass. It wasn’t too painful- she’d lubed it well and I’d done a bit of experimenting before, though I didn’t find it to my taste.

“Maslin, the champagne, if you will,” she called in a singsong voice. I could hear Maslin step out of the room, returning with a bottle of champagne. He stepped in front of me, pulling a pair of champagne flutes and a pitcher from a cabinet on the wall. She was fiddling with something at my rear; having arranged whatever it was to her liking, she moved beside Maslin and pulled a third flute from the cabinet, setting it down beside the first two. “Go ahead and pour yourself a glass too dear,” she invited, gracious in her glee. He carefully filled the three flutes and passed one to her respectfully before quaffing his own glass in a single gulp.

“Brute,” she shook her head with amusement, “why do I waste nice things on you? Ah well, see to our guest.” He unceremoniously dumped the remainder of the champagne into the pitcher, topping it off with water so it was about a half-and-half mixture. He picked up the third flute of champagne and the pitcher before moving behind me. I glanced back to see Maslin raising a funnel with a tube connected to the plug in my ass. He caught my eye, and I was certain he was smiling beneath his hood.

“Cheers!” Called the honeyed voice as Maslin poured the flute of champagne into the funnel. I watched the golden liquid begin its descent down the clear tube, the occasional bubbles slowing its pace. I shuddered and moaned as it entered me, cold and tingling. My insides spasmed in protestation of the invasion, but a single flute was only a few ounces which soon warmed, easing the cramps. I was beginning to feel a little light headed from my ordeal. And, like as not, from the alcohol. One glass of champagne wasn’t much when consumed through the mouth and filtered through the stomach and liver, but it’s effects were considerably stronger having bypassed those obstructions. My eyes begged for mercy, and I issued an unintelligible, guttural plea, my tongue and lips gone numb in their clamps.

“Yes, it’s quite good, isn’t it? I bet you’d like some more, wouldn’t you?” I shook my head and moaned again. She nodded to Maslin, who began slowly pouring the mixture in the pitcher into my funnel. She watched a moment before her gaze returned to my face. “Oh, you poor thing! Your lips are blue! Let me help you!” A rush of blood poured into my lips and tongue as she loosened the vises and removed the gag.

It was at once painful and a relief, and it distracted me from the building pressure in my rear. “There now that’s better, isn’t it?” She asked. My lips and tongue felt hot and fat and sore, and I didn’t seem to have any control over them. She continued, “now you can enjoy your champagne!” Maslin was pouring the last drops into the tube. For a mercy, the water he’d mixed in was warm, so although my stomach was uncomfortably full and I felt ready to burst, I wasn’t experiencing the painful cramps that had accompanied the ice cold champagne I had been initiated with.

“Yes, I think you should be able to enjoy it for oh, say fifteen minutes? Yes, that should do nicely.” I glared at her and cursed her “Uk-oo!” She pretended not to hear, pulling a stool close to my face and placing a timer upon it. “Fifteen minutes,” she said sternly, “and an hour in the steam room for every minute short of that.” I gasped; one hour was torture, any more would be unthinkable. Her catlike smile returned as she floated towards the door, “and you might watch that mouth. Maslin is quite sensitive, you know.”

The door shut behind her, leaving me alone with Maslin and the timer. He stood cross armed in the corner, while I stared at the timer. Fifteen minutes wasn’t that long at all, really- I’d be fine. The door cracked open again and Her voice floated in, “Don’t forget, Maslin...” He grunted acknowledgement and leaned towards me, deftly plucking the plug from my rear. “Fugg!” I squealed as I squeezed my ass hard before a drop could spill. Maslin administered a solid slap, and my stomach gurgled with the impact. “Ahh, thit!“ Another slap. “Pleathe, I’m thorry!” I begged, speaking around my still swollen tongue. It was much harder to maintain my hold on my bowels without the aid of the plug. I looked back at the timer: only three minutes had passed. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.
Once it was under control, I decided to take stock of myself, wiggling each toe and finger, running my mind along my scoured skin to determine if I had any deeper cuts, carefully avoiding thinking about my stomach or ass. I peeked at the timer; I was at barely five minutes now. “Oh God, please!” I gasped before I could stop myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for another smack. After a moment, I peeked over my shoulder. Apparently it was acceptable to speak, just not to curse or speak ill of my captors. “Focus, you can do this...” I told myself aloud.  More than a little drunk now, I added in my own singsong voice,  “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, Maslin, please just let me go!” I begged to no avail. I was still less than ten minutes into my trial, and my stomach was beginning to rebel. “Please, you don’t even have to let me go, just let me get rid of this!” He looked me in the eye and cocked his head to the ground. “No, no, please, if you let me up and don’t tell your mistress, I’ll...I’ll do anything. Please!” He gave the slightest shake of his head, and his implacable calm infuriated me. “You big, dumb brute! You stupid fuck! Go shove-“ he interrupted me with one hard smack on the ass, then pressed his hand to the small of my back.  The pressure on my stomach was excruciating. “Please, please, I’m sorry! I won’t say another word!” After another minute of begging, he relented and resumed his cross-armed post in the corner.

Tears streamed down my face as I returned my gaze to the timer. I had less than five minutes to go, and I would make it, I resolved. I watched the seconds tick down, consoling myself with imagining how I’d return the favor to that bitch if I ever got the chance. Finally, I was down to the last minute- in torment and fighting for every second, but certain now  that I’d make it. I turned to look at Maslin, giving him a fierce, triumphant smile as I thought to myself, “Fuck You, Asshole!” He watched me a moment, then his eyes quirked upwards as he reached out and gently brushed his hand first along my side, then between my stomach and the sawhorse. I instinctively jerked away, but the unexpected distraction and the sudden motion made me lose my tenuous grip on my bowels. I burned with shame as I heard the door opening.

“Oh dear, such a disappointment!” Came the honeyed voice, filled with far more amusement than disappointment. “Ah well, clean her up, and then back to the steam room it is.” She departed again, leaving Maslin to hose me off. I was almost grateful when he held the hose to my mouth, allowing my abused tongue and parched throat a moment of respite. Then he moved behind me with it and returned the funnel plug to my ass, filling me and emptying my bowels twice more before he was satisfied. He turned up the pressure, spraying me and the sawhorse and the floor until everything was spotless.

After lowering the legs of the sawhorse and disconnecting it from the floor, he pushed my convertible chair into place behind me. He released the floor chains connected to my wrist cuffs, holding my arms securely in his steely grip, and stood me up before pushing me back into the chair. I took the opportunity to spit in his face.  There was no reaction, and for a moment I thought the brute hadn’t even registered it. 

He continued to clip my cuffs into place on the chair, carefully wiped the gob from his face and proceeded to shove it up my nose with an upward swipe, clamping my mouth shut while I sputtered and snorted. It burned my nostrils and I thought I might choke. I told myself it was worth it, but as I gasped for breath I wasn’t quite sure.

Once my ankle cuffs were secured to the chair he proceeded to wheel me back to the steam room, fresh tears and my own spit dripping down my face, as I wondered what fresh torments might await me after this second round of “ritual cleansing.”


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