by Van ©2015
		Chapter 1

Mistress was enjoying herself, and so was her precious little junior-slave, Kimberly.  As for her senior-slave, Gabriella ("Gabby" to her friends), her feelings were... somewhat mixed.

Mistress was in a casual mood, so rather than wearing one of her leather or latex "duty uniforms," she was in smoky-black lingerie: panties, bustier, and lounging robe, all gauze thin and doing very little to conceal the details of her athletic but very feminine 40-something body.

Slave Kimberly was in uniform.  That is, she was naked except for the stainless steel collar locked around her neck.  Her long blond curls were pulled back and plaited in a single braid draped behind her head and down her smooth, tan back.  It was secured by a baby-blue ribbon the color of her sparkling eyes, tied with a neat bow.  The 20-something's body was as fit, firm, and shapely as her mistress', but decidedly more "girly."  Kimberly looked like a teenager, a very cute teenager with a dimpled smile.  Mistress didn't mind, to say the least.

Slave Gabby was also in uniform; however, unlike Kimberly, she was restrained.  Her svelte, 40-something dancer's body was strapped to mistress' "special massage table."  The table in question could actually function as an excellent massage table, but its various parts could also be cranked apart and locked into different configurations.  At the moment, Gabby was on her back with her arms stretched to either side and her legs splayed widely apart.  Padded leather cuffs and taut leather straps made sure she remained in that position, binding her ankles, thighs, wrists, and upper arms and stretching across her waist and above and below her modest breasts.  The straps were buckled tight enough to dimple her smooth, tan flesh and the cuffs were wide, tight, and inescapable.

Gabby wasn't going anywhere.  She could barely squirm, but she was doing her best—to squirm, that is.  She was also mewling and moaning through the panties stuffed in her mouth and the wide strip of Elastoplast tape sealing her lips and covering most of her lower face.  Her long, straight, blond hair was a tousled mess, and her skin glistened with sweat.

And why was Gabby struggling, squirming, and sweating?  One, it was expected.  And two, she had motivation.

Mistress' own pubic bush was thick, black, and luxuriant.  Her slaves' bushes were equally luxuriant, but, of course, blond.  In any case, Mistress had declared that she would like to see how one of them looked with a Brazilian, a narrow vertical "landing strip," rather than a full, natural thicket—and Gabby was selected for the experiment.

That was all well and good, but Kimberly—mischievous little scamp that she was—had taken charge of the experiment.  Gabby watched with growing alarm as Kimberly whispered in Mistress' ear, and all Gabby could do was worry and squirm.  A safety razor, clippers, shave cream, towels—everything Kimberly needed to accomplish the task at hand—were waiting on a stainless steel stand next to the steel stool waiting to support Kimberly's tight little dimpled buns.  The buns in question, however, were leaving the room, and taking the rest of Kimberly with her.

Gabby shifted her gaze to her mistress.  Gag aside, she didn't attempt to inquire as to what was going on.  That just wasn't done.  If Mistress wanted to gloat and tell her what was about to happen, Mistress would gloat.

Anyway, Kimberly returned with a small steel tray covered by a jade-green cloth.  Smiling her sweet, dimpled smile, she placed the tray on the stand next to the shaving equipment, then removed the cloth with a flourish, revealing a magnifying glass and an array of tweezers and forceps!

"Urrrk?"  Gabby's worried blue eyes were locked with her junior fellow-slave's laughing baby-blues.

"Yes," Kimberly confirmed.  "Mistress has given me permission to do this the hard way.  Isn't that wonderful?"

Gabby watched in horror as Kimberly picked up the glass with her left hand and a wicked looking pair of tweezers with her right.  She squirmed and tugged on her bonds and shifted her gaze to Mistress.  Mistress gazed back with serene amusement.  "Mrrrrk."  Gabby tugged on her bonds, again.  Being involuntarily partially shaved (Brazilianized?) was one thing.  She'd been perfectly willing to put on a show of Pitiful Suffering for Mistress' benefit, but an involuntary plucking?  She decided to direct a gagged frown at her fellow-slave and would-be plucker.  "Mrrrpfh!"  She really didn't expect it to work... and it didn't.

Still smiling her dimpled smile, and her eyes still twinkling, Kimberly leaned close to Gabby's splayed crotch, selected a single pubic hair on what would be the right margin of the Brazilian she pictured in her mind, closed the tweezers around the base of the dark-blond short-and-curly... paused... and yanked it free.

Gabby squeezed her eyes tightly closed and squealed through her gag.  "Eeee!"

"What a ham," Mistress chuckled.

"Totally," Kimberly agreed, then selected a second target and continued Gabby's partial defoliation.

Several very long minutes later, Gabby was glowing like crazy.  That is, sweat beaded her forehead and glistened on the rest of her body.  Dripping was involved.  Why?  (1) The spotlights overhead and focused on her helpless body were hot.  Also, (2)  Kimberly had made significant progress.  In fact, a pair of narrow, hair-free corridors outlined what would be the final borders of the Brazilian strip.

As at least some of the heat from the spotlights played across her body, Kimberly was also shining.  Her smile never wavering, she plucked hair after hair from her senior slave-sister's bush and deposited them one-by-one in a small glazed bowl on the steel stand.

Mistress was not shining.  A small fan played across her lounging body and its artificial breeze was enough to mitigate the effect of the spotlights.  Truth be told, she was glowing, just a little.  Physically, she was quite comfortable, but the tableau before her, under the hot lights, was hot in every respect.  And the fact that the little melodrama of "suffering" and "torture" being played out was entirely for her benefit—and that the actresses, both actresses—wanted nothing more in the entire world than to please her—that only added to the heat.

Mistress raised her right hand in a graceful gesture.  "Enough."

Kimberly paused in mid-pluck.  "Mistress?"

"No more tweezers," Mistress clarified.

Kimberly affected a truly pitiful pout.  "Oh, Mistress."

"The tragedy," Mistress chuckled.  "Go help Chef prepare dinner."

"Yes, Mistress," Kimberly giggled, planted a kiss on Gabby's labia, then scampered from the room.

Mistress watched her go, dimpled butt and all, then climbed to her feet and gracefully strolled to Gabby's side.  Eyes locked with her helpless slave, she slowly, carefully peeled the tape from Gabby's lips, plucked the damp, crumpled panties from her mouth, then leaned close and they shared a long, deep, wet kiss.

The kiss finally ended and Mistress sat on the stool recently vacated by Kimberly.

Gabby watched as Mistress picked up a small electric shaver.  The device was stainless steel and the size and shape of a small flashlight, with a compact, rectangular head.  She was very glad Mistress had not selected the tweezers or a pair of forceps, but kept her expression carefully neutral, not wanting to cause Mistress to change her mind.  However, she couldn't help but shiver and squirm when Mistress switched on the shaver and began dragging the buzzing head across the remaining hair to the right of the designated Brazilian strip.

"Now," Mistress said quietly, concentrating on the task at hand, "tell me about this 'beautiful lawyer' who keeps trying to seduce you."

"Don't be jealous, Mistress," Gabby purred, a ghost of a smile curling her lips.

"And don't forget your place, slave," Mistress chuckled.  "Continue."

In her "normal" life, when she wasn't Mistress' slave, Gabby owned and operated a successful tavern.  The ambiance was dark paneling, cozy booths, and hanging plants, and it attracted a mixture of professionals and working types, young and old.  Walking in the doors for the first time, it might be mistaken for a trendy fern bar, but Gabby made sure all sorts of people were welcome and felt at home.  The place was clean, the drinks potent, the beer cold, and the food delicious.  The public had responded and "Gabby's Place" thrived.

"She started coming in with friends from work," Gabby said.  "She's a corporate lawyer."

"Ouch," Mistress chuckled.  "And yet, you like her?"

"I don't know what she's like in the courtroom or board room," Gabby continued, "but she's very nice.  And talk about easy on the eyes..."  A delicate shiver shook her body.  Mistress had finished with the shaver, on the left and right, and had returned it to the stand.  "A body to die for, with big brown eyes and amazing cheek bones...  She's an Iberian princess."  Gabby's eyes widened, slightly.

Mistress had lifted the lid of an electric appliance about the size and shape of a coffee or spice grinder.

Gabby swallowed, nervously.  The appliance was designed to melt paraffin and hold it at just the right temperature for waxing.  "Uh, anyway, she's very beautiful."

"And you think she's a dominatrix?" Mistress purred.

"I think she thinks she's a dominatrix," Gabby answered.

Mistress nodded.  She was readying strips of gauze and sorting through an assortment of camelhair brushes.  "I trust your judgement on such things," she said, then her smile turned coy.  "After all, you correctly sensed that I'm a dominatrix soon after we met."

"The ropes preventing me from running away and the gag keeping me from screaming for help were dead giveaways," Gaby drawled.

Mistress carefully placed a strip of gauze across the stubble to the right of Gabby's Brazilian strip, then selected a brush and began stirring the wax already melted in the appliance.  "I give you permission to invite her to the spa," she said.  "Give her one of my free spa-weekend Golden Tickets.  Tell her she won a contest."

"Yes, Mistress."  Gabby winced as Mistress began painting melted wax across the gauze strip.  The sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was... ominous.

"Her name?"

"Alicia Riolobos, Mistress," Gabby answered.

"Alicia Riolobos," Mistress purred.  "You know what will happen if she doesn't live up to expectations, don't you?"

Gabby managed a smile.  "Yes, Mistress."  Gabby was worried about how it would feel after the wax cooled, hardened, and then Mistress ripped off the gauze, taking the underlying stubble with it.  She was not worried about Mistress' reaction when she laid eyes on Alicia Riolobos.

Alicia stared at the plastic "ticket" in her hand with a dubious smile.  "I won the contest?  What contest?"

Gabby chuckled.  "Okay, there is no contest, but the ticket's genuine."

The ticket in question was metallic plastic, possibly Mylar, and more like an elongated tag than a ticket.  On one side was the logo of a spa/resort, "The Willows," and on the reverse was a QR code, a square block of seemingly random pixels that Alicia knew were probably anything but random.

"An all expenses paid week at a luxury spa?"  Alicia let the card fall from her fingers and it landed on the table next to her nearly empty plate.  It had been an excellent dinner, cedar grilled lemon chicken.  She paused for a sip of Chardonnay before continuing.  "I assume I have to suffer through a hard-sell pitch for a condo in the Arizona desert?"

Gabby smiled, "no suffering will be involved... probably."  She held up a second ticket.  "The owner gave me these as a favor, but I have to use them within the next two months or the codes will be invalid."  She paused to sip her own wine.  "I'm afraid we'll have to share a room."

Alicia's smile turned coy.  "I see.  You've been to—"  She glanced at the ticket, again.  "The Willows before?"

Gabby nodded.  "Mountains in the background, cottonwoods, aspens, willows lining a winding stream...  The place is gorgeous, and the service first rate.  You'll never want to leave."

"I see," Alicia said, still smiling.  "One bed in the room, or two?"

Gabby smiled back.  "I guess it depends on what's available.  We'll see when we get there."

Alicia nodded.  "Well... why not?  I can use a vacation."

"Excellent!" Gabby gushed.  "Bring a bikini, and a little black dress."

Alicia cocked an eyebrow.  "The dining room is formal?"

"They aren't stuffy about it, but, yes," Gabby confirmed.  "The guests dress for dinner.  And that's another thing.  The food is excellent.  Some of my kitchen staff have worked at The Willows, and vice versa."

Alicia sipped her wine, again.  "I'll have to make sure they can spare me at work.  It shouldn't be a problem.  I have more than enough vacation days racked up.  I'll let you know."

Gabby nodded.  "Okay."  I love it when a plan comes together, she thought as she reached for her wineglass.

Mistress was in uniform, but it wasn't one of her "Mistress uniforms."  Today, she was in her Lynda Ramsey, spa-owner uniform, office variant.  Specifically, she was in an expensive power suit: high-heel pumps, stockings, pencil-skirt, tailored jacket, and silk blouse.  Her long, dark-brown curls were loose about her shoulders.

Kimberly was at her side, and the blond scamp was also in uniform: deck shoes, white shorts, and a pastel green polo-shirt with the Willows logo embroidered above the left breast.  Just beneath the logo was a gold name tag with her name in an elegant script font.  Kimberly's other uniform, her stainless steel slave collar, was elsewhere.

They both were in Lynda's office with its stylish, expensive furnishings and magnificent picture window vista of a garden venue and the mountains beyond.  Lynda was seated at her desk with Kimberly standing at her side.  Both were gazing at the large monitor of Lynda's desktop work station, and depicted on the screen was a crisp, high-resolution security camera view of the spa's main swimming pool.  Emerging from the shallow end and climbing the steps was Alicia Riolobos, wearing a black two-piece bathing suit.

Kimberly heaved a disappointed sigh.

Lynda couldn't help but smile.  "What is it, little one?" she purred, her eyes never leaving the screen, or Alicia's dripping wet, magnificent body.

"I don't get to punish Gabby for you," Kimberly pouted.  "She's beautiful."

"Yes," Lynda agreed.  "Ms. Riolobos is beautiful."  Her fingers flew across the keyboard and a window popped to the side.  It was a list of spa activities scheduled for guest Alicia Riolobos.

Meanwhile, Bonnie, one of Kimberly's fellow spa-lackeys and similarly uniformed, handed Alicia a large towel.  The officially designated "beautiful" lawyer dried her wet, exquisite body as she strolled to a group of lounge chairs.  She settled onto a chair next to Gabby, who was wearing (just barely) a pink string bikini, sipping what was probably a rum drink of some sort, and reading a magazine.

"Two PM," Lynda read from Alicia's schedule, "full-body massage with herbal wrap and soak.  I think I might take the occasion to introduce myself."

"I can't think of a better time," Kimberly said with a dimpled grin.

"And don't worry about punishing Gabby," Lynda said.  "I'm sure I'll be able to think of an excuse."

"Mistress," Kimberly sighed, then leaned down and kissed Lynda's lips.

"But always remember, Kim," Lynda purred, "what goes around, comes around."

"Yes, Mistress," Kimberly responded, but her smile never wavered.  Her eyes were locked on the screen.  Alicia was placing a drink order with Bonnie.

"You were right," Alicia said, smiling at Gabby.  "This place is beautiful, and very restful."

Gabby smiled back.  "Pastel earth-tones and natural materials—well-tended, naturalistic gardens—timber-framed, and earth-sheltered architecture throughout...  What's not to like?"

Both were dressed in guest robes and flip-flops, and were headed for "Pavilion 12 Green," the site of their scheduled massage.  Thanks to the spa's plentiful signs, which were equal parts art and information, they soon arrived at their destination, a pair of massage tables under a green canopy and surrounded by shrubs.

Two young women in their twenties were waiting, both in the white shorts and pastel green polo shirt uniforms of the staff.  The first was a cute blonde with a name tag that read "Kimberly."  The second was a brunette with a pixie-cut and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.  Her name tag read "Megan."

Kimberly took Alicia by the hand and led her to one of the tables.  "Welcome, madam.  I'm Kimberly, and I'll be your masseuse this afternoon."

"Thank you, Kimberly."  Alicia released the sash of her robe, Kimberly lifted it from her shoulders, she slid her arms from the sleeves, and was now naked.  She was also totally at ease.

"For your hair, madam," Kimberly explained as she handed Alicia a pastel-green shower cap.

"Thank you."  Alicia coiled and tucked her long, raven-black hair under the cap.

"On your stomach, please, madam," Kimberly said as she hung Alicia's robe on a clothing rack.

Alicia stepped out of her flip-flops and reclined on the table.  Gabby, also nude, was doing the same on the second table.

Repeatedly oiling her hands, for the next half hour Kimberly gave Alicia a detailed and highly skilled deep tissue massage from head to toe.  Alicia was in heaven.  She'd received massages before, but this was different.  "Your fingers are magic, Kimberly," she sighed.

"Thank you, madam," Kimberly purred.  "Have you had one of our herbal wraps before?"

"No," Alicia whispered.  Her eyes were closed, her body and mind totally relaxed, and she was trying not to fall asleep.

"Our herbal paste is both hydrating and mildly exfoliating," Kimberly explained.  "It's also very slightly adhesive.  I'm going to paint it onto your skin, alternating layers of paste with layers of gauze, then wrap you in a layer of linen.  Once you're snug and warm, we'll transfer you to one of our mud baths to soak."

"Okay," Alicia sighed.  She opened her eyes and gazed at Gabby.  Her blond companion seemed to be asleep.  Alicia sighed, again.  Probably a good idea.

Kimberly proceeded to do as she'd said.  The paste was green, the consistency of yogurt, and it had a subtle, pleasant aroma.  New mown grass, chopped fresh herbs, flowers, cedar needles... in a word, herbal.  Kimberly used a camelhair brush to paint an area of Alicia's skin, drape a small panel of gauze over the paste, then repeat the process.  This required a great deal of lifting and rolling of Alicia's limbs and body, but Kimberly was strong for her size and had a gentle touch.  She knew what she was doing.

Eventually, every square inch of Alicia's body from the neck down was wrapped in multiple layers of paste-impregnated gauze.  Her fingers and toes had been separated by paste-soaked cotton before being wrapped, and her limbs were wrapped separately.  That is, nowhere was skin in contact with skin.  Arms at her sides and legs together, Alicia was sure she resembled nothing so much as a slimy green Egyptian mummy.  Then, the green was covered and the mummy aspect enhanced as Kimberly used long rolls of three-inch elastic bandages to tightly wrap the entire length of her already wrapped body.

"One more layer, madam," Kimberly whispered in Alicia's ear.

Drifting in snug, warm, moist contentment, her eyes closed and lips curled in a smile, all Alicia could do was mutter an inarticulate, agreeable sound.

Still in a half-doze, Alicia realized Kimberly was pulling what amounted to a cloth and net bag over her feet... up her legs... and then up her body.  It was natural linen, a lattice of horizontal, vertical, and lateral cloth bands framing panels of cord webbing.  It was also something of a tight fit, but Kimberly exhibited her strength and skill, again, by managing to lift Alicia's legs or torso as required and tug the bag up to her shoulders.

Snug in her cocoon of herbs and linen, Alicia closed her eyes, again, as Kimberly repeatedly tugged on a pair of cords running through two long parallel rows of plastic eyelets running down the front of the bag.  The eyelets crept closer together and the bag became a form-fitting shroud.  Clearly, it was designed to uniformly hug the human form.

"There," Kimberly purred as she tied a double bow, "snug and secure.  I'll be right back."

"Ummm," Alicia murmured, her eyes still closed.

About a minute later, Kimberly returned with a framework of tubular steel on wheels.  It straddled the table and supported a cradle of nylon straps.  Kimberly detached the cradle, arranged it along Alicia's shrouded body, gently rolled her body and tugged the webbing underneath, then clipped several cables dangling from the frame to eyelets in the cradle.  She turned a crank on the side of the frame, the cables reeled onto a hidden drum or drums, and Alicia was lifted into the air, just enough to clear the table.

Her body horizontal and evenly supported by the web cradle and cables, Alicia was wheeled away.

Alicia was beginning to think the herbal sludge cocooning her body might have sedative properties of some sort, but decided it was probably just the aftermath of the deep massage and continuous embrace of the warm, moist bandages.  Her dangling journey was very short, the destination a pavilion adjacent to "12 Green."

Instead of a pair of massage tables, there were two long, deep troughs with sloping bottoms and lined with a very pleasant earth-tone mix of tiles.  A pillow was somehow affixed at the top of each slope and several pairs of wide nylon straps with plastic snap-buckles dangled from stainless steel fittings arranged to form vaguely human-shaped outlines.

Gabby was already in one of the troughs and her masseuse, Megan, was buckling and tugging tight the last of her straps.

They moved Gabby first, Alicia realized.  I guess I did take a nap.

Meanwhile, Megan had opened a tap and a soupy brown mud of some sort was pouring into Gabby's trough.  It was about the consistency of pancake batter and the tap was large.  As Kimberly was lowering Alicia into the second trough, the mud had already reached Gabby's heels and was creeping up to her ankles.  Then, the walls of the troughs intervened and all Alicia could see was Gabby's serenely sleeping face and her green shower cap.

Kimberly released and deftly removed the web cradle and Megan rolled the frame away.  The smiling blonde was about to start deploying the straps when a melodious female voice interrupted.

"That's alright, Kimberly," the unknown woman said.  "I'll take care of our guest."

"Yes, Mistress," Kimberly replied, smiled at Alicia, then stepped back.

Kimberly's place was taken by a very beautiful, very healthy woman in exercise togs: running tights, a jacket zipped down to her waist, and a sports bra.  The dark-tan and willow-green panels and stripes of the garments accentuated the woman's athletic, decidedly feminine, and perfectly proportioned physique.  Her full breasts straining at the jacket and bra, with symmetrical, round features, piercing blue eyes, and long dark curls pulled back in a ponytail—the woman was gorgeous.

"I'm Lynda Ramsey," the newcomer introduced herself.  "I own The Willows."

"Pleased to meet you," Alicia purred.  "Alicia Riolobos.  I'd offer to shake hands, but..."

Lynda smiled.  "Yes, at the moment that would be quite impossible."  Kimberly had placed a deck chair near the head of Alicia's trough, and Lynda sat.  "Kimberly, be a dear and fetch us a couple of Havana Coolers, would you please?"

"Of course, Mistress," Kimberly replied, turned, and left.  Megan smiled and gave Alicia a friendly wave, then followed her fellow masseuse.

Lynda was gazing at Alicia's sheath, and her smile had faded.  "Hmm..."  She left the chair, leaned over the trough and began tugging on the laces securing the cloth and cord net sheath, removing slack—not that there had been anything Alicia would have called slack to begin with.  Working her way up Alicia's wrapped and encased body, she succeeded in producing an additional inch or two of free end in the laces, released and retied the double-bow, then started on the straps.  She clicked each buckle closed, pulled the slack from the strap, and pinned Alicia's mummified and encased body in place at the ankles, above and below her knees, her thighs, waist, and above and below her breasts.  "The straps make sure you don't slip under the mud," Lynda explained as she went back over the straps and removed what little slack she'd neglected before.

"That's tight," Alicia noted.  The straps were dimpling the sheath, just a little.

"Safety first," Lynda chuckled as she turned the tap of Alicia's trough and started the mud flowing.  She then returned to the deck chair, sat, and gracefully crossed her Lycra-clad legs.  "Now," she said with a smile, "Sleeping Beauty over there—"  Lynda nodded towards Gabby.  "—tells me you're a lawyer at Miles, Moody, Mori, and Binite."

"A junior partner," Alicia confirmed, "in the corporate division."  The mud had engulfed her feet and was creeping up the incline.  She could feel no change in the submerged area.  The wrappings were already wet and the sheath tight.  The mud must either be body temperature or close enough that it would take time for her to feel the difference.

"Don't worry," Lynda purred.  "There's an automatic shutoff valve.  The mud will stop before it reaches your chin.  Shakespeare may have famously written, 'The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers,' but I find it's bad for business.  I won't let you drown."

"Thank you," Alicia chuckled.  "And that quote is why Henry the Fourth, Part Two is my least favorite of the history plays."

"Understandable," Lynda said with a smile.  "Ah, our drinks."

Kimberly returned to the pavilion with a tray with two mixed drinks.  She expertly placed the tray on a small table, then carried the table to Lynda's side.

"Thank you, Kim," Lynda purred, kissing Kimberly's dimpled cheek as she handed her a drink.  Lynda then leaned close and held the drink so Alicia could capture the straw with her smiling lips and take a sip.

"Delicious," Alicia sighed.  "Thank you, Kimberly."

Lynda took a sip of the second drink, then smiled at her blond employee.  "Please inform Chef that Ms. Riolobos and Ms. Hanson will be dining with me tonight, and you'll be joining us.  You can lead our guests to my apartments at..."  She smiled at Alicia.  "Six?"

Alicia would have shrugged, had it been possible.  "We're in your hands," she said.

Lynda smiled.  "Yes, you are," she purred, "and my mud."

As promised, the mud stopped rising an inch below Alicia's chin, leaving her completely immersed from the neck down.