About Eve, A Femdom Novel

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

My reverie ends with the last gulp of coffee. The day’s paper work needs my attention and I have found that it is best to complete it in the morning. The train from Calgary arrives in the early afternoon and as Manager, I have found that the arriving guests like being greeted by the person in charge.

I also bid adieu to the departing guests, which the train will return to Calgary.

Going over invoices I often find it fortunate to be located so close to cattle country. The incoming stream of required leather supplies is endless. Whips, cuffs, harnesses, are constantly ordered and I often wonder if it would be a suitable investment for the Spa to purchase its own herd of cattle.

Medical supply bills can also be material. The Spa has a full time nursing staff with a doctor visiting once per week, arriving on the Tuesday train and leaving on Wednesday. Some of our guests can become quite exuberant with a whip or other instrument of correction and abrasions need attention no matter how minor. Then there is the process of piercing the newly hired servants. And of course all the members of the serving staff are checked biweekly. One week for the males, the following week for the females.

Performed in a windowed room, the examinations can be quite amusing for the guests. There is no level of humiliation comparable to being observed by onlookers as the doctor works between well spread thighs, particularly if the patient is young and unaccustomed to gynecological and rectal exams.

And biweekly prostate exams are also mandatory. The doctor is very thorough with some guests wagering on the largest erection resulting from her aggressive digital intrusion.

Food is handled by the catering staff. I just sign the checks and, of course, such are well piled up since our guests eat royally and no expense is spared in satiating their appetites, for sustenance and otherwise.

Moving to a quick review of the prior month’s financial statements, such reveals that the Spa is once again incredibly profitable. The fifty guestrooms were 95% filled, the vacancy rate resulting from rooms remaining unoccupied is due to guests failing to make the train connection from Calgary.

Since a majority of the Spa’s guests own jet aircraft, the owner had discussed installing a private airstrip to mitigate the possibility of late arrival. But this idea encountered numerous problems. The first being that the peaks surrounding the valley were too steep for safe landing approaches and a noisy strip would ruin the ambiance of seclusion. The second being that the territory outside the valley is mostly owned by the Canadian government, thus making the prospect of acquiring suitable land there a formidable obstacle. And lastly, applying for the needed permits to operate a small airport would serve to draw attention to the Spa. This would not do.

With all the hurdles outlined, an informal survey of regular guests revealed that, although somewhat unwieldy, the three-hour train ride from Calgary was deemed to be a most relaxing beginning to exhausting days and nights of s****l debauchery. And most were adamant that the return trip was even more restful, sleep being deemed somewhat mandatory after endless sordid escapades.

And so the train remains the only means of arrival and departure, making the Spa a most exclusive destination but also saddling it with an unwarranted vacancy rate. Unwarranted since the waiting list for a reservation is at times over one year, with a week’s stay at the Spa being deemed a very appropriate birthday gift for a woman with a penchant for the whip.

With the paperwork done, I am free to make my rounds. The attributes that make the Spa attractive to the wealthy, Dominant woman also burden me and the professional staff with the responsibility of impeccably maintaining the facility. Fortunately, there is adequate help. Every member of the serving staff has a daily chore. No matter their anguished individual circumstances in perhaps spending a long night in bondage or at the receiving end of a thin strand of leather, every day between the hours 8:00 a.m. and 9:30 a.m. every inch of the lodge is vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed or washed as deemed appropriate. When I first arrived at the Spa, it was most fascinating to watch the dozens and dozens of naked servants working diligently to clean their assigned section of hallway or common area. The results are more than satisfactory and my practiced eye has learned to quickly ascertain who is applying themselves to the mandated task and who is going through the motions in order to hasten their rest.

Yes, mornings are when the serving staff is permitted a few hours of sleep, most having spent wakeful nights servicing a guest. After the cleaning hour, the servants shuffle to the dormitory area where a few hours of supervised rest are permitted.

In order to ensure that high standards are maintained, each day the efforts of one servant I deem to be inadequate. He or she subsequently finds their rest period to be anything but restful.

My watch indicates it is almost 10:00. Having signed my last check, I arise and retrieve my discipline stick from the rarely used coat rack.

It’s unfair. It’s mendacious. But I already know whose tidiness will be deemed inadequate. It will be that of a newly arrived female from Southern California. A ‘valley girl’ who ostensibly came to us just for the money, during her interview I saw in her eyes more than just the quest for financial freedom.

Yes, Muffin or Binky, whatever the little strumpet gave as her name, blushed wonderfully when she was stripped for committee inspection. And her twenty-one year old thighs and buttocks begged for attention, which I can assure the reader they shall receive.

The duty roster hangs on the bulletin board outside my office. My eyes scan the list and find that it is the girl calling herself Nickie that I want. Over the years, the names mean so little. But after this morning she will be more memorable.

She has been assigned to clean the second floor hallway. Perceived to be an easy vacuuming task, the newly arrived always neglect to dust. Upon climbing the stairs I turn and stroll to the decorative table and chairs occupying a nook in the hallway. Sure enough, there lies a thin gray layer of unsightly powder. I cannot help but to smile and my devious mind begins to ruminate on what infraction I can find for Nickie tomorrow morning.

I pick up the house phone and dial the Dormitory.

“Latricia, has the new girl Nickie been strapped in yet.”

The dormitory supervisor, a seasoned member of the professional staff, indicates that she is being showered. Another smile arises with the thought of the little California blond undergoing the indignity of being scrubbed and washed before the male servants.

“Send her to the reception area, Latricia, she’s done a sloppy cleaning job and is going to have her first pony ride.”

I feel the familiar twinge between my thighs. The sensation of power brings it on and I have learned to welcome and enjoy it.

With a second call, the discipline staff is told to retrieve Nickie from the Dorm.

“Two hours on the pony, Mona. Allow her liberal rest periods as required for a new girl, but tack on the time.”

I hang up and resume inspecting. There is room in the reception area to display a male offender also, but I prefer to spread out the punishments, therefore my demanding eye overlooks some minor infractions as I roam about the building, casually swinging the discipline stick like a cop on patrol. Those doing borderline work will be chastised on another day. Perhaps tomorrow morning a male servant will find himself spending time on his toes and fingertips, as a soft but tight cloth, carefully wrapped about his scrotum pulls his precious testicles toward the ceiling of the reception area.

Some guests have arisen for morning skiing and they receive my professional smile and polite greetings. Most times no one would guess that they have spent the night flogging one of the serving staff or being brought to multiple orgasms by the assiduous oral efforts of one our experienced cunnilinguists. The typical guest has learned to live a life of subterfuge, creating complex facades for the benefit of the vanilla world of business, employment and social exchange. Thus, it is not surprising that it takes a few days at the Spa for their thin walls of normality to crumble. Over time every guest learns to enjoy publicly humiliating the Spa’s subservient staff. Rarely does a dinner hour pass where the CEO of a major corporation or the likes of a very influential Hollywood film producer finds her hands firmly tugging the well exposed scrotal sac of a dining room waiter, or gently coaxing a well endowed servant to fully stand for the benefit of the other dining guests, or deeply exploring the hairless, wet and pink genitalia of a strumpet such as Nickie.

The Spa is where the Dominant women of the world can engage in and display their proclivities with impunity. No cameras are permitted and if a guest so chooses, she will be addressed utilizing a nom de guerre for her entire visit.

And so I am careful greeting the guests. Some are well known, having their photos splashed over the covers of society magazines or business journals. But at the Spa, referring to a beautiful and prestigious actress by her pseudonym, such as ‘Madame Cravache’, not only serves to add an element of mystique but places the guest in the proper frame of mind for her stay.

My inspection brings me to the reception area. In many respects it appears to be that of an ordinary hotel with members of the professional staff manning the check-in desk and the concierge arranging for certain guests what we term ‘matinee visits’ from the serving staff. After a morning of skiing or exercise, many enjoy a four handed, two tongued massage, and it’s easily arranged at the Spa.

Then Mona arrives with a naked and cuffed Nickie in tow. Her dour demeanor and the nasty quirt hanging at the ready from her waist belt evidence her role in meting out discipline at the Spa. And a tearful Nickie, so wonderfully cute and innocent with her recently cropped blond hair and lively blue eyes, appears marvelously frightened. With her wrists secured behind her, her breasts thrust out and invite attention.

She arrived on Sunday and watching her display her nakedness in public for the first time was delicious. I watched through the large windows of the examination room as the Spa’s nurses soaped her body and gave her a good taste of the humiliation which she would face daily. And when they shaved her, one would have thought she was being executed.

Yes, Nickie not only has a look of young innocence but also possesses buttocks with the rounded perkiness that begs for the attention of the flagellatrix. And after her pudendum was completely exposed, I was pleasantly surprised to see her inner labia peeking out nicely between plump outer lips. So much viewing pleasure for our guests.

Well, it’s the wooden pony for Nickie. And I can comfortably say that, although there will be no dust found tomorrow on the second floor hallway, there will be many more opportunities for Nickie to ride and expose her most intimate parts, and I will make sure she avails herself regularly.

I stand and watch Mona begin the punishment.

A simple device, described by many as a Chinese torture, the wooden pony is actually a simple wooden plank, which hangs from the ceiling of the reception area by two ropes. One rope supports the plank at the end, the other in the middle. One edge of the plank points toward the ceiling, the other, of course, to the floor. The height of the plank is adjusted by lengthening or shortening the rope fastened in the middle. The free end of the plank is reserved for the likes of Nickie or another recalcitrant servant girl.

Mona has Nickie straddle the plank then stand on toes on small wooden blocks. The middle rope is adjusted to raise the edge until it meets Nickie’s pubes. Experienced fingers then carefully drape those wonderfully exposed pink lips down each side of the plank. Mona steps back to survey her work and satisfied that Nickie is properly placed slowly slides the blocks from under her toes. The resulting pressure and irritation on the genitalia is incredibly painful. Known as ‘riding the wooden pony’, no girl ever withstands it for more than 30 minutes and Mona will carefully supervise to ensure that Nickie gets occasional respites.

The sessions on the pony serve to quickly build up the calf muscles as the rider struggles to relieve as much weight as possible from pressing her luscious pink parts against the coarse wooden plank. And I insist on a little added feature. Once in place, Nickie’s wrists are pulled up behind her back. This forces her head down to nicely display her hanging breasts and changes her posture so that the gluteus maximus muscles are also worked. Yes, those perky buttocks will become even rounder and firmer during Nickie’s stay at the Spa and she’ll find herself spending many evenings restrained to an ‘A’ frame as a result.

Mona finishes adjusting Nickie’s wrists and steps away. Now it is my turn and I move to Nickie’s front. Her bowed head is just below my shoulders and I can see tears already forming.

Nickie is naked, on display not only for the first time, but in the busiest area of the Spa. Within an hour the activity will increase with departing guests checking out. When the train from Calgary arrives, new guests will be greeted with the delicious sight of a young, naked and innocent serving girl enduring the slowest of torments, laboring to prevent her own weight from painfully squeezing her little bud against the coarse plank. It is a wonderful mental and physical punishment, for with properly conditioned legs, Nickie can minimize her pain. But of course I can also lengthen her ride, so mentally she knows she will lose.

Within minutes Nickie’s exertion will cause her to perspire. Her wet, naked and struggling form will greet every arriving guest and provide for a memorable concluding scene for those departing. Thus, a proper atmosphere in maintained.

Meanwhile, it is my turn with Nickie and I find her firm breasts, hanging so helplessly, to be irresistible. The fingers of my right hand toy with a n****e, ensuring that her attention is on me and not her abraded labia.

“Nickie, you must learn to dust better, naughty girl.”

Despite the agony, the n****e erects to my touch and my nose detects the faint aroma of feminine arousal as the wooden plank soaks up the moisture of her anguished yet stimulated s*x. Yes, we have once again chosen correctly. Nickie will experience much pain and humiliation over the coming months. And she will furtively enjoy every moment. At the Spa, we understand the submissive psyche better than the submissive.

“On your next ride, Mona may just assure that your bladder is brimming. You may notice the floor drain under your toes. We’ve had so many girls shame themselves here in the lobby that it was installed as a necessary precaution. The effect is to sharpen the concentration and that can be even further honed with a quick stop at the infirmary. There you may be provided with something else to think about during your next ride, clenching those nicely shaped cheeks to hold in one of the Spa’s infamous enemas.”

I laugh with the mental image formed by my own words and Nickie’s stunned reaction. Yes, we’ve had recalcitrant girls soil the plank, along with their own thighs and calves. Mona is relentless in her supervision and has never considered a biological urge to be a suitable reason for respite. Thus, I had the drain installed to mitigate wear and tear in cleansing the carpet and informed Mona to utilize whatever technique she found to be effective in punishing poor performance or bad behavior. It was her idea to include an enema for particularly belligerent girls. And with the thought of Nickie struggling to work the muscles of her nicely formed globes to hold in a sloshy quantity of liquid, I make a mental note to thoroughly inspect her work daily.

Nickie remains silent, as mandated by Spa rules, but I know she’ll soon be vocalizing her pain as weary thighs and buttocks cave and surrender her c******s to the plank’s ‘slings and arrows’ of misfortune. And although not watered beforehand, there is the possibility that she will need to relieve herself.

“No gag, Mona. If she wishes to serenade our guests, so be it.”

Nickie will be more comfortable without being gagged. My merciful command induces a sense of tranquility. I move onward reflecting on how the infliction of humiliation can be so calming for me.