Cumming Cleansed: Day One

Smokey Saga #71.1: "Cumming Cleansed: Day One"

*****

Greetings, friends! This story is a special request, from a lovely Reader who prefers in the intro to remain anonymous. And so her wishes shall naturally be honored. Here's the deal on this one. There is much more happening in this storyline than can be covered in one (reasonably sized) story. Ergo, this is going to be the first of several chapters of "Cumming Cleansed" (i.e., Day One). Here then is the Smokey Saga to kick off 2017. It's going under non-consent. Hope you enjoy, and as per usual, your feedback is welcomed, val—...oh, you know the rest.

I know there will be a few who feel I'm miscategorizing this, but while non-con is my choice, here are the other suitable categories this story (and its succeeding chapters) may fall under: BDSM, group, lesbian

*****

Occupational Shift

Monday, September 26th, 2016, 10:13 a.m.

It had only been an hour and change, and Sheila Taggart was already fighting back frustration.

As ugly an emotion she felt hate was, it wasn't entirely inaccurate to how she felt about her job at SuCo Industries. She'd started years ago in accounting, a department whose tasks did not overwhelm her. She could handle this work, and even rather liked it. She sat in front of her computer, processing SuCo subsidiary checks, payroll and paperwork. This was where her skills were to be found. It was a nice job. She could slip off her shoes and quietly listen to music while she worked, she wasn't strained through the wringer, and her boss Diane tried to make the work environment as cordial and pleasant as possible. Sheila didn't make friends as easily as others, but that was okay. She was there to work, and had always been a bit of a keep-to-herself type. Shy and timid as she tended to be, she'd asked Diane for a cubicle preferably quiet, cozy and secluded, where she could have privacy to work.

Then, in July of 2016, SuCo Industries underwent a shift in command. It was brought under new ownership, and the assuming parent company felt it necessary to "shake things up" a bit. However, its own best interests were held closer at heart than SuCo's. Departments were disrupted. Teams were uprooted. A number of employees were jarred overboard. Sheila was separated from her beloved Diane, and ferried under direct supervision of Rick Jarvis, head of production. Rick wasn't a bad boss; there was a reason he captained this division, and Sheila didn't really dislike him. But with this new position came more severe responsibilities, quotas and deadlines. As a result, Rick seemed to demand much more from her than had Diane. Her new job required a fair bit of hoofing it around. She couldn't sit at her desk nearly as much, which she preferred at the age of 49. So oftentimes when she'd just sat back down, and Rick asked her for a report, or to meet with colleagues in adjoining suites, Sheila could start to hear her joints crying.

Like any of her co-workers, she needed the job. She didn't know about everyone else, but there was one reason and one reason only she came here every day. And that was of course to put a roof over her head and food on the table. This was not the sort of work she'd volunteer for. She'd asked more than once if there was a chance she could go back to her old duties. Rick wasn't oblivious or insensitive to her feelings, but he had this chunk of business to run, and was pressed by his own superiors for performance. As far as Sheila's performance went, he'd frankly few problems. He could tell she was trying, and being tried as well by the daily grind. Perhaps a word of praise was in order. He sent her a message.

GOOD MORNING, SHEILA. COME INTO MY OFFICE WHEN YOU HAVE A MINUTE, PLEASE.

She gave a quiet sigh. She wasn't a complainer, but wished, just once, a message requesting her presence included details of what was going on. Or at least let her know if it was good or bad news. Was she in trouble? Not that she'd rather see a message like, "TAGGART, GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE RIGHT NOW!" But it would give her a clue anyway. She didn't think she'd done anything seriously wrong, but still got up right away and headed to see Mr. Jarvis. He looked up to notice her enter.

"Ah, Sheila. Have a seat."

"Okay...what's up, Mr. J.?"

To her relief, he just wanted to tell her she was doing a good job. This was nice, but didn't make her feel a great deal better. She guessed she could go on as she'd been doing in the knowledge that Rick was pretty satisfied, but it didn't make her tasks less strenuous. Oh well, her job seemed secure. Whoopee.

Sheila was divorced from ex-husband Jason, and had two grown kids who'd flown the nest. She and J had split on amicable terms. She didn't love going home to an empty house each day, but that was the one real silver lining in her occupation: the ability to live comfy. She was still earning a sweet salary. That was a good thing for which she should be thankful, she thought. With all the unpleasantries that came with switching positions, at least her paycheck wasn't slashed.

Okay, she thought, there was another silver lining as well, to be sure. Her name was Robin Damone. Robin was Sheila's resident work buddy, and the nicest person she'd met in the production department. She didn't know everyone here, but didn't imagine anyone she hadn't met could be as sweet as Robin. She'd befriended and helped Sheila learn the ropes in her first weeks, and to date offered to accompany her to lunch. Robin was in her late 30s, performed the same work, and thank goodness was always there for Sheila as her confidant or informal free therapist, supplying her with a soothing word in return. Sometimes Sheila felt like Robin was the only reason she wasn't going nuts in this office.

Today they clocked out, got in the car and went to Checkers. With only half an hour for lunch, they often either drove through a fast food lane or dropped in the nearby deli. Both options were quick, easy and cheap, and allowed Sheila to get ready each day without the extra step of packing a meal. She knew burgers and fries weren't great for her body, but they worked wonders on her sanity. To be fair, this job wasn't very great for her mental health, so she viewed this swift cuisine as comfort food. Though now and then, she thought, it would be nice to take her time, and sit down to a hearty, nutritious lunch that would make her body grateful.

"Ugh," Sheila groused as they returned to the building. "Do I really have to go back in there?"

Robin chuckled knowingly and in good nature, as if Sheila didn't ask her this question every day.

"Oh, you'll survive," she smiled, opening the driver door. "I'm there for ya, girl. You can IM me all you want."

Sheila forced herself to open her own door. "Dammit, Robin, I love ya."

Honestly, she really did. She admired Robin Damone so much she almost envied her. She(ila) was an introvert by nature, who minded her own business and preferred to let others come to her when something was needed. Here, Robin was her exact opposite. This was how the two had become friends. Robin was very outgoing, extroverted, and liked meeting people. Were there anyone in the office to whom she hadn't been introduced, she was content to go right up and say howdy. Literally. "Howdy" was her go-to greeting.

As a result, Robin had lots of friends both inside SuCo's offices and elsewhere. Sheila had a few, but most were out of state or just online. Perhaps she should take a page from Robin's proverbial book and try to crack out of her shell. Perhaps...

Ping!

GOOD AFTERNOON, SHEILA. PLEASE BRING ME THE COLLINS FILE FROM LAST WEEK. THANK YOU.

"Mmph," she grumbled, pushing herself from the desk and forcing her body on up.

Here we go again.

*****

The Gift

Monday, September 26th, 2016, 4:51 p.m.

I FEEL LIKE GARFIELD. I FRICKIN HATE MONDAYS.

:) THAT MAKES ALOT OF US GIRL... CMON CHEER UP YOURE ALMOST OUTTA HERE

GOD ROBIN HOW DO YOU DO IT?

DO WHAT

YOU KNOW STAY SO POSITIVE AND UPBEAT ALL THE TIME.

WELL I DUNNO I GUESS ITS JUST HOW I AM

GEEZ I WISH I COULD BE LIKE THAT. :(

AW SHEIL DONT GET DOWN ON YOURSELF YOURE A GOOD PERSON WE ALL HAVE OUR FLAWS

Sheila and Robin went on chatting in and around concluding tasks. Just before quitting time, something Sheila said reminded Robin of an item she wanted to give her. She dropped by Sheila's cube at 5:12.

"Here ya go."

"Thanks...what is it?"

"It's a gift certificate to a spa. Someone else gave it to me, I'm not even sure where they got it. Maybe it's some kinda promotional thing or whatever...I don't really know anything about it, but it seems like it'd be of more use to you than to me. I just feel like you could benefit from some serious pampering."

Sheila was naturally touched. "Aw, how sweet, Robin, thank you!"

"No problem, babe. I gotta go finish up. Take care!"

Keeping one eye on her screen, Sheila slipped on her reading glasses and studied the certificate. It was valid for a one-week stay at a place called Etherea, a recently established women's spa on the edge of town, where the city met the pasturelands. There was a phone number, but Sheila didn't find a web site address. Well, she'd Google it and see.

She dropped over to Rick's office and asked if she could please speak to him. He obliged, having her once more take a seat. So Sheila laid it all out for him, stating truthfully how she hadn't taken a vacation in a while, and figured she'd accrued a pretty good bit of leave. She felt she could really use a vacation around this time, processing that she'd return refreshed and focused. Rick agreed.

"How long did you have in mind?"

"A...week?"

He nodded. "That seems okay to me. Well, Sheila, I'll tell you what. I'd like you to give me the equivalent of that—one week's advance—and you may start your vacation on or anytime after the 4th. How's that sound?"

"Very very fair. Thank you, R.J. See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow, Sheila. Good evening."

*****

Sparadise: a month and change later

Friday, November 4th, 2016, 6:40 p.m.

It was not actually the 4th of October Sheila's vacation was to begin, but that of the following month. She did not actually find Etherea by Googling it. It didn't seem to be on the grid at all, in fact. How weird, she pondered. Why would such a business not establish an online presence in such a widely digital age?

Curiosity won her over. She decided to call. Tranquil music greeted her, as the soundtrack to the recorded message. She navigated to the front desk. A woman with an equally soothing voice and unplaceable accent picked up. "Welcome to Etherea," she'd purred.

Sheila asked a number of questions. It turned out the spa was very exclusive, accommodating only a couple of women week to week at a time. Each guest was escorted to a luxury suite granting the sort of amenities one couldn't find at a hotel. Then of course the receptionist summarized the various treatments they offered. Sheila had to admit this sounded pretty amazing. When she asked why she didn't see them on the Web, she was informed that Etherea needed to keep a relatively low profile. The nirvanic haven was one of a kind, and wished to remain as such. This way they were always in demand. The spa was booked months in advance. If word got loose, they'd surely be swamped, and the quality of the experience compromised. But strangely enough, the recep told her, both appointments they'd had scheduled from November 5th to 12th had been cancelled.

Sheila explained someone had given her a gift certificate. She was told she'd be welcome to stay this available week if she'd like to make the appointment. Hmmm, thought Sheila. She hadn't anticipated waiting this long. But then again, had they no cancellations, she'd have had to wait indefinitely longer. She didn't relish another entire month of work before her vacation. But this would at least give her something to look forward to. And it was an incredibly sweet gesture on Robin's part. She'd hate to waste it. And Robin was right; she could highly benefit from these treatments. She said yes.

Sativa, the receptionist, advised Sheila to come to the spa the Friday evening before her stay. Okay, she thought. So she followed up with Rick, and slogged through the succeeding month of labor. By the time November arrived, she'd begun building up the experience in her mind, to the point of being a little let down should it prove less than exquisite. Just the same, she forced herself not to be too disappointed no matter what. It was a lovely present, and Sheila was naught if not grateful.

Finally, the 4th trolleyed along. Sheila turned in her normal day's work and clocked out. She didn't know why she was a trifle nervous. She had her gift certificate with her. Sativa had informed her over the phone that she needed to bring literally only her certificate and her body. Sheila'd gone ahead and packed a suitcase, just as she would for any excursion. It slept in her trunk, waiting to head over straight from work. She used the restroom—thoroughly—and was off.

The drive to Etherea took just a bit over an hour, as she'd more or less calculated. Her surroundings morphed from overly manmade to natural, entering the country and farmlands. As firmly as she trusted her GPS, she couldn't help but grow less eased, rolling along this dusty path she'd never been down before. Especially as the GPS was silent for several moments at a time. She knew it was silly, but on long trips like this, she wished the GPS could just keep talking, even when not giving directions. She wished it could be like a real car companion, and share jokes and anecdotes to pass the time. She understood it wasn't the device's purpose, that these were programmed built-in voices...but she could still fantasize.

Finally at about half past six, the building swam and loomed into view. It was gigantic. Undeniably, Sheila could tell she'd arrived. The mere sight alone put a feeling of tranquility and serenity into mind. Especially fortunate timing, as it was beginning to get dark. She turned off the GPS, pulled in and parked.

There indeed was the sign: visible day or night, in seven large, bright, backlit letters over the doors. Sheila popped open the trunk, retrieved her suitcase, shut the trunk, took a breath, ambled on up, and let herself inside. She almost immediately saw bright, crystal-blue lights and heard celestial new age music, as if entering the gates of heaven. It felt soothing and warm inside. Very warm. The lobby floor was tiled from the entrance to five feet in, where plushy, foamy carpet took over. A standalone sign greeted her, asking her to please remove her shoes, and leave them on the tile by the door. Sheila read it.

WELCOME. PLEASE REMOVE YOUR SHOES AND LEAVE THEM ON THE TILE BY THE DOOR.

...Really? She arched her skeptic brows.

At the same time, the girl behind the front counter greeted her.

"Welcome. Please remove your shoes and leave them on the tile by the door."

For half a second Sheila thought, ...As if I can't read the sign? She guessed they said this just in case someone didn't see the sign, but then she realized she recognized this voice.

"Oh, Sativa?"

Sativa pressed a button. Sheila heard a strange buzzing sound from behind her. Before she ask what it was, Sativa stood and smiled.

"Miss Sheila Taggart?"

Sheila raised a paw to wave and shake.

"Oh, h—"

She froze in her tracks as Sativa stepped out, no longer concealed by the tall counter.

She was nude.

Completely one hundred percent naked—and barefoot—literally from head to toe. Sheila could see it all. Miss Sativa clearly had no qualms about showing everything she had going on. Sheila suddenly did not know where to look.

"O—...OH my...I-I'm..."

She covered her eyes and turned away. A few alarming thoughts floated into her brain. First off, obviously...WHAT, the hell??! Secondly...bare feet? On carpet, but still, wasn't that just a little unsanitary? Sheila watched Sativa's peds as she strode to the edge of the carpet, and held out her hand, curtsy-style.

"A pleasure."

"...Ummmmm..."

Shoes still on, part of Sheila's brain wanted to turn around, walk out the door and pretend she'd never walked in. But her legs wouldn't work or cooperate. Her hand was equally reluctant to move from her eyes. Sativa noted the guest was not ready to take her hand, so she withdrew and repeated the request.

"Well, we're so happy to have you with us, Miss Taggart. Again, why don't you go ahead and take your shoes off. Please leave them on the tile; they'll be collected and kept safely for you."

Wh—...w-what the hell does that m—... Sheila thought, unable to finish even her mental questions. She still couldn't quite get over the stark bare girl standing before her. She felt her legs start to join her brain in the endeavor to remove herself from this...place.

"Um," she whimpered, slowly backing away. "I-I-I really appreciate it, but I actually think I oughta be g—"

She reached the door, pushing behind with her hands. But without looking, she observed something was amiss.

The door...wouldn't open.

She looked back at Sativa again.

"Oh, dear, I'm quite sorry," the naked lass purred. "You fell under the impression that you were free to leave, after coming inside."

Sheila's eyes widened. She began violently, repetitively shoving the door, to zero avail. She didn't believe it.

"Y—...you...can't...be serious. You...you can't keep me prisoner here!"

"Miss Taggart, darling, calm yourself. When you booked your appointment, you agreed to spend the week in our facility with us."

"Oh, is that so?" Sheila countered, reaching into her purse to seize her cell. "Well, what if I were now to agree to ca—...t—...to..."

Her threat tapered off as she attempted to activate the phone, and realized she wasn't getting service or a signal. Hmm. It would seem they'd thought of this beforehand. The spa was probably located way out here in the sticks to eliminate any use of cell phones. Or they were sending out dampeners to achieve the same. Or both. Sheila looked back up at Sativa, expecting to see a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. But her expression remained merely innocent and benevolent.

"Ok—...okay, okay..." she nodded, slipping her phone back into the purse. "Then, I would like to please use your phone."

"I'm afraid we cannot permit that."

Yeah, Sheila didn't really think she was going to get that request. A chill went through her. She suddenly realized she might be in peril. Sativa noted her worry, and attempted to put it to rest.

"Please do not fear, Miss Taggart. I assure you you're in no danger. And I personally guarantee you shall not regret your decision. Now then...may I please see your certificate?"

Sheila was quite frankly weirded out. She was essentially trapped...in a spa lobby...with a naked woman. And didn't think she could do anything about it. Wasn't this...against some sort of business regulations? Didn't it violate some code of professional ethics? She hoped Sativa didn't try anything, or make an inappropriate move on her. It looked as if Lady Godiva here wouldn't touch bare skin to tile, so as long as Sheila stayed on the tile, she thought she'd be "safe"...so to speak. Sativa, in the meantime, was waiting.