Degenerate Masochist’s Reincarnation as A Goddess

Mortal Consent Not Violated (in your face Dynja!)

Howdy-Hi! It’s me, the degenerate neighborhood masochist reincarnated as Ion, the demi-goddess of knowledge and magic; servant of the Seven Star Celestial. You might remember me from the recountment of my capture by bandits and subsequent failure to get trained as a sex slave. Alternatively, you might be familiar with my kink positive columns at the Lesser Deities’ Afternoon Club, and have accidentally stumbled upon my more scandalous writings, in which case, I hope you enjoy. Oh, and if you’re reading this in hopes of digging up dirt on me (looking at you Dynja), then get WRECKED! I practise what I preach. No mortals are harmed in any of my sexcapades, and the only consent which is even remotely dubious is mine, which it isn’t, because as mentioned I am a degenerate of the highest order and wish for this torment to be done unto me.

Aight, that oughta preemptively settle all the whiners and complainers. There were a few last time, if you can imagine! Now, let’s get to the wet sloppy meat of the matter: My review of the Lucky Gimp’s all service hotel.

I discovered them after developing a scrying spell, which looked for places where selected keywords overlapped (the spell will be available in my upcoming kink-positivity course for demi-gods and goddesses, more details at the end). Incidentally, the words I searched for were bondage, professional bdsm, gag, humiliation.

From the outside, the Lucky Gimp’s looked like an old castle repurposed as a spa resort. It sat on the hill of a verdant mountain, overlooking a small town on the quiet eastern edges of Hallonia—a medium sized human democracy with a symbolic monarchy. However, the bleached walls and bronze domes hid beneath them a terribly lewd secret.

I won’t lie. I spent half a decade gathering my courage and fapping to the place, before I dared to take on a mortal disguise and enter it.

Once again, I set on myself the DIVASLAB binding rune, which sealed my powers as a demi-goddess, and set myself a death condition, where I’d have to do paperwork if my mortal body perished.

Wisened from the last time, I studied up on the local drae culture before adopting my disguise. Luckily, light-gray with a twinge of pinkish purple was a regular skin color among the neighboring drae theocracy, so I could easily pass as some ambassador’s sexually repressed secretary.

I tied my long platinum blonde hair into a slightly too tight bun, hid my golden glowing eyes behind angular glasses, pushed my long perfect legs into stockings and pencil skirt, and bound my slim waist with a corset, which perked up my already perky breasts. A white button-up blouse and leather suitcase finished my ensemble. In an effort to maximize the tightly-wound up secretary look, I turned my natural tomboyish smirk into a taut frown. I was beautiful, ravishingly so!

Despite the urge to masturbate, I finished the preparations and teleported myself to a safe location outside the Lucky Gimp.

A jingle rang as I entered the foyer of yesteryear’s luxury preserved by wax and manual labor. The receptionist, a charismatically matured woman in a tailored suit, greeted me with a genuine smile.

“Welcome to the Lucky Gimp, Miss. I am Mrs. Gradvoyre, your receptionist, and one of the Lucky Gimp’s numerous service assistants.”

A blush crept to my cheeks. I’d seen her pump an elf lass’ ass full with an enema, when spying the place. I adjusted my glasses, and nodded promptly. “A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Gradvoyre, I am Ion, if a first name suffices. I was made to understand that your establishment allows customers to maintain a certain discretion.”

“Of course, Miss Ion.” She smiled, producing paperwork from behind the counter. “This’ll be your first stay, I presume?”

“Correct.”

“Mm-hm.” Mrs. Gradvoyre crossed a box.

“But I have been made familiar with what the establishment provides, in great detail,” I hurried to add. “I’m likewise familiar with the safety precautions and legalities.”

“Splendid. Regardless, I’m required to have you read and understand these. Sign them when you are done.” Mrs. Gradvoyre handed me a stack of documents.

I smiled awkwardly, accepting the papers. “Of course.”

“You may take any of the seats, while perusing them. I’ll have tea and biscuits brought.”

“Thank you.”

Truth be told, I hardly read anything on the papers. It was all legal jargon about this and that and that and this and so forth—nothing of consequence. The tea was pleasant though, and the biscuits were freshlybaked. In half an hour, with all formalities completed, Mrs. Gravoyre sat beside me on the aged velvet sofa and handed me a brochure with the suite options. She smelled of cerry and latex.

“Small Peril is popular among the first time clients,” Mrs. Gravoyre explained, leaning against me to point at a picture of a young lady in scant lingerie and black leather bondage. “The suite comes with three scheduled pleasure and relaxation sessions per day, and a personal service assistant. All the sessions can be pre-chosen from the Pretty Bitch menu.”

When her mature voice spoke the word, it sounded like she was calling me her bitch already. I tugged on my collar, breathing slightly heavier against my corset. “I see.”

“A slightly more extravagant choice is the Princess’ Breaking suite, which includes three personal assistant, a personalized schedule by our finest pleasure consultants.”

“Aha…” It was getting hot. I squirmed covertly, struggling to make a decision. “So many options...”

Mrs. Gradvoyre giggled softly. “Yes, it can be quite daunting. May I pose a personal question, Miss Ion?”

“Certainly.” I swallowed.

“What kind of budget are you looking to spend during your stay?”

Sighing with relief, I managed to look her up in the eye. “Eleven gold.”

“Hm, and the duration of your stay?”

“To tell the truth, as long as I can afford to.” My ears warmed with shame. 

Mrs. Gradvoyre did not laugh, only smiled and turned the page of the brochure. “In that case I would recommend a Full Service room for ten days. The package includes everything you need, and leaves a gold leftover to use on room service, should you require further attention.”

Ten days of pure pleasure. Ten days of unabashed enjoyment of my depraved side. My heartbeat quickened and tongue dried. “Y-yes, that sounds good. One of that one please.”

“Fufufu… Splendid. Let us finalize the consent forms and payment. Once that is done, I’ll show you to the lockers, where you can store your clothes and other possessions. I or another receptionist will open it for you again, when your stay is over.”

I nodded sheepishly, barely able to hear a thing over the heartbeat in my ears. When the last scratch of ink left my pen, the Lucky Gimp had been appointed as my legal guardians and owners for the next ten days. Technically speaking, so long as I would remain within the grounds and respected the contract, I was an bona fide sex slave. 

Soon I would be bound, helpless, and trembling to non-stop orgasms. Drool slipped my lips. My nether lips quivered. I could hardly wait!