Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission (8 page)

When more than fifteen minutes had passed without her returning to the table, though, I started to worry. I paid our check, grabbed my shoulder bag, and headed after her.

I pushed open the restroom door. “Jana? Are you all right?” After the tasteful dimness of the dining room, the glaring fluorescent light made me blink. It took me a few seconds to locate my lover.

She huddled on the tiled floor, back to the wall, knees drawn up, arms hugging her chest. Her cheeks were
chalk
white. Her eyes were closed, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her green hem had ridden up, exposing her lean, pale thighs. She looked forlorn and frail, like an abandoned child. A faint whiff of sickness hung in the air.

Comprehension smashed into me like a speeding truck. I crouched next to her and smoothed the fine wheat-blond hair off her clammy forehead. “Why didn't you tell me, baby?”
   

Jana's face showed far more pain than it ever did when I flogged her. “I–I was ashamed. I thought that if you knew
,
if you saw the real me, you wouldn't want me anymore... I'm foul, disgusting, an ugly, jiggling lump of blubber...”

“Don't be ridiculous! You're actually a bit skinny for my tastes–I like some flesh on my girls, otherwise spanking hurts my hand. But I figured that your work required a certain body type. It never occurred to me...
Oh, Jana!”
I clasped her to my breast, acutely aware of the fragile skeleton under her delicate skin.

How could I have been so blind? I knew eating disorders were no joke. I'd lost one friend to anorexia in college. Another had suffered permanent kidney damage. I shivered at the thought that happening to my sweet little ballerina.

“How long have you been doing this?” I demanded. She shuddered in my arms.

“Since my last year in high school,” she replied, her voice muffled by my clothing.
“Forever.”

“Well, you're going to stop it now. I'll help you.”

“It won't work.” Her alabaster cheeks were streaked with tears. “I was hospitalized for three months.
In therapy for five years.
Everyone thought I was better, but as soon as I was on my own, I started again... I can't help it, Mel. I'm so hungry, all the time. There's this raging demon inside of me, screaming to be fed. If I give in, I'll turn into a fat pig. That's the real me, the one nobody knows. When I look in the mirror, I see her staring back. I see the layers of fat piling up on my thighs and belly. It's sickening. I feel them wobbling like jelly, burying me, smothering me...”

Hysteria lurked in her voice. I swallowed my dismissive reply. Rationally, she knew this was all nonsense. She didn't need me to tell her. That didn't make her hallucinations any less real or her terror less overwhelming.

“We'll beat this, baby.” I helped her to her feet. She leaned on my arm, seeming weak and drained. “You're going to move in with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes, of course, but...”

“We'll eat together, as often as possible. I'll take care of you. You don't need to be afraid.”

“But...”

“You're forbidden to weigh yourself more often than once a week. And if your weight goes down...”
 
I tried to sound stern. Deep down, though, I was full of doubt. Jana was a born masochist. What sort of punishment could I propose that would actually change her behavior?

“You want to please me, don't you?”

“Oh yes–more than anything!”

“Then you'll have to be brave, trust me, and eat what I tell you to. I won't let you get fat, I promise.”

She slumped down in the bucket seat. I buckled the safety belt around her tiny waist. She stared down at her hands, circling her left wrist with her right index finger and thumb–checking that she was still thin enough to do so.

“Do I have your consent, Jana? I can't force you to obey me, you know that. You have to agree.”

My darling was silent. Tears pricked my eyes. God, I didn't want to lose her!

“If you can't do this for me, sweet, I'll take you home now and we won't see each other again.
I'm
 
not
threatening you–I just can't bear to watch you starve yourself. I care too much for you.”
      

“No
,
 
please
... I'll try, I really will.”

“You don't have to do anything but follow my instructions, girl. It'll be easy. I'll do all the work.”

It was anything but easy, though. I chose food that I thought she'd find less scary–salads, fish,
fruit
. She'd eat when I was there by her side, encouraging her, but she admitted when questioned that she skipped lunch on the days she was at the conservatory.

 
At least she'd stopped making herself throw up, or so she claimed. I had to believe her; trust is two way street. Still, week after week, the scale remained stuck at a mere ninety seven pounds, too low for my comfort, and Jana still nervously measured her wrist when she thought I wasn't watching.

One evening nearly a month after our date at Ponticelli's, I served grilled salmon fillets on a bed of arugula. I'd been holding forth about one of my recent cases, a particularly lurid divorce, when I glanced at Jana's place. At first I was pleased. Then I realized most of the food was still on her plate. She'd simply cut the fish into tiny pieces and scattered them around, as if they were the remnants of a hearty meal. It was an old trick to make it look as though she'd eaten.

I sprang from my chair, knocking it against the wall. The crash made Jana jump.

“I give up,” I stormed. “I can't take your sneakiness and dishonesty anymore. Go pack your bags. I'll call you a cab.”

“Mel–no, please–I'm sorry...”

“It's too late. Go play your games somewhere else. I don't want a lover who looks like something from a concentration camp.”

“No, really–I'll do better–I just can't help it... please, give me another chance...”

Jana sank to her knees, bowing her head. Her hair floated over her shoulders like blond wings, exposing her tender nape. The vertebrae were clearly visible. My rage fled, to be replaced by tenderness and despair.

“I'm yours,” Jana murmured, so low I could barely hear.
“Your girl.
Don't send me away. Please, Mel.”

I reached for her chin and raised her eyes to mine. “How can you be my girl when you don't trust me?”

“I do trust you. Really, I do.”

“Not enough to let go of your fear.”

It hit me then. I'd been too indirect, too gentle. Low calorie meals and diet soda were not what she needed. That was cheating. She needed to experience the worst and make it through to the other side.

The first time I'd caned her, she'd been desperate to feel the rod slicing into her flesh, but also terrified. My instincts had told me I shouldn't hold back. She'd safeword if she truly couldn't bear it.

She'd taken everything I could dish out,
then
thanked me, smiling through tears. That night had brought us to a new level of closeness.

This was the same.

“Stand up,” I ordered. “And strip.”
 
She'd come to dinner in her work clothes. My pussy clenched and grew damp as I watched her peel the leotard and tights away from her flawless limbs.

“I want you here.”
 
I indicated a spot in the doorway between my kitchen and dining room. She scampered over. “Back to the frame, that's right. Be still. I don't want to see you move a muscle...”
 
The harshness in my voice didn't seem to diminish the joy lighting Jana's lovely features. I couldn't resist giving her nipple a fierce twist as I made my way into the kitchen. She sucked in her breath. Her beatific smile didn't waver.

I rummaged in the utility drawer until I found a coil of rope. “Wrists together, arms over your head,” I commanded. She obeyed in an instant, my own pliant darling once more. I made four loops around those delicate wrists and two between them to tighten the strands. Then I fed the end of the rope through the serving window cut into the wall and back around, fastening her bound hands to the door frame. I wound another length through the aperture and around her waist. She could move her feet, but her upper torso was effectively immobilized.

“Too tight?”
 
She shook her head. I didn't really need to ask. I could read the answer in her flushed face, the taut, rosy nubs protruding from her teacup breasts, and the wet sheen painting her parted thighs. The position elevated her breasts in a way that was positively irresistible. Returning to the kitchen, I located two plastic chip clips, one pink and one orange, and clamped them onto Jana's swollen nipples.

“Oh...!” she breathed. I brushed my fingertips across her damp pubic curls. Jana arched, trying to prolong that fleeting contact and making the gaudy clips dance. With some difficulty, I suppressed the urge to slide my hand into her cunt. Instead, I left her there, tied to the door frame, and went to extract the necessary ingredients from the refrigerator.

Bound as she was, Jana couldn't see me
,
 
but
I knew she'd be listening to the clatter of silverware against china and the whoosh of compressed air.

“What are you doing?”
 
The raw anxiety in her voice was almost enough to stop me. I didn't want to be cruel. She needed this, though. It was for
her own
good.

“You'll see.” I
drizzled
chocolate syrup over my creation, then scattered a generous handful of crushed walnuts over the mounded top. Finally I arranged three maraschino cherries in a triangle around the peak–plump and red as Jana's nipples and clit.

Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the results of my efforts. “No...” she whispered.

“You'd refuse me?” I flicked one of the makeshift clamps. She squirmed in her bonds. Her parted lips and dilated pupils confirmed that as usual, the bite of the rope inflamed her. “I thought you were my girl.”

“I want to be, but...”

“Then take a taste of this sundae I made, just for you. Doesn't it look delicious?”
 
It was, in fact, a thing of beauty: a mountain of vanilla ice cream swimming in a lustrous pool of chocolate syrup, sliced strawberries tumbling down the sloped sides, whipped cream wreathing the summit like clouds. Placing the bowl on the table next to me, I dipped the spoon into the gleaming concoction, gathering cream, nuts and chocolate, and held it to Jana's lips.
“Open wide.”

She tried to draw back. The ropes held her fast. I could see how the sensations triggered her arousal, despite her fear. Her pussy musk mingled with the sugary scent of the berries.

“You can't escape, Jana. I've got you tied up tight, just the way you like.
Safe and sound.
I'm the one in control now. You don't have to fight anymore. Just open wide and let me take care of you.”

I brought the laden spoon closer. All the while I held her gaze. “Trust me. I won't let anything bad happen to my girl.”

“I can't,” she moaned.

“You don't have any choice, not now. I'm in charge, and I'm responsible.”

Hunger.
That's what I read in her eyes. “I know you want it, Jana, just like you want me to bind and beat you. That's okay. There's nothing wrong with that, or with you. I love you, baby. That's why I'm doing this. Now open up.”

I saw her struggle, and finally let go. She parted her plump lips and allowed me to deposit the contents of the spoon on her tongue. As she swallowed, I slipped my other hand into her drenched cunt. She gasped, tightening her inner muscles around my fingers.

“Isn't that good?”
 
I presented her with another portion, stroking my thumb over her clit as she accepted it. “That's right.”
 
Again and again, I spooned the sweet concoction out of the bowl on the table and into her waiting mouth. Meanwhile, I kept my fingers busy in her cunt, fighting terror with lust.

Every bite she accepted made me want her more. Under my clothes, my nipples were like granite pebbles and my clit pulsed like a second heart. I knew that this was far more difficult for her than any flogging or caning I could inflict. With each swallow, Jana confronted her most primal fear–in order to please me. I'd never experienced a more perfect surrender.

Finally the bowl held nothing but a shallow, chocolate-hued puddle. I tossed the spoon away and took possession of Jana's sweet, sticky lips. “You really are my girl,” I murmured, licking a trace of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. “You deserve a reward.”
 
Giving her clit a final tweak, I withdrew my hand from her soaked folds.