The Bondage Diet

The naked man chained to the wall strained against his bonds. On the table before him sat two plates. One held juicy apple slices. The other held donuts. The man leaned longingly toward the donuts.

“No.” The woman dressed in leather straps and thigh-high boots slapped his thigh with a riding crop. “Bad boy. We don’t want those awful donuts, do we?”

“Yes we do,” the chained man whined. “They’re jelly.”

“That wasn’t an invitation to speak.” Edina whacked him hard on the ass. He moaned. She struck him again and again, just hard enough to bring a stinging glow to his cheeks. “Do I need the gag? Or the blinders?”

He looked to her face to see if a response would be allowed. At her indulgent nod, he confessed, “I might need the blinders, Mistress.”

“I thought as much.” She fixed a pair of blinders to his head, so all he could see was the apples. And her, of course. If he wanted to see the donuts he’d have to turn his head, and that would lead to another spanking. The man did not turn his head.

“Look at this.” Edina slapped her crop lightly on his flabby stomach. “And this.” With one leather-gloved hand she jiggled the folds beneath his upper arm. Suddenly she grabbed his face. Jowl spilled between her fingers. “You eat like a pig.”

“Begging Mistress’s pardon, but I am a pig.”

“So you feel you have to live down to all those expectations? Turn that svelte boar’s body into an ugly mass of pork? How do you imagine your wife feels, forced to walk down the street with a lump like you? How dare you do that to her!” She smacked his ass with her hand.

The fat man hung his head. “I’m a miserable excuse for a husband. I’m so sorry.”

“A sorry block of bacon. Is that what you want for yourself?”

“No, Mistress. I want to get back into shape. I want to be able to mow the lawn without having to stop and wheeze every five minutes. I want to walk down the street and not waddle. I want to be a boar, not a pig.”

“Good boy.” Edina fed him a slice of apple. He nearly inhaled it. Her glare reminded him of the consequences. He chewed carefully and swallowed.

“Much better,” she said. She fed him a second slice. “What have we learned today?”

“Apples good. Donuts bad.”

“And?”

“Exercise is our friend.”

“And?"

“Corn chips are not vegetables.”

“Good boy. You know what comes next.” She set the crop on the table and unlocked his shackles. The man began to quiver. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I—Mistress, please, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” she crooned viciously.

“Please, Mistress. Not the scale.”

“If I say scale, you get on the scale. Do I need the cattle prod?”

“No, Mistress.” Resigned, the naked man stepped onto the scale. With the blinders on, he had no choice but to look.

“Holy hamhocks!” he blurted. “I’ve lost five pounds!”

“Excellent. Excellent job, Ernie.” Edina broke character and hugged him. “That’s enough for this session. Let’s end it on a happy note.”

Ernie removed the blinders and wiped his forehead with his hand. “Hey, look. I’m hardly sweating. A month ago it would’ve been pouring off me.”

“You’re coming along nicely,” Edina agreed. “You’ve been following the meal plans? And exercising?”

“Joanie and I’ve been taking walks in the evening. And she’s starting to get, um, romantic.” He blushed all over. “She hasn’t been interested in me in that way in so long … ” All of a sudden he hugged her. “God bless you, Mistress.”

Used to being hugged by naked fat men, Edina just laughed and hugged back. “Get your clothes on, Ernie, before I have to spank you again.”

While her client was dressing, Edina called up a file on her desktop and printed it out. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “You earned this.”

He glanced over the printout hopefully. “Another recipe?”

“Low-fat muffins. You can dress them up with walnuts or cranberries. You may have one as a snack or dessert. Does your wife like to bake?”

“Loves it. That was part of the problem.”

“All things in moderation, Ernie. That’s the key. You can eat whatever you like, if you keep to modest portions.”

“That ain’t always easy in my family. But it’s paying off.” Now that he was dressed and had pockets again, he reached into one and pulled out a handful of cash, which he handed to Edina. “Next Thursday okay?”

“I should be able to fit you in. Check with Sophie at the desk.” She tucked her pay into her bodice. “Your wife has no idea what you’re doing?”

Ernie chuckled. “She thinks I’m seeing a nutritionist.”

Edina, who was a nutritionist, smiled back. “Then we’ll keep her in the dark. I expect you to be down another three pounds by next week. If not, I shall be very cross.”

“I won’t disappoint you, Mistress.” Ernie left the dungeon. He still moved in a waddle, but if he stuck to the program that would disappear.

Edina waited until he was out of sight before she sat with a whoosh of a sigh. The boots made the costume, but were hell on her feet. Moments later her sister Sophie entered. “Ernie told me he paid you.”

“Right here.” Edina passed over the cash. “How are we doing? Any more clients today, or can I take these damn things off?”

“Sorry, sis. We’re booked until evening. You’ll just have to suck it up.” Sophie looked around the dungeon: the chains, the handcuffs, the toys arrayed on one wall, the food pyramid poster on the other. “I have to admit, I never thought a business like this would take off. We’re making money hand over fist.”

“It’s all about finding your niche, my dear.” Edina helped herself to an apple slice. “The Pleasure Club covers just about everything, but it missed this. People want to lose weight, but they feel they lack discipline. It was a natural fit.”

“And lucrative. You should write a diet book.”

“I would if I had time. Who’s next?”

“Mr. Godwin. The horse?”

Edina snorted. “He’s cheating. He thinks I can’t smell the sugar on his breath. Well, it’s the spurs for him. I’ll get him down to his racing weight if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck.” Sophie darted toward the table and snatched a jelly donut. She fled the dungeon, laughing, ahead of her sister’s outraged yell.