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Monday, 27 August 2018

Prodigal Weight

Photo-story by Julie Holmes from Februs 14
So, this is your last resort is it? He didn’t really expect a response; he was simply filling the embarrassed silence. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you are here? he challenged.
‘Well, I’ve always had to work hard at keeping my figure and I’ve been on various diets since my teens. I’m a dancer, so my weight and shape are vitally important. I always thought I was in control, but on my last tour I realised that my eating patterns were becoming bizarre. I tried taking pills to quell my appetite, but they made me feel weak. At the moment I think I’m coping, but I’m afraid that I could quite easily slip into one of those serious eating disorders and I want to stop that happening.’
‘You express yourself very well,’ Dr Marshall said, sitting back and appraising his latest client. ‘At a glance, I would say you were in good shape both physically and mentally, but I’ll check you over properly. Go over to the examination couch, please, and I’ll call my nurse to chaperone. Incidentally, how did you hear of my clinic? he asked casually.
‘Simone Daker was in the troupe I toured with in the Middle East. She said you helped her last year when she had a similar problem.’
He recalled the case. Good: Natasha Stone was probably on the level. He relied on getting patients through personal recommendation, but occasionally an investigative reporter or a snoop from the Medical Council would try to infiltrate. He wasn’t doing anything strictly illegal or unethical, but nor was it exactly mainstream medicine.
‘I remember her,’ he said as Natasha sat on the examination table. ‘Great progress after just one session. In fact, I don’t think she’s been back.’
Natasha thought the nurse snickered, but decided she must have imagined it. ‘Simone said you were very understanding and that the treatment was really effective. She’s not veered from eight and a half stone in six months.’
When she was lying comfortably Dr Marshall once again recounted her medical history, highlighting the extremes her weight had lurched between, cataloguing exactly the fads and potions with which she had abused her body.
‘Right, tee-shirt off, let’s examine your chest.’
Natasha complied: the familiar routine of stethoscope, spatula and speculum was about to begin.
‘Temperature normal; respiration normal; skin clear, hair healthy and muscle tone excellent…’
She flinched as his hands kneaded her naked breasts. No other doctor had handled them in quite this way before. Still, the nurse was there and Simone had said he was very thorough.
‘No need for artificial support,’ he intoned. ‘Pleasing proportions, completely natural. Good. Skirt off.’
Natasha stood and let the modest skirt slide down her legs. As she bent to retrieve it, the narrow thong of her briefs disappeared into the cleft between her buttocks.
‘I don’t approve of these backless pants,’ the doctor informed her ‘They emphasise the width of your hips so that you imagine them to be disproportionately large and that starts off the dieting. Still, pop back up on the couch, face down this time.’
Once more she followed his instructions but was shocked to find his hands reaching under her torso and again gripping her generous breasts.
‘You’ve done them,’ she said icily and the doctor chuckled and began massaging every notch of her spine until each hand cupped a relaxed bottom cheek.
‘Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I came here with a weight problem, not to get touched up.’ Natasha raised herself as best she could and tried to sound dignified in her outrage.
The medic stood his ground.
‘Listen to me,’ he suggested (as he did to all his patients at this stage). ‘The areas women worry about when they are watching their weight are their breasts, buttocks and thighs. There’s not much point in me syringing your ears or cutting your toenails when it’s your backside that is causing you to abuse your whole body. Now relax and let me get on with my job.’
She lay down once more and felt the doctor plant a taunting kiss on her rump. She knew he was mocking her; he had already acknowledged (or so it seemed to her) that her bottom was too big.
‘I describe my treatment as ‘radical massage’. I don’t know if Simone described it to you?
‘No. Not in any detail. She just said it was very effective,’ Natasha mumbled into her folded arms. She felt disappointed — for the fee she was paying, she felt her treatment should comprise something more imaginative than a massage. Still, Simone had said… she let her mind drift, awaiting the application of baby oil and firm hands kneading away the fatty deposits that were the bane of her life.
‘Just relax,’ Dr Marshall said quietly, but instead of a dollop of warm unguent and the circular rubbing she was expecting, she found her hands grasped by the nurse and a resounding slap landing dead-centre on her surprised bottom.
‘Hey…!’ she began, but couldn’t think of how to end her protest. In any case, her complaints were anticipated and the good doctor was already explaining his technique.
‘Nurse Forbes is simply helping you accept the massage; sometimes patients feel they want to reach behind to assist me or to temporarily suspend some of the unaccustomed sensations. However, this can be dangerous and is always a hindrance, so if you just concentrate all your attention into your hands and feel the emotional support Nurse is transferring to you in this way, you’ll find the massage easier to assimilate. Remember, my methods do work; Simone is witness to the fact.’
Natasha willed herself to relax, controlling her breathing and focussing her mind on the trim figure she would soon be able to maintain. It had taken Simone only one such session and Natasha was willing to suffer any short-term indignity to reach such a happy state. The tension left her limbs, her body seemed to sink into the towel covering the couch and the doctor knew she was ready for the full treatment.
His splayed hand landed on her compliant rear a dozen times, each one causing a clear, almost liquid, sound that echoed around the hard-walled room. Natasha heard not only the slaps, but also her own voice rising in swift pursuit. She kept reminding herself that Simone had endured and survived; had she cried out in this way as Dr Marshall spanked her? Perhaps he had been more lenient with her friend, maybe he employed a different method… As her thoughts drifted, so the spanking became easier to endure — until:
‘Change of position: stand up, bend over the couch.’
The nurse still held her hands as she took up the prescribed pose. Now the doctor was striking the lower part of her bottom-cheeks and the crease where they joined her thighs. Each smack caused an itching sting, but more disconcerting was the cool breeze that kissed the previously treated area as he swung his arm for each blow.
Natasha found that in her attempts to evade his merciless palm, she was bucking back towards him and trying to guide him to areas just a few minutes before she had felt could stand no more. Her knees began to bend and flex rhythmically, almost lewdly, and again the doctor knew it was time to move on.
He took his patient’s wrists from the grasp of the young nurse, who sat down as if for a coffee break. ‘Right, now we’ll see how much progress we’ve made. Take off those ridiculous pants and go across Nurse Forbes’ lap.’
‘What? No!’ Natasha screeched. Whatever this set-up was, it was getting to seem increasingly less of a medical practice. She tried to twist out of the medic’s grasp, but he held her firmly and spoke soothingly.
‘Natasha, you’ve done so well so far. You’ve got wonderful body-tone, you’ve responded perfectly to the first part of the massage and it would be such a shame not to complete the treatment and to waste all that has been gained so far. Leave your panties if it makes you more comfortable for the time being, until you are more relaxed. Just lie across Nurse’s lap and think about how comforting she has been to you.’
She knew it was illogical, but Natasha did as she was told. The one thing he had said that seemed to make any sense was that she had come this far and might as well at least finish the session. After all, nothing could be more painful or embarrassing than those initial spanks.
The nurse’s uniform was made of some synthetic fibre that was cold and scratchy against Natasha’s flesh. Although she had never been in this situation before, she intuitively supported her weight on her hands, stretching her legs out straight and allowed her head to drop so that her long dark hair swept the floor. She cringed but did not protest as the doctor peeled down the controversial panties and lay docilely as Nurse Forbes gently rubbed her scorching nates.
‘I need to make some observations, so Nurse will continue the massage while I take notes,’ Doctor Marshall informed her.
Half an hour earlier, the idea of being spanked by the trim young female would have been anathema to Natasha, but now it seemed a welcome respite from the hearty ministrations of the good doctor. Indeed, the nurse’s slaps were much more measured, lighter but generating heat over a proportionately wider area than her male counterpart’s. The doctor made inaudible comments and wrote untidy notes in the file.
‘Yes, that’s fine, Nurse. Now move on to the ruler, if you will.’
Ruler! Natasha all but choked upon hearing the word. Again, she consoled herself in the knowledge of the excellent results her friend had achieved. If Simone could take it, so could she.
Or could she? The ruler looked innocuous enough, but with the expert wrist action of the nurse its effect was devastating. Its impact came in distinct phases. First there was the sharp striking on flesh. Then a heat that insinuated itself deep into her being, spreading by osmosis through every pore of her lower body, warming and engorging her sex, swelling her belly, pervading her legs.
Finally, there was the delayed reaction as her hips ground against the nurse’s lap then sprang back as if trying to flick away the pain. She wanted to count, to know and record the extent of her suffering, but could not order her thoughts sufficiently to get beyond one, two, five, three…
In her frustration, she screamed abuse at her two tormentors, bucking with obscene abandon on the other woman’s lap, beyond caring about the sight she presented.
She was hoarse by the time the treatment was halted and she was once more told to stand.
‘You are doing very well,’ the doctor praised. ‘Just one final phase and the massage will be completed. Then we’ll make a further appointment for three months’ time which you can cancel if your weight has remained stable. Bend across my desk.’
Natasha rubbed her behind and stared transfixed at the long slender cane the doctor was flexing between his hands.
‘No? she implored, the unconvinced questioning tone evidence that she knew the answer was ‘yes’.
‘Nurse Forbes will help you take the first six; then I will observe her administering what should be the final six strokes. If all goes well, your treatment will be complete at that point.’
For the first time, Natasha had an indication of how much she must endure and the knowledge gave her strength. She rested her body on the cool wooden desktop and pushed out her bottom. Nurse Forbes held her hands and the doctor took up a suitable position.
Like the ruler, the cane had an effect it was impossible to predict. As her pneumatic flesh interrupted its trajectory the pain it imparted continued to travel through her whole being.
Each stroke was felt not just in her buttocks, not only in her pelvis or the tops of her legs, but through her arms, in her toes, even at the roots of her hair. A voice shouted in her head that it would soon be over, that she could take it — that she had to take it or her ordeal would be extended. She gritted her teeth and tried to stifle her reflexive howls of complaint. Six! At last, just six more strokes of the cane and she would be free to go, empowered to control her eating and her weight.
Nurse Forbes took the cane from her employer and stood behind Natasha, awaiting instructions.
‘I’m not sure that the treatment has been fully effective; you may need to return tomorrow. Just let me see how you get on with Nurse Forbes.’
Nothing would have induced Natasha to return to that consulting room the following — or any other — day. The nurse lay into her vigorously and Natasha stood resolute, keeping her legs straight, pushing out her rear end submissively as soon as she had absorbed the worst of each stroke. The nurse had experience of the cane from both ends and was glad to give Natasha some of what she knew she would soon be due. Women are often much more assertive in their dealings with their ‘sisters’ than any man would dare to be.
At the first cut, Natasha’s buttocks clenched and, even though she knew it would intensify the pain of the remaining five, she was unable to make them relax again. Each stroke hit resistant, taut flesh, causing an immediate streak of white pain and a subsequent slow-seeping crimson heat to assail her.
She bore it all and eventually the doctor announced she could dress and make her future appointment.
‘Now that the muscles have been toned up, your tactile memory should enable you to maintain their condition without resorting to useless diets. If you find you are putting on weight, or think you are looking ‘heavy’, just mentally run through today’s exercises and you should notice an immediate improvement. If not, we’ll meet again in three months.’
No sooner was she out of the door than the doctor turned to his assistant.
‘Right, Nurse Forbes. I notice you have been gaining a little weight. It’s time you were massaged.’
Nurse Forbes had been one of his first patients and continued to take advantage of his regime. She even dressed appropriately, in lingerie that celebrated her natural curves.
It was patients like her that made his job worthwhile.

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