Loving Zara...Part 4/4...F/f

well, it only took approx. 329 attempts to get this 1/2 way how i wanted it!

usual cautions apply:
this story is fiction, i do not condone the spanking of minors, etc.
and please note that this story contains discussion of an eating disorder...so if that in any way an issue for you, please be safe

~~~~~

My multiple anxieties aside, the day really went quite predictably, in a reassuring, albeit oddly so, way.
The daylight hours went something like this...

Upon my arrival in the kitchen, Taylor and I exchanged our customary greetings:
"Morning short stuff."
"Hey, ya big oaf."

A second later, Isaac came barreling into the kitchen, nearly knocking me over.
"Zaraaaa!"

Just as we were finishing breakfast, my therapist called, returning the message Jax had left her earlier.
"So, Z, I hear you've been up to some undercover operations..."
"Oh yeah, it's been a regular mission impossible, Abby."

A short time later, Jax and I headed over to the gym.

She and Lauren make a dangerous pair I tell you, natural coconspirators.
They eagerly delved into fleshing out the details of Zara's-new-plan-of-action.

Dale meanwhile, was his usual gruff, oh so pleasant, self.
"You're going to be the death of us, you know that, little brat?"
"Oh come on, what would you do without me to keep ya on your toes?"
"I wouldn't have so many ulcers."
"Or half the team trophies in your display case."
Granted, that would sound pretty obnoxious, if not for the fact that he couldn't argue with it, hahah.

"Speaking of which..." Lauren interrupted, all eyes eerily synchronized in shifting focus to me.

"We are going to do everything we can to get you ready for the home invitational. That is 4 weeks from now, Z. But it is up to you keep your part of the bargain."

Stop staring at me like that ya freaks!

"I will...I promise." And I meant it.

Food is truly amazing in its power to make you realize what a dumbass you've been.

I hadn't been able to compete at all the previous year, too weak to do even the skills I'd mastered when I was like 8.
But in the past six months, finally healthy again, I'd regained my full level of difficulty and had already increased it significantly.
I was stronger, in better physical condition, than ever.
And desperately eager to get back into competition.
Gymnastics has been a tremendously important part of my life for a long time, a coping mechanism both constructive and effective, as opposed to some 'others' that were never the former and have ceased being much at all the latter.

Now, with so much in coming months I was finally (like it or not) going to have to deal with, I'd have to sit out the first meet of the season--granted not a huge deal, but nevertheless irksome--and for what??

It is what you call 'starvation ate my brain' folks.

And yes, that is a clinical term.

~~~~~

Later, after dinner, I brought my heavily loaded backpack into the living room, where Jax and Taylor were playing a board game with Issac, to get some school work done.
I almost always do it in my room so as to avoid distraction, but I dunno, tonight I needed the comfort of just being in the visual presence of my family I guess.

Besides, this was the first time all weekend I'd so much as opened a book, so either way, I wasn't going to get done everything I needed to.
Which I oddly felt only minorly stressed over??
It's been one weird weekend.

A couple hours later: "Hey, lovey. It's getting late."
Oh fuck. I had almost forgotten about that particular piece of business.
"Why don't you go and get ready for bed. I'll be up in a few minutes, hon."

*sigh*
"K."

I had slowly trudged, well stomped, half way up the stairs when Jax called out, "You'd think you were walking the plank my little drama queen."

STOMP.STOMP.STOMP.

Just needed to get that out of my system.

After putting on some pajamas, brushing my teeth and such, I sat on the edge of the bed, with my trusted little tweety bird, to wait for the executioner.

~~~~~

After about 10 minutes, I started trudging up the stairs myself.
For certain, no more looking forward to this than Zara.

I entered Z's bedroom to see her seated on her bed, clutching her well-loved stuffed tweety.

And I experience a familiar moment of wonderment.
For all her testing and stubbornness, and as difficult must be the internal struggle she repeatedly confronts in order to do so, Zara has always, essentially willingly, accepted my discipline.
Whether this makes it easier or harder for me to follow through on a task I really so despise I still can't decide.

"Hey kid."
"Yo. What up, yo?" she says with a straight face.
"Hmm, your caloric intake?"
I could only laugh at the glare she gave me.

I sat down and pulled her into a hug.
"I love you Zara."

After a moment, "I love you too, Jax."

"So, how about we just get this over with, lovey?"

With a small nod, Zara stands and nervously pulls down her pajama pants before I help her across my lap.

Once she's adjusted, I ask, with one hand lightly rubbing her back while the other rests on her pantied bottom, "Zara, why am I going to spank you?"

I know how she hates this routine question, finds it especially embarrassing. But that is not my intent; the purpose, rather, is to be completely certain that she indeed does know, and fully understands, why.

In this instance, there is no hesitancy nor ambivalence nor vagueness in her answer.

On take two that is.

"We've been talking about it all damn day. Are you having memory problems, Jackie Jax?"
"Incorrigible," I tell her with a smack.
And thank goddess for it.

Then she succinctly covers her giving of unwelcome 'assistance' to the scale at the doctor's; the large group of people that abuse of trust and dishonesty extended to; and the danger she put herself in at the gym by continuing to push 100+% when her body was even less so than the rest of us were aware.

"Much better, thank you."
"Hey, sure thing, anytime."
"I'll keep that in mind, smartass."
Smack. "Pun intended."

When Zara only looks back at me silently, no eye rolls or stuck-out tongue, I know she's ready now.
"Ok?"
She nods, and then says "Jax?"
"What lovey?"
Reaching her right arm behind her back, Zara softly asks if I will hold her hand.
"Of course I will sweetie," interlocking the fingers of my left hand with hers.

I remind myself now, as I always have to, that I must follow through, because Zara needs me to.
Beyond the reasons explicit and understood, is a more enigmatic, but deeply felt, sense, unspoken between us but palpably shared, that this ritual, if you will, unpleasant as it can be, is in some important, inimitable way, healing.

I begin spanking Zara with moderately hard smacks, about 1 every 2 seconds.
In this instance, ritual is an especially appropriate description.

The emotional release, cleansing of conscience, concrete reminder that she is no longer without loving limits--between the intensity of the previous evening and, as Z had oh-so-reverently pointed out, the continuous (and just beginning) discussions since, these needs had already been adequately addressed.

Although this still needed to be a bit more than a mere token of a spanking, it was mostly a symbolic act to close the door on what had occurred so we could move ahead to what we now needed to focus on.

After about 2 minutes of steady spanking, I lifted Zara's hips up to fully bare her bottom.
She had been very quiet thus far, and looked to be simply absorbing the experience.
She was very present, squeezing my hand periodically, but in a meditative sort of way.

I continued spanking with the same rhythmic pattern for another minute or so, before pausing again.
"Alright baby, just ten with your paddle, and we're finished. Ok?"
As soon as she nodded, I began, quicker and more forcefully, my attention solely focused on the lowest part of her bottom.
This brought about a few grunts. And then it was over.

"All done now, lovey. You alright?" I asked as I released her hand and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
And with the most at-peace smile that has graced her beautiful face in a long time, she said "Thank you, Jax."

The end. (For now.)

- posted by unquiet @ 12:32 PM