Little Dancer

I will be tomorrow. Once I’ve had a day without thinking I can start to sort my life out. I can take care of myself. I’m going to have to learn how sooner or later. “I’m fine. I’m on in a minute.”

He looks at me a moment longer, like he wants to say more, and then he stands aside and lets me pass. As usual, dancing helps me forget my worries and I’m smiling during the curtain call, but the glow fades as soon as I come offstage.

There’s another note in my shoes.

My office after the show.

My first thought is that he’s going to put me over his knee again, and my heart races. But he wouldn’t do that just for not smiling, so maybe he’s going to scold me for not being happy enough that I got the part. I’m trying as hard as I can, and it’s exhausting. It will be worse for me if I ignore his note, though, so after I’ve changed into my oversize pink sweater and a denim mini, I climb the stairs.

The door opens as soon as I knock, but he doesn’t let me in. His eyes are smoldering and I can tell he’s furious. Because of me?

“Kneel,” he commands. “Go on,” he says, impatient when I don’t immediately comply. I follow his instructions, sitting back on my heels, and then he slams the door in my face.

What am I supposed to do now? Leave? But he didn’t say leave, he said kneel, so I guess I’ll kneel. I should feel annoyed that he’s being so demanding without any explanation, and when I’m so tired, but I don’t feel annoyed. I feel a pulsing between my legs, and suddenly I’m more than happy to wait and see what happens next.

Ten minutes later he opens the door and I look up at him, my mouth twitching.

He folds his arms. “Do you think this is funny?”

I shake my head. Well, maybe a little.

He reaches down and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me into his office where he bends me, face-first, over his desk. I’m not laughing now. His thighs press against my behind and he keeps hold of my hair so I can’t move.

“You lied to me today,” he snarls.

“I didn’t.” My head is turned to the left, cheek pressed against his papers. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, leaning over me. He wasn’t even this angry with me when I was late to the theater.

“Don’t argue with me. You lied. You said you were fine and you’re not. You also broke your promise about coming to me when you were worried or upset about something. Did you lie when you promised, too?”

“But it’s silly stuff,” I wail. “It’s not important. I didn’t think you would care.”

He leans down close to my ear. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Does this seem like I don’t care?”

He’s going to discipline me again. The thought both frightens and arouses me, because he’s going to realize again that I’m getting wet when I’m supposed to be being punished.

“Abby,” he growls, his hand tightening in my hair. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” I say.

“No what?”

I moisten my lips, thinking, my breath coming hard already. “No, Mr. Kingsolver.” I make myself relax against the desk. A hand lands on my behind and squeezes, and I try not to think about how he’s going to be touching my bare skin in a moment.

Mr. Kingsolver makes an approving noise and lets go of my hair. I watch, my cheek hot against the desk and his papers, as he takes a length of rope from his top drawer. What is that doing in there?

“Put your hands behind your back,” he orders. “Hold onto your elbows.”

“I promise I won’t move, there’s no need to—”

But Mr. Kingsolver isn’t interested in what I have to say. He grasps my wrists, pinions them behind my back and starts to tie them. It takes several minutes and the knots are precise. I get the feeling he’s enjoying every slide and pull of the rope.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. All right. So the rope is new, and I’m over the desk instead of his lap, but I can still do this.

Mr. Kingsolver’s hands slide over my hips until he finds my skirt zip, then he undoes it and pulls it off me. What underwear am I wearing? Are they wet yet, and can he tell? I squirm against the rope, wishing I knew.

He forces my underwear up between my cheeks and plants a heavy hand on the small of my back. The soothed feeling is stealing over my again, clearing my mind of everything but him and what he’s doing.

“Do you know why I’m disciplining you?” he asks, and I hear a clink of metal and the unmistakable wrrrp of a belt being pulled out of his trousers.