Book of Revenge: Dance

Book of Revenge: Dance

• by BoundInRibbons, Dec 24, 2016, 7:36:23 PM
• Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Introductions & Chapters

Kendal did his best to keep up with the dance!
(Picture courtesy HinaYui)

I stumbled as the quick buzz in my groin caught me by surprise.  The momentary paralysis threw me off balance.  And while I'd slowly been regaining my strength from the ravages of the tropical disease I'd contracted, I was still nowhere near back to normal.  I hit the floor.  My attempt to put my arms out in front of myself only caused me to lose my pom-poms, doing nothing to actually stop my faceplant on the floor.  My dance skirt, with the tutu-like petticoat hit first, pushing my butt up into the air and making me land full force on my chest.  Pain immediately coursed through my body as my chest had become super-sensitive lately.  But I didn't have time to wonder why.  There I was, flat on my face, butt up in the air.  The music came to a stop, and I looked up into the very stern and disapproving stare of Madame Bulanova.

  "Again, Barbie, you do not execute the moves and you bring down the class.  Shame on you, young lady.  You kneel on the floor right there." 
 
I quickly reached to pick up my dropped pom-poms.  I knew I was getting punished already, but Madame Bulanova would also punish you for dropping your pom-poms.  I was hoping she wouldn't notice.  Then I immediately knelt as she'd ordered.  It was painful on the knees, but that was exactly the point.  Even more painful for me were the angry stares from all the other girls in the class, upset because now they were going to have to start the whole routine from the start again.  Oh, how I wished I could tell them I was upset too!  I wished I could tell them that Karen found it amusing to randomly buzz me with my chastity device during dance class.  I looked up at the viewing area where parents could watch the girls through one way mirrored windows, knowing Karen was probably up there giggling.  I wished I could see, but of course the mirrors were there to keep the parents from distracting the dancers.  So many things I wish.  I wish I could tell the other dancers how I was weakened not only by a horrible disease that had wrecked havoc on my nervous system, but also because Karen was very tightly controlling what food I ate.  If I did as she ordered, I would eat normally but any behavior on my part she didn't like and I lost food privileges.  Since Karen was always finding fault with my behavior, it felt like I was always faint and hungry and felt like, even though I'd already lost a lot of weight in the hospital, like I was losing even more.  But of course I knew I could say nothing to the people in the class because if I did, Karen would use the stimulator in the chastity device to cause spasms and render me completely immobile and unable to speak.  And if she had to do that, I knew there would be a punishment too horrible to consider.
 
It had taken ages to convince Karen to let me begin physical therapy.  To get me out of the mittens and booties so I could use my hands and feet.  The disease Tropical Mentior Profligatus, TMP for short, had ravaged my nervous system.  And the doctors had said the only way to get back to normal was with intense physical therapy.  But Karen had been reluctant to agree.  I think she liked me weak and helpless for her revenge scenarios.  But lucky for me, one of the things she had in her Book of Revenge was the time I'd mocked her for taking dance lessons.  So a deal had been struck.  I'd be able to attend dance classes and get some physical therapy.  But I'd have to do it in the most humiliating way possible... As part of a pom dancing class, a most humiliating dance style (for a boy!) which was focused on learning that most feminine of dance styles, how to dance with pom-poms in a class full of girls intending to some day become cheerleaders.

And I knew if I complained one bit, Karen would simply take me out of the class and I'd lose my access to precious physical activity.  So my only option was to smile through any hardship.
   
I looked up at the girls in my dance class.  There was no denying, I looked like I fit in the class.  I was still so terribly skinny, but even then there were a few girls that were skinnier.  I was one of the taller students, but I wasn't the tallest in the class.  Blame that on the problems with my endocrine system I've had my whole life.  It had stunted my growth.  I couldn't wait until the growth hormone the doctor had prescribed kicked in.  Even though I hated it, even though it was intended to humiliate me further, I still couldn't resist a twinge of pride at the fact I had the best hair in the class.  A massive cascade of golden blonde.  Of course, since all the dancers currently had their hair tied up in buns or braids, it just meant I had the largest bun.  But I knew when everyone's hair was down, I was always getting jealous stares.

The pride quickly disappeared in a haze of distress as I realized that I'd just confirmed I fit in here.  If you'd quickly looked at the group of girls, you'd assume we were all the same.  This was very disturbing. This was a pom-pom dance class for girls age seven and eight!!  I was more than double their age!  How is it even possible?

Not long ago, I had never even heard of 'Pom dancing'.  But that changed rapidly when Karen had signed me up their newest student, 'Barbie Baybi Dahl'.  There was some disbelief, but Karen had all the documents in order, including 'my' birth certificate.  A birth certificate which now listed me as female and seven years old thanks to Karen's abuse of her power-of-attorney and someone's mistake at the bureau of... Where ever it was they handled birth certificates!  I had quickly learned that pom dancing was a style of dance with kicks, turns, jumps that also taught the use of pom-poms, the loose decorative fluffy balls shaken by American football cheerleaders.  And in fact, that's truly what the class was about, to teach techniques to the girls with the intent that they would go on to be cheerleaders.  The very idea of wearing a short skirt and dancing around in front of a crowd of leering men at sporting events was abhorrent to me... Which was likely why it made Karen chortle with glee.   

Sadly for me, there was physically no difference between him a group of seven and eight year old girls.  Well, except for what was between my legs, but that was tightly locked away in a chastity device.  What made me stand out were my clothes.  Karen made sure of that.  The class dress code was hair in a bun, black leotards, pink tights with optional skirts.  The majority of the class were wearing exactly that...black leotards with pink tights.  A few had simple black skirts that fell mid-thigh.  Karen's response was, simply said, 'A dress code is just a challenge!'.  As a result, I was wearing a black velvet leotard and pink tights.  It was so warm, it was like I was wearing a coat!  That was bad enough, but Karen had attached lengths of pink fuzzy frills to both.  They framed my shoulders and where my legs exited. They were thick in layers around my chest, making it look like I was trying to make people think I had breasts.  It was exactly what a girl would wear if she was trying to look older.  Frills on the front of the leotard concealed the slight bump of the chastity device between my legs.  And of course there were massive frills between my knees and feet, making my legs look like a frilly monster every time I moved.  But Karen had truly exercised her creativity on the skirt.  It was black, but buoyed up by a massive, glittery tutu petticoat making it stick straight out.  Any girls in the class would've been embarrassed to be caught in it.  Most seemed embarrassed to even be in the same class with me.  I was mortified, but had no choice.

Karen had been very clear.  If anyone asked why I was dressed in such an embarrassing confection of frills, I was to claim it was because that's what I wanted.  If anyone thought otherwise, the dance classes would end.  I'd overheard Karen telling the dance mothers that she'd tried to make me dress more like the other girls and less like a hyper-feminine girl who mixing both childish and adult elements in my dance gear.  And I had to smile and say "It's my favourite!  I don't want to dress any other way!"  Even when the girls had approached me, already sensing I was weird, I had to convince them this infantile outfit was exactly what I wanted.  I just couldn't risk not having a chance to regain my physical strength!

As I knelt on the dance floor, at least the skirt prevented me from having to deal with the frilly embarrassment of my tights.  Thank goodness for small favours.    

Madame Bulanova, the dance instructor, returned from the supply closet.  I didn't have to look up to see what was happening.  I could feel her wrapping something tight around the bun in my hair.  I knew it was a massive, head-eating pink bow with two words written large in glitter, one on each side of the bow.  It said 'Scatter Brain'.  Yes, the dance class equivalent of the dunce cap, an object that was considered so destructive to children's self worth it had long been banned from schools, but it lived on here in dance class.  All the girls hated and feared it.  Besides it being a very obvious mark of shame and humiliation, the tight buns the girls wore their hair in was already headache inducing.  Strapping the big, heavy bow around the base of the bun added to the weight and made it worse.  Dancing with the thing strapped to your head, the punishment bow would ensure head movements were met with hard yanks on the girls hair.  It was like someone was constantly pulling your hair.  It was absolutely unpleasant.  And now it was strapped to my head.  Madame Bulanova gave the bow a solid yank to ensure there was no way it would come loose, the pulling causing tears to form in my eyes.  This seemed to please Madame Bulanova.  Eventually she let go.

  "All right girls.  Thanks to Barbie, we'll have to start from the very beginning.  The competition is only a few weeks away, and we need to be perfect by then."  The girls all stared daggers at me.  I stared intently at the floor, praying there were no more shocks coming.