SSC category: Edge

Perfection
by Tasha


Lena was perfection. She was beauty in a form that surpassed anything
I'd ever seen before. She was demure and polite. Her posture was
impeccable. She fluttered her eyelids like a teenager, but spoke like a
duchess. And her dancing. . .

I attended every performance of The Firebird, watching her closely,
scrutinising her, analysing her every move, every step, every turnout,
looking for even the tiniest flaws. There were none.

It wasn't about sex. We had no interest in that. She lived for her art;
I lived for her beauty. She danced for me, wearing nothing but her
pointe shoes. Exquisite.

My one requirement was that she submit to punishment. If she displeased
me, I would spank her. Lena smiled, thinking it an amusing quirk. But I
explained that I was very serious. I wouldn't tolerate anything less
than the perfection she presented. I knew she would understand. To a
dancer, perfection is a way of life.

But the day came when she made her first mistake. It was trivial, but I
couldn't ignore it. It was time for her to learn what she had agreed
to.

I spoke to her gently, lovingly, as I smacked her bottom. Her lean,
muscular body daily endured harder punishment than I could ever
administer, but still she cried and struggled and kicked.

Her long legs were graceful even in her disgrace and after a
particularly sharp volley of smacks, she inadvertently kicked her shoes
off. I stopped. And stared.

Her bare feet confronted me with a measure of ugliness I had never
thought possible. They were misshapen, hideous! The skin was rough and
callused, bandaged and bloody. These could not be the same delicate
feet and toes she balanced so lightly on. Her ethereal weight couldn't
possibly be carried by such monstrosities. Horrified, I shoved her off
my lap and onto the floor.

Astonished, Lena begged me to tell her what was wrong.

'Your feet,' I choked, the bile rising in my throat.

She wept, saying it was why she never took her shoes off, that all
dancers' feet were like that, it was the price they paid.

I couldn't listen. I could never touch her again, having seen her
loathsome deformity. I could never delight in having her over my lap,
with those malformed feet kicking so close by. It was an abomination -
a dancer with such feet.

There was nothing she could do to change what the moment had revealed.
'Get out,' I said hoarsely.

Lena gaped at me and it was only then that I noticed the tiny birthmark
on her forehead. The faint traces of acne scars on her face. How had I
never seen them before? What other disfigurements had she hidden from
me?

'Get out! Get out of my sight!'

Sobbing hysterically, she fled.

I listened to the slapping of those repulsive feet as they receded from
my life and I sank to the floor, trembling with horror.

(c) 2004 SSC by Tasha