Chapter 1

This is a story about intervals of feeding coma and exercising. First inspired by the work of bitternee (on FF I think): 'anne's gain' and 'poor rosa', which I had just finished reading when I started this. Thanks again dude; obviously, your work is inspiring.

Started this one awhile back too. Posted a first chapter then, but didn't like the rest. It's relatively finished, but doesn't grip quite right or consistently. Still hot XD

This is not the little mermaid: the protagonist’s name is not pronounced Ah-ree-el or Air-ree-ul, but Uh-rye-l. This is very important. I’m not sure why.

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Until I can think of something better, I've decided to add a BDSM scale to all my stuff. It ranges from 1 to 10, where a 1 is mildly kinky and a 5 is solidly BDSM. A rating of higher than 5 is probably extremely naughty. If you aren't sure you like this stuff, I encourage you to find something with a rating of 3 or below.
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This story's BDSM rating is 7.

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Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!

Enjoy at your own risk! 0.o ;p XD lol



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Exercise Anticonditioning



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1

She's forced to run as the treadmill to which she is chained whines away. The vast room is dimly lit, the walls invisible relative to the spotlight trained on her, and, even at 5'3, the cool concrete floor looks terribly far away as it calls to her tortured burning muscles, her trim but untrained thighs, her smooth firm torso. Harsh taunts are thrown at her from one side, failing encouragement from the other, as masked keepers watch her movements slowly die. She is flagging dangerously, but neither voice is as important to her anymore as the brutal shocks that come unrelentingly from the machine every time she slows down. She is faint, "faster slob" "you can do it hun, just a little more" She stumbles *shock*. And again. *shock*. *shock shock SHOCK*. She's collapsing now, falling, into darkness, the sweet concrete rushes up to meet her face. All is dark before hands catch her inches above the ground.

When she opens her eyes, she is flat on her back, splayed out on the comfortable table across the room, true to their words. She'd made it nearly 10 miles. "To test your reserves," they'd said, "and your resolve." "Don't worry hun, we won't make you do that again," the woman's voice says to her, as she begins to cry from the exhaustion and pain. And terror. "She's lying, pig." She sees IVs and tubes and wires hooked up around her, and realizes, unusually dully, that they are also hooked into her. Too tired to think, much less question, she only notices a slight feeling of relief begin as a thick yellow fluid makes its way down and around through a hose, into her mouth and to her stomach, and her blood sugar depression begins subsiding, but then she also fills just a little with an urge to eat. It suddenly grows quite sharp, so foreign to her in intensity and flavor she can't stand it and she flexes involuntarily, her body convulsing against her tight bindings. Then, unexpected, and undeniable, a new sensation emerges, a gasp of pleasure from her sore tummy, and... from below. These sensations too quickly grow sharp in intensity, not replacing the pangs of nigh unquenchable hunger, but altering their... character to her... into yearning... Before her mushy brain can have a chance to really process any of these though, a broad sweep of exhaustion washes over her completely, blinding, dark, and sweet, and the lights go out once more. She is 111 pounds.