chapter 11

**Mistress Jade**

I don’t need to see it in his eyes to know that Paul has fallen into subspace. It is in his body language, in the way he is struggling to finish eating and to stay upright despite the restraints. The thought of what he is experiencing brings a smile to my lips, the way pleasure, pain, and his need to eat are becoming one. More importantly, the way he is giving himself over to all three.

A strained “please Mistress Jade” escapes as his head sinks back into the trough and he licks up the last bit of food that is there like the good little piggy he has become. It is followed by a grunt that earns him one last round of spanking. Each strike elicits an increasingly loud moan and when the last strike lands on his ass, Paul finally lets go.

His head jerks up, his mouth falling open and his entire body stiffening as a steady stream of cum begins to pump out of his cock. The first wave, the sheer power of it, renders him mute, but that doesn’t last long. Before the last drop can hit the platform, the second wave hits and unintelligible words and sounds fall from his lips as his body begins to convulse uncontrollably.

As the seconds, and then a minute pass, I prepare myself for forcing an end to the sensations he is experiencing. One can only take so much pleasure after all, and I want Paul’s first foray into subspace to be positive and safe. Before I get the chance though, his body convulses one last time and he instantly becomes silent, slumping over as he passes out.

I find myself feeling profound sadness and more than a bit of jealousy as Mistress Valentina releases his cock and catches him before he can fall to the table and hurt himself on the restraints. Rising, I silently make my way around the platform, releasing him from each one so that she can properly provide the aftercare that he needs.

Once back in my seat, I watch on as she holds him in her arms, removing the headphones and whispering calming words into his ear as her hand gently rub his stuffed and bloated belly. When he begins to stir a bit, shaking slightly and mumbling, I pass her a bottle of water. After he manages a few sips, I nod and give her permission to remove the blindfold.

It takes a few seconds for the reality of the situation to sink in, for him to realize I am not the one holding him, that I am not the one who was responsible for the pleasure and pain he received. The growing look of confusion in his eyes combined with his incoherent mumbling and shaking body has me wanting to tell Mistress Valentina to f*ck off so that I can help him come back down.

But I can’t, and I won’t. She needs to be the one to see to him, to finish what she started and ensure that he is okay for herself. Not only that, stepping in now would only undo everything today was meant to accomplish, the start of breaking him from the unhealthy connection he has formed between feeding, arousal, and me.

His eyes remain on me as he slowly regains control of his body, mind, and emotions. It takes everything in me to stay in my seat, to maintain a cool and indifferent look, to allow him to see that all of this was intentional and that it doesn’t bother me in slightest that another Feeder had her hands all over him and made him feel all that he just experienced.

That last part could not be farther from the truth though, and the second it becomes clear that Paul is okay, I excuse myself from the room and leave him to the care of Mistress Valentina. Making my way around to the other stations, I check in on those still in progress. collect the notes from those that are done, then head into my office and close the door.

As it closes, I lean back against it, my breath catching a few times as I feel one tear fall down my cheek, then another and another. “No, he is just another camper, another feedee to guide, nothing more,” I scold myself, angrily brushing the tears away and forcing myself to move over to my desk, sit down, and focus on work.

I spend several hours going over the notes and reviewing video footage from every session, including Paul’s, insisting on torturing myself unnecessarily with it. When the need to touch myself, to allow pleasure to mix with my own pain, becomes too much, I give in and allow my fingers to slide under my skirt, take over, and bring me closer and closer to my own edge.

My other hand flips between footage of all the feedees in a desperate attempt to convince my mind that Paul isn’t the reason for my arousal or for my release as I let go and fall over it. The second I do, more unwelcome tears begin to fall, and I once again brush them away angrily, mumbling all kinds of “don’t even think about it’s” and “not going to happen’s” as I make my final notations.

ZANDER: Had no issue with becoming aroused or finishing, however, appeared less comfortable than in prior weeks. Needs a softer, simpler approach. Potential match for a caring. less BDSM centered, Feeder.

JOHN: Unable to finish his session. In denial about his arousal when it comes to food. Sending home.

MASON: Still showing strong resistance to the idea of submitting and acknowledging is feelings and interest in being fed or gaining. Sending home.

PAUL: Demonstrated a clear ability to not only submit, but to let go completely when it came to eating, arousal, and release. Perfect match for a Feeder requiring sexual submission.

The rest of the week, and all of the remaining sessions, pass in some sort of twisted, f*cked up, slow-motion blur. I find myself struggling to focus on anything or anyone, except for Paul of course. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, every time I close my eyes, there he is mocking my inability to separate my feelings for him the way he clearly has been able to.

For his second session, conducted by Mistress Anne, I once again allowed him to hear and see my presence, but allowed her the honor of covering his eyes and ears so he would know who would be touching him. I then quietly slipped out of the room after seeing enough to know that he would be able to get through the session without any connection to me.

When it came time for the third session, I left the room before Mistress Emily could place the blindfold, ensuring he knew I would not only not be touching him, but that I wouldn’t be there to witness the session at all. My choice would allow him the opportunity to see that he not only didn’t need me there to finish, he didn’t need me there to become aroused either.

Countless minutes were spent reviewing the footage of both sessions. I tried to convince myself that it was only to determine whether Paul had successfully broken his unhealthy connection to me. To some extent it was, but it was also for me as well, to see if I had broken my own. All it left me with however, was more confusion and anger.

As his weekly therapy session grew closer, my mind was locked in a constant battle between convincing itself I have no feelings for Paul whatsoever and showing itself just how wrong it is about that. The thought and sight of other Feeders touching him, of his ability to submit and let go for them, of his ability to become aroused and cum without me, makes me want to scream and throw things.

I somehow manage to push all of this aside as he enters my office though, removing his clothes and settling onto the couch with far more confidence than he had the three prior weeks. Maintaining a cool and indifferent look on my face, I walk him through his progress both in regards to his weight and his performance during the sessions.

“You have gained twenty-seven pounds over the last four weeks, that is impressive for someone so new to Feederism. I have no doubt that you will be leaving camp with over 200 pounds under you belt. That is a good start, one I believe the Feeder you choose will be pleased with,” I begin. Then, unlike last week, I allow him the opportunity to speak.

“Your ability to turn things around and get back on track when it comes to your sessions this week, is impressive as well. How are you feeling about them,” I ask, then listen as he demonstrates more of his new found confidence.

“Honestly, this week has felt like a dream. The first three weeks were good. I learned a lot and I enjoyed the sessions, all of the eating and the gaining too, but this week … it was like a whole different level. I knew the idea of all of this turned me on the second I saw your ad, but I had no idea why or how it could, but now I get it. I really do.”

When he hesitates, allowing a bit of his former awkwardness self-consciousness show through, I push on. “What is it Paul, you know you can speak freely here, always.” With his eyes cast down, he continues. “I’ve never felt anything like I have this week, sexually I mean, and without actually having … you know, sex. I can’t explain it, but I know I want more.”

“That is very good Paul,” I say, swallowing the feelings that his words and the knowledge of him not only reaching such heights without me, but wanting to continue doing so, bring. “Lucky for you, there are two more weeks of sexual feeding experiences to come,” I continue, hoping he doesn’t hear my voice beginning to shake or see the tears beginning to come to my eyes.

Before I can completely lose control of myself or the situation, I let him know that our session is over. Needing something, anything to do, I rise and walk over to the door, opening it for him as he puts the last of his clothing on. Then, just when I think I’m going to survive this session in one piece, he goes and does the unexpected, ruining it all.

As he moves to walk out the door, he stops short. Turning towards me, his hand rises, gently resting on on my hip and pulling me to him as he leans in and whispers, “I was thinking about you every second of every session …”