Page 53 of Jackson
“I was, but I—” Again she was silenced by a disapproving stare and a shake of the head. She sighed. “Yes, Sir.”
“Were you supposed to call or text me if something happened?”
“Yes, b—” She didn’t need to see him shake his head. He was right, but the circumstances had forced her to. “Yes, Sir.”Why was she crying?
“Go to the bedroom and take my old leather belt from the back of the closet. Place the belt on the pillow and bend over the bed. I’ll follow you in a minute or two.”
Paula nodded and rose. She made the walk on wooden legs, found the belt, and placed it as instructed. Bending over the bed was harder than confronting the perps earlier.
The waiting felt like hours, but eventually she heard Jackson approach. Paula stifled the urge to lift her head. She could hear him pick up the belt, the buckle jingling.
He spoke. “Neither of us is going to enjoy this, but it’s necessary. You need to know that the rules are there for a reason, and I’ll enforce them. I need to know that you’ll respect them and me by following them. After this punishment, your slate is clean, but if you can’t tolerate this, you can use your safeword, and we’ll find an alternative punishment. Is that clear, Paula?”
She stiffened, hearing her name again. “Y-yes, Sir,” she said unsteadily.
“You’re going to count and thank me after every stroke,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
She hadn’t finished her answer as a loudwhackreverberated through the room.The sting came a moment later, and she let out a stuttered, “O-one, t-thank you, S-sir.”
Whack! “T-two, thank you, Sir.”
Whack! Fuck, against the backs of her legs, Ow, ow, ow.
Silence.
“Three, thank you, Sir,” she sobbed.
Whack! Whack!“F-four, Thank you, Sir. F-five, t-thank you, Sir.”
She sagged on the bed, and the mattress dipped under his weight.
He stroked her back and shoulders as she cried into the comforter, murmuring words she couldn’t understand over her own sobs. Slowly, she calmed and lifted her head. Jackson smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “Stay here and let me clean you up.”
He went out and returned with a washcloth, a towel, and a jar. He cleaned her face first, but when she tried to rise, he pressed her upper body against the bed. “Stay still. I want to take care of the marks.” He held up the jar. “This is arnica ointment to help prevent bruises.”
He unscrewed the lid and applied the cream on every stripe he’d put on her backside.
Ow, ow, ow.
Paula fought, but he pinned her down mercilessly. Only after he was satisfied with the result did he help her stand.
She struggled to come to terms with what had happened. Part of her understood his actions, but still she was mad. She had been doing her job!
Forcing herself to stand on wobbly legs, she pushed her hair behind her ears with trembling hands. Jackson reached for her, and she stepped back, avoiding his touch.
“Melda?”
Was there hurt in his voice? Why would he feel hurt? She was the injured party here! Her shock, disbelief, and pain made way for more anger.
“You promised you would never interfere with my work.”
Jackson looked at her as though he didn’t understand her emotion. “You willingly put yourself at risk with that stuntyou pulled.” He raked his hand through his hair, pushing it into messy disarray. “You shouldn’t have been there, and you wouldn’t have been if you’d done your shopping when you were supposed to. You agreed to take care of yourself, and that includes not putting yourself in harm’s way when you don’t have to!”
Paula fumed. “I wasn’t harmed!”
“Sheer luck!” he countered.
