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“Please continue, Master.”
Jackson poured more lube on the plug and pulled out a little. Paula moaned at the delicious sensation. Jackson pushed back in again and didn’t let up the pressure until Paula could feel the plug slide in with the base resting again her opening. She felt full and surrounded by Jackson, who was stroking her back and buttocks while praising her for her acceptance of the plug.
After he gave her a few minutes to adjust to the sensation, he settled on his back again and ordered. “Get in position.”
Paula pushed herself up. Moving with a giant object in her ass was strange, but knowing Jackson had put it there also brought home her submission to him. She settled herself on his chest, and he pulled her by her hips until she was seated against his mouth.
“Start sucking, Melda. For every minute you get off before me, I get to spank your ass ten times.”
She braved a glance over her shoulder at him. “Can I spank you for every minute you come before me?” she squeaked as he nipped at the underside of her ass cheek.
Hard hands closed around her hips, as she gripped the base of his cock and sank her mouth over the engorged length.
A tongue swiped from her clit to the base of the buttplug, and it took all her willpower to keep the blowjob on track.
Her competitive streak flared to life. She wanted to get him off before he pushed her over the edge.
She moaned around his girth when Jackson started to play with her ass as he did some wicked, wicked things with his tongue. He squeezed her butt cheeks, pulled them apart, and wiggled the buttplug until her entire lower half was a writhing, throbbing mess demanding to come.
“Oh God, I need to come.”
She screamed her release, when Jackson pulled the plug almost entirely out and pushed it back in while lashing her clit with that evil tongue of his.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
After a week of daily visits, Sandra pronounced Jackson strong enough to go to the hospital for outpatient rehab three times a week. He was to continue his home exercises on the other days, and she had taught Paula how to help.
First thing Monday morning, Paula and Jackson headed over to the hospital. After the awkwardness of getting his leg in the car, he had assumed the drive would be easy. He quickly learned otherwise. At the first traffic light, they were behind a Mazda Miata with its top down. The driver was texting on his phone and didn’t notice the light change. Paula started muttering under her breath then leaned heavily on the horn. When they made it to North Oak, she moved into the left lane to pass the slower traffic on the road. She moved smoothly for almost a minute before slamming on her brakes behind an older sedan going about 25 mph in a 40-mph zone. “Damn Sunday driver,” she said as she passed the sedan on the right. From there she was weaving back and forth through traffic, alternating curses while muttering about the stupidity of the other drivers. When they came to a red light, Jackson reached over and touched her arm. “Melda, what’s your rush? We have plenty of time to get to the hospital.”
“Who said I was in a rush? I just like to get where I’m going, and there are so many idiots on the road. That guy back there was texting. You know as well as I do how dangerous distracted driving is.”
“Melda, you’re weaving in and out of traffic like someone trying to get through the pack at the Kansas Speedway. If you don’t slow down, you’re going to cause a wreck, and it won’t be just you involved. This will be one of those multi-car pileups that takes hours to sort out.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve been driving like this since I was sixteen and never had so much as a speeding ticket. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to find alternative transportation.” She leaned on the horn again when the cars in front of her didn’t move with the green light.
At the hospital, Paula found a spot near the entrance and parked with a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with herself for navigating the “moron-infested” streets. She turned to Jackson with a softer expression than he’d seen during the entire drive. Leaning over, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good luck, tough guy. I’ll be back in about an hour and a half after running a few errands.” She squeezed his hand briefly before stepping out of the car, leaving Jackson to chuckle softly at the contrast between her sharp edges and tender moments.
Inside, a nurse led Jackson to the physical therapy room. He took in the unfamiliar space with a mix of curiosity and dread. Sandra greeted him with her usual bright smile, already adjusting the various machines and equipment. As she walked him through the room and explained the different devices, Jackson couldn’t help but reflect that PT at the hospital wasn’t much better than at home—though at least the machines offered some variety. Not that variety made the pain any more tolerable, especially with Sandra—his personal terrorist—pushing him every step of the way. The way she presented herself atClub Indigo might have fooled him into believing she was a submissive, but here, she wielded control with the precision of a seasoned sadist. And now, with Paula assisting on his off days, Jackson was convinced he’d never escape their combined torture.
After what felt like hours of pushing his limits under Sandra’s watchful eye, she released him from his session. His muscles protested every movement as he made his way back to the waiting area. Paula arrived right on time, balancing a coffee in one hand and her car keys in the other, her usual brisk energy vibrating beneath the surface.
The drive home started uneventfully enough, but as soon as they hit traffic, Paula’s tension became palpable. Jackson leaned back, silently cataloging every jerk of the wheel, every muttered curse, and every sharp intake of breath as she navigated the crowded streets with the precision of a seasoned cop and the impatience of someone barely holding it together. By the time they pulled into the driveway, Jackson’s body might have been sore from PT, but his mind was focused on something else entirely.
He took stock of her appearance—frown lines on her forehead and mouth compressed in a thin line. He did a quick self-assessment. His head had stopped hurting about ten days ago. His leg was improving day by day. His cuts and bruises were healed. His ribs could give him some trouble after exercising, but they felt all right now. She needed a scene, and she needed discipline for her driving habits and her language. “Melda, I want you to go to the bedroom, strip, and wait for me.”
Her face relaxed, and she lowered her shoulders. How had he not noticed she had had them near her ears? She was as tense as Legolas’ bow. After the punishment he’d planned, she would be soft and pliant.
He watched her walking away and started to prepare the scene in his mind. He would give her six minutes to follow his instructions. She would need about three of them to undress and kneel, and the rest of the time she could think about what was coming and build her anticipation and worry.
Bondage? Absolutely, but he could use the velcro straps he kept under the mattress. Check!
Toys? Vibrator, Womanizer, vibrating anal beads, and nipple clamps. Check! After collecting all he needed he headed slowly down the hall, happy with how his body cooperated with his desires.
Paula was kneeling on the rug beside the bed in the slave position Jackson had taught her. What was taking him so long? Had he changed his mind? She heard the door open and his footfall on the floor.
“You are an amazing woman and a beautiful submissive.” He halted next to her and stroked her hair in long soothing movements.
Paula sighed in relief.
