Chapter 7: A Turning Point.

Over the next couple of months, their routine becomes well-established. In her Rumpus Room, Flint was harsher and harsher, but each evening afterwards Heather nursed him back to feeling alright.

He’s not being physically injured, but her emotional abuse was becoming more and more difficult, psychologically.

Escalating, she’s using a paddle on him now, harder and harder, but still not breaking the skin. Paddling is followed by the usual blowjob and fucking. Each time while fucking, he’s watching the ceiling or the wall, and even farther away from coming.

As far as he’s concerned, it’s a mechanical chore.

Finally, the balance is tipped. After a particularly painful paddling, he doesn’t respond to the following blowjob. He stays limp. When her jaw is aching, and it is obvious that her efforts are futile, she sends him away. She’s sexually frustrated, and angry.

From her perspective, everything was going fine. And then out of nowhere he’s unable (or unwilling?) to perform.

What the Hail?

A few days later, while driving, she was considering this problem. Abruptly, a huge storm interrupted everything. Even for Texas, this was a fast-developing and shockingly intense squall. Hail was falling in bucket loads, although fortunately small pieces that weren’t heavy enough to break car windows and dimple sheet metal.

Before it was over, the roadway was completely white from the slippery bits of melting ice. Flint’s car lost traction and slewed sideways, crumpling her driver’s door into the trunk of a stout tree.

In the impact, she sustained a serious injury to her left elbow. Beyond being incredibly painful, her left hand happened to be her dominant hand. Waiting for rescue, she realized a long period of recovery was ahead, and things like handwriting would be very difficult.

After the orthopedic surgeon had finished with her, she was dozing in her private room when a nurse came in to check and chart her vitals.

“So, Colonel Flint, how are we feeling today? Bad, I hope.”

Flint smelled a rat. “How could she know my rank? Uh-oh.”

Opening her eyes, she looked for this nurse’s identification badge.

HEATHER RALSTON, RN

She groaned, realizing her bad luck.

“Yes, your Lieutenant is my husband. But don’t worry, I’m bound by the rules of my profession and my personal ethics to properly provide your care. I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t have a fucking paddle. But you and I are going to have a, a conversation, later tonight when my obligations on this shift ease up.

“I will be back around 10:15, that’s 2215 for you Army types.”

She concluded, brightly, with “Don’t go anywhere!” And stepped away.

Flint was anxious about Heather, but she was also tired and had a significant dose of pain medication on board, so she was soon dozing.

Remedies Are Discussed.

Heather returned and shook Flint awake.

“Barbara, can I call you Barbara? Good. I just realized, your arm for paddling is the one that is hurt. This is going to make our next steps easier.

“You just learned something important about my husband. You have beaten him so long, and so aggressively, that he can’t get erect any more. This isn’t a temporary thing, it’s been cumulative.

“Think about it, the guy is only 25 years old. There’s nothing wrong with his plumbing. Despite all the pressure you put on him, he can get erect with me in half a minute. All I need to do is wiggle my ass, or cuddle with him, or even just say the right words.