Everyone having sex is at least 18. This story is a work of fiction. I made it all up. Check reality at the door and enjoy it for what it is, a fun story. Special thanks to rancher46 for editing my story.
*****
Chapter 13 -- Recovery
My day starts at breakfast. Vickie feeds me. When I finish, she blows me and then showers. She puts clothes on, gets her notepad and pen, and we work until noon.
She strips, feeds me at noon, blows me, and then dresses for a working afternoon. We made good progress on her company and changed how they organized their business.
At four weeks, we end at 4:00, so I can do physical therapy.
At eight weeks, the casts come off, and P.T. becomes gruesome. My bruises are gone, my bones are healed, yet I am still sore from deep bruises. The nurses are gone as well, nothing for them to do. I am back in my room finally. I eat with a fork and knife, use the washroom, and take showers.
My legs and arms don't have full motion. P.T. is working me hard to fix that. I see progress, but it's excruciatingly painful and slow progress.
I follow directions well, work hard, and want to get better, yet it hurts. The body is OK with losing range of motion; I am not.
I have just finished P.T., and I feel dreadful. I still have tears running down my face from the pain.
Vickie stays in the room and watches me like a hawk. She never says anything or interrupts us; she only watches.
Today, after my P.T., I am standing in my steamy shower like I typically do. Today is different. The moisture and heat help relax my muscles. Today I am startled as I stand under the pulsating water as it rejuvenates my body.
A pair of delicate hands grab my shoulders firmly. They kneed my shoulders, and it feels good. Vickie is the only one in the house; it's her. Up and down my back, she presses hard. This feels good. Her hands help loosen up my knots. I'm able to relax better, and the pain goes away. The P.T. works my arms, shoulders, and legs, and Vickie works those exact muscles.
I can only assume that she was watching intently as she knows precisely what hurts me.
Once the shower is finished, she dries both of us off. I climb in bed for a much-needed rest. I am happy from the shower and massage, but the P.T. drains me. I fall asleep quickly, and Vickie goes to Jane's room to wait for her.
Two weeks later, I no longer have stiffness and pain when I wake up. The P.T. gets harsher to get me back my full motion, and it hurts more, causing me to scream and cry at times. I continue to work hard, receiving lots of praise from the specialist.
Today, Vickie changed things up for me. After the massage, she turns me around to look at her, and she turns up the hot water a bit.
Vickie is strict with me, "For weeks, I have catered to you.
I assisted in the washroom, fed you, bathed you with a towel, and then later in the shower. I have clothed you and entertained you. I blow you a minimum of twice a day. I am your slave; I'm expected to do this. I don't mind because I still love you. I AM still a woman as well. I have needs that have gone unfulfilled for a LONG time. Jane is fantastic; I mean, we have had a ton of fun together. She has made this time a joy. Never would I have guessed how special she is.
"She's not you. She's not a man. She can't do all that I need. Therapy and medications have taught me to suppress certain urges. Some things just can't be replaced; you can't be replaced. I am turning around. I can't force you to love me or even use me. If you feel like it, I am here for you."
Her hands are out in front of her, against the wall. Her hair is wet and hanging straight down. She spreads her legs wide, giving me easy access.
I have a problem. I haven't fucked a woman in a long time. I really want to fuck a woman. On the other hand, I have been in the hospital three times because of her.
No way Libby and I will do a blind date if the Vickie thing never happened. I have endured a ton of pain due to that date. The amount of pain has been incredible. My body will never be the same. Why should I do anything for her?
While my mind is still weighing the decision, my body takes a step forward and slides into Vickie. The brain stops processing the pain and is now distracted by pussy.
Yes, it's Vickie's pussy, but it's female pussy right now. It's here.
It's willing. It feels amazing. I start at a fast rate. She no longer gets loving. Oh no, not with the pain and suffering I've been through.
I'm also hating myself right now. I am using Vickie, not treating her like a girlfriend she once was.
This feels dirty. I need to fuck. It's been a while, and it feels so good. This is a good pussy for fucking, and she's providing lots of verbal feedback.
It's been a long time since she's had a real cock in her if I can believe her.
I sway from side to side on my own. I can't help it; it's what I do with Vickie. STOP IT! She isn't your girlfriend; she broke that commitment. Not just broke, shattered.
My cock feels so good pushing in and pulling out. I'm on edge already. Why am I holding back? Because that's what a decent guy does, he lets his partner's orgasm grow.
Why do I care anymore? After all, she's done to me? I don't owe her anything. Yet, a small part of me still loves her.
I scream as I shoot my cum into Vickie. What am I doing? I pull out, she doesn't get any more cum.
I rush out of the shower, grab a towel, and as I am in the doorway, Vickie is exiting the shower with a blank look of shock on her face.
Using zero emotion, I command her, "Get dressed, get your stuff, and get out. Our project is officially over. I will send your mother an official summary with all the graphs and charts you need."
Vickie objects, "But Jane ...."
I stop her, "You two had your fun, it's done, it's over. Go home. I won't have you humiliated and used anymore. Go home."
I walked through the doorway to my room, closed my door, and laid down on my bed. I'm so distraught, I never even dried my body off. I feel pain and sadness crushing my body. It's hard to breathe, and my eyes are watering. I'M NOT CRYING! I do feel the loss of Vickie. It's so infuriating because I both love her and hate her. I have no idea what I'm going to do.
It's not long before I hear Jane calling for Vickie. She knocks on my door. I don't want to get into it now. However, Vickie didn't close my door, so it's partially open.
The knocking opens it all the way.
I hear an exhale, and then Jane says, "I take it something happened, and I no longer have a slave?"
I ignore her.
She asks me, "Did I do something wrong? What happened? Why am I being punished?"
I turn to my side. Jane can now see the pain in my face, the tears in my eyes, and rolling down my cheeks.
She asks me, "Did you argue?"
Now I am crying; Jane hugs me, "We had sex."
Jane's confused, "What? What. What?
You had sex, and you look like this?
Did she hurt you? Why did she run off?"