OK, I found a new video on Youtube that has me really hot and bothered. It's a Japanese pretender video, she does a great left arm amputee with cosmetic prosthetic, a leg amputee on crutches, and a REALLY hot para amputee. The video is a sample from the Cast Girls Japan (GipsGips) series and the description says you can get more(likely for purchase) at a Clips4Sale link. The only problem is that the pretender video doesn't seem to be there!! I found it on GipsGips, but I can't read Japanese and have no way of figuring out how to order it or even how much it is.
I really wanted to beg Heather to let me get it, too, and if it was a clips4sale download it would be so easy and convenient, but it's just not there. They would have almost definitely had a sale, too - pretender vids are SO hard to come by, and a combo pretender video is pretty much unheard of! I really wanted it.
And for all you devs who don't give a shit about my woes but just want to see the pretty video, here's the link...
Here you go
Cathy
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Flash Fiction - All about the feet
It's all about the feet
I grasped the rims of my wheelchair and pushed. I felt a little lightheaded from the effort. Why was it so hard - I hadn't really anticipated that. My balance was terrible, really off, making my head swim a bit.
I was more or less naked. Well, not technically 'naked' - I wore the bare minimum my newfound condition would allow - a bulky, ill-fitting diaper and a 'gently used' rigid back brace that was tightly strapped on, covering from my tailbone to just between my shoulder blades in back, and my stomach and lower breast cups in the front. My breasts were bare and my nipples tingled excitedly as I kept pushing forward, the wheels on my e-bay special wheelchair crawling forward on the bedroom carpet.
I could feel a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on my forehead, my shoulders and upper back, felt the warm moisture of my armpits. Below my breasts I felt nothing, of course, and I expected that due to the lack of heat regulation below, my upper body might already be compensating. Or maybe pushing this wheelchair with no muscle control or sensation from just below my breasts down to my now limp toes was a lot more work than I had anticipated.
I heard Heather calling from the living room as I finally reached the hardwood floors of the hallway.
"Honey, where are you? It's been like, an hour. Are you OK?"
"I'm almost there lover. Close your eyes for me, OK?" I called out in my most sensual, sexy voice.
"Mmm, OK honey, they're closed. Don't keep me waiting too much longer!!" she said with a giggle. God she was sexy, even that silly giggle of hers just made me want to melt, made my pussy hot. Well, it had anyway, an hour ago. Now....
I ran out of hardwoods and my wheelchair wheels started to bog down in the thick living room carpet. I strained and got two feet closer, then stopped.
"OK, open your eyes baby."
Heather opened them and looked at me. I couldn't imagine what was going through her mind as she stared, eyes wide, at me in my wheelchair, wearing a diaper and a back brace, hair probably a bit disheveled thanks to the efforts of getting myself into my wheelchair and wheeling myself across the house.
"You did it?" she asked, her voice unreadable. I nodded.
"Injection, between T4 and T5 I think." I said, a quiver in my voice. What did she think?
Heather fell to her knees and crawled to me where I sat. She took one limp, paralyzed foot in her hands and started to kiss it. Lick it. Caress it. She rubbed it against her face and ran her delicate hands up and down my flaccid leg.
As I sat there in my wheelchair she began to undress, slowly, sensually, in ways I'd never seen her disrobe before. My breathing quickened as I stared at her, knowing that were I not paralyzed, my pussy would be hot, wet, ready for her touch. It somehow excited me more, thinking that parts of my body were no longer mine to control.
My flaccid feet were now between Heather's breasts, caressing her lithe, tan body. She was in ecstasy and began moaning, eyes closed. I could see the wetness between her legs, smell her sex. I wanted it. Wanted to touch it. Wanted to love it. I told Heather what I wanted. she looked up at me, her big blue eyes unfocused, her breathing heavy with passion. I nodded.
I saw, but did not feel, my right foot begin to stroke my lover's aroused sex. My left foot flopped to the side, abandoned, as Heather took my right foot in both hands and began to rub her clit, her legs spread wide. I sat and watched and felt a rush of.. what? Excitement certainly, arousal definitely, but something else, something I couldn't really put my finger on.
I rubbed my breasts and moaned with pleasure as I watched as the lower half of my body - and specifically my limp, useless feet - were made love to by the beautiful brown-haired girl before me.
Heather was lost in her passion now, I could see my foot glisten with her joy and hear her pants and feral moans as she came again and again, her orgasms crashing against her like storm-driven waves.
She collapsed, finally, cradling my foot against her cheek and crying, actually weeping, her chest heaving with sobs of expended passion and satiated desire. I sat in my wheelchair, wishing I could stroke her hair, touch her cheek, but between the paralysis and the back brace I knew that was impossible, or at the very least impractical. So I sat there, still playing with my breasts, watching my lover sensually stroke my limp feet.
I smiled.
I grasped the rims of my wheelchair and pushed. I felt a little lightheaded from the effort. Why was it so hard - I hadn't really anticipated that. My balance was terrible, really off, making my head swim a bit.
I was more or less naked. Well, not technically 'naked' - I wore the bare minimum my newfound condition would allow - a bulky, ill-fitting diaper and a 'gently used' rigid back brace that was tightly strapped on, covering from my tailbone to just between my shoulder blades in back, and my stomach and lower breast cups in the front. My breasts were bare and my nipples tingled excitedly as I kept pushing forward, the wheels on my e-bay special wheelchair crawling forward on the bedroom carpet.
I could feel a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on my forehead, my shoulders and upper back, felt the warm moisture of my armpits. Below my breasts I felt nothing, of course, and I expected that due to the lack of heat regulation below, my upper body might already be compensating. Or maybe pushing this wheelchair with no muscle control or sensation from just below my breasts down to my now limp toes was a lot more work than I had anticipated.
I heard Heather calling from the living room as I finally reached the hardwood floors of the hallway.
"Honey, where are you? It's been like, an hour. Are you OK?"
"I'm almost there lover. Close your eyes for me, OK?" I called out in my most sensual, sexy voice.
"Mmm, OK honey, they're closed. Don't keep me waiting too much longer!!" she said with a giggle. God she was sexy, even that silly giggle of hers just made me want to melt, made my pussy hot. Well, it had anyway, an hour ago. Now....
I ran out of hardwoods and my wheelchair wheels started to bog down in the thick living room carpet. I strained and got two feet closer, then stopped.
"OK, open your eyes baby."
Heather opened them and looked at me. I couldn't imagine what was going through her mind as she stared, eyes wide, at me in my wheelchair, wearing a diaper and a back brace, hair probably a bit disheveled thanks to the efforts of getting myself into my wheelchair and wheeling myself across the house.
"You did it?" she asked, her voice unreadable. I nodded.
"Injection, between T4 and T5 I think." I said, a quiver in my voice. What did she think?
Heather fell to her knees and crawled to me where I sat. She took one limp, paralyzed foot in her hands and started to kiss it. Lick it. Caress it. She rubbed it against her face and ran her delicate hands up and down my flaccid leg.
As I sat there in my wheelchair she began to undress, slowly, sensually, in ways I'd never seen her disrobe before. My breathing quickened as I stared at her, knowing that were I not paralyzed, my pussy would be hot, wet, ready for her touch. It somehow excited me more, thinking that parts of my body were no longer mine to control.
My flaccid feet were now between Heather's breasts, caressing her lithe, tan body. She was in ecstasy and began moaning, eyes closed. I could see the wetness between her legs, smell her sex. I wanted it. Wanted to touch it. Wanted to love it. I told Heather what I wanted. she looked up at me, her big blue eyes unfocused, her breathing heavy with passion. I nodded.
I saw, but did not feel, my right foot begin to stroke my lover's aroused sex. My left foot flopped to the side, abandoned, as Heather took my right foot in both hands and began to rub her clit, her legs spread wide. I sat and watched and felt a rush of.. what? Excitement certainly, arousal definitely, but something else, something I couldn't really put my finger on.
I rubbed my breasts and moaned with pleasure as I watched as the lower half of my body - and specifically my limp, useless feet - were made love to by the beautiful brown-haired girl before me.
Heather was lost in her passion now, I could see my foot glisten with her joy and hear her pants and feral moans as she came again and again, her orgasms crashing against her like storm-driven waves.
She collapsed, finally, cradling my foot against her cheek and crying, actually weeping, her chest heaving with sobs of expended passion and satiated desire. I sat in my wheelchair, wishing I could stroke her hair, touch her cheek, but between the paralysis and the back brace I knew that was impossible, or at the very least impractical. So I sat there, still playing with my breasts, watching my lover sensually stroke my limp feet.
I smiled.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Blog - What I want for Christmas....
Prosthetic arms hooks for non amputee
If someone would buy these for me for Christmas, I would TOTALLY do a whole erotic photo shoot with them! I love them!! Heather likes them too... unfortunately they're already almost the cost of our monthly rent and still climbing.
Maybe some day I'll be rich...
If someone would buy these for me for Christmas, I would TOTALLY do a whole erotic photo shoot with them! I love them!! Heather likes them too... unfortunately they're already almost the cost of our monthly rent and still climbing.
Maybe some day I'll be rich...
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Blog - very naughty...
I had to do a ton of work around the house today getting ready for company later in the week, doing a bunch of laundry and cleaning the kitchen, swiffering the bathrooms - you know, boring stuff.
Of course when I got up I was doing some writing first, only like a half hour, and it made me so horny (I was writing chapter 5 of 'New Arrangement - it will be ready soon my kinky friends, and is it HOT...) and was just so hot and bothered that I took a vibrating buttplug and inserted it, in full vibrate mode, and put my diaper on and satin my wheelchair and did all my housework like that - while also listening to Lady GaGa.
so, first, I am lusting after Lady GaGa lately. Second, sitting on a vibrating buttplug on a gel wheelchair seat is a pretty damn amazing experience. I am glad I wore a diaper, because I would have flooded my seat from the orgasms I had. I'm serious, at one point it was pretty much one continuous orgasm that felt like it lasted 15 minutes.
And yes, I am a died-in-the-wool Lesbian, but I'm sorry, anal penetration feels really good. If you don't believe me, try it.
As I was doing all this I actually killed the (brand new) batteries in the buttplug, though by that point I was so stimulated I didn't actually realize it stopped buzzing for some time, not sure when they died.
I actually considered wearing the plug to work, but there's no way I'd be able to concentrate so I just took it out a little while ago. I'll be wearing a diaper all night though, that's for sure. Still very moist. Maybe I'll just wear slippers into work too, since I'll be in my chair, of course.
Of course when I got up I was doing some writing first, only like a half hour, and it made me so horny (I was writing chapter 5 of 'New Arrangement - it will be ready soon my kinky friends, and is it HOT...) and was just so hot and bothered that I took a vibrating buttplug and inserted it, in full vibrate mode, and put my diaper on and satin my wheelchair and did all my housework like that - while also listening to Lady GaGa.
so, first, I am lusting after Lady GaGa lately. Second, sitting on a vibrating buttplug on a gel wheelchair seat is a pretty damn amazing experience. I am glad I wore a diaper, because I would have flooded my seat from the orgasms I had. I'm serious, at one point it was pretty much one continuous orgasm that felt like it lasted 15 minutes.
And yes, I am a died-in-the-wool Lesbian, but I'm sorry, anal penetration feels really good. If you don't believe me, try it.
As I was doing all this I actually killed the (brand new) batteries in the buttplug, though by that point I was so stimulated I didn't actually realize it stopped buzzing for some time, not sure when they died.
I actually considered wearing the plug to work, but there's no way I'd be able to concentrate so I just took it out a little while ago. I'll be wearing a diaper all night though, that's for sure. Still very moist. Maybe I'll just wear slippers into work too, since I'll be in my chair, of course.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blog - back in the saddle again
Yeah I was listening to a dinosaur rock station earlier and an old Aerosmith song got stuck in my head. Need to listen to more Lady GaGa.
I'm writing again, I'll have a few new pieces out pretty soon. I've just been dealing with a lot of extra hours at work and some minor depression issues - nothing suicidal, just cranky and really lazy, not wanting to create anything new. I suppose that's natural to some extent this time of year.
So this past weekend Heather and I went out to dinner, me in my chair and blind. It was her idea - even the chair part - and it was quite exciting. She fed me and pushed me around, and I was wearing slippers the whole time and she could play with my feet under the table at the restaurant.
speaking of blind simming - I 'think' Heather will be getting me some special blind contacts for Christmas. I just have a hunch on that. I hope so - fingers are crossed... :)
I'm writing again, I'll have a few new pieces out pretty soon. I've just been dealing with a lot of extra hours at work and some minor depression issues - nothing suicidal, just cranky and really lazy, not wanting to create anything new. I suppose that's natural to some extent this time of year.
So this past weekend Heather and I went out to dinner, me in my chair and blind. It was her idea - even the chair part - and it was quite exciting. She fed me and pushed me around, and I was wearing slippers the whole time and she could play with my feet under the table at the restaurant.
speaking of blind simming - I 'think' Heather will be getting me some special blind contacts for Christmas. I just have a hunch on that. I hope so - fingers are crossed... :)
Monday, November 16, 2009
Blog - Depressed and Annoyed
Well, it looks like someone may have hacked into my Hotmail account - oddly enough all they did was set up a 'vacation auto-reply' that sent spam. I don't see anything else different. I changed my email password (naturally) so hopefully the damage is minimized.
Of course not so for my iPod, which was stolen out of my wheelchair backpack when I was shopping on Sunday. Yeah - some jerkface actually stole my iPod right out of my backpack. I was with Heather and I was in my chair (of course) and have a generic black backpack I hang off the back, and my iPod was in one of those special 'iPod' pockets, zipped in. One of the stores was pretty crowded, and someone must have just quickly unzipped the pocket and slipped away with my pink iPod nano. I know it was partially PMS but I actually cried when I found it was gone. I mean, seriously, who steels from a chick in a wheelchair? Seriously...
It doesn't help that I think I'm starting to feel that seasonal depression thing - I just don't want to do anything but sit at my computer and play shockwave games and look for crip porn. And I'm not doing particularly well at either of those, even. Heather's the same way, though - we're both just in a seasonal slump of sorts, I guess. No serious relationship issues, we're both just kinda 'blah', you know?
I'm 3/4 done with the latest New Arrangement story but I just can't see where it's going from here, it's getting repetitive I think. I guess I set it up that way - I mean, how much variety can you put into a lesbian BD/SM relationship where the 'Top' is a complete quadriplegic who can only experience sexual fulfillment by having her hair pulled? I've made it interesting, but I still think it's repetitive.
Money is tight right now too - neither of us can work any overtime, that's been cut at both our companies, and there's no holiday bonuses either, so I'm stressing about what to get for Heather and she's stressing about what to do for me, I'm sure. I know it's cliche, but even two kinky bizarre fetish-loving lesbians can get in the dumps over the supposed 'Most wonderful time of the year'.
So that's it, I'm sure nobody really cares about my depressed rambling, everyone is just waiting on new stories. I was doing great there for a while, too. I'll try to get back on the horse this week. Maybe I just need to get laid? I'll bring that idea up with Heather...
Of course not so for my iPod, which was stolen out of my wheelchair backpack when I was shopping on Sunday. Yeah - some jerkface actually stole my iPod right out of my backpack. I was with Heather and I was in my chair (of course) and have a generic black backpack I hang off the back, and my iPod was in one of those special 'iPod' pockets, zipped in. One of the stores was pretty crowded, and someone must have just quickly unzipped the pocket and slipped away with my pink iPod nano. I know it was partially PMS but I actually cried when I found it was gone. I mean, seriously, who steels from a chick in a wheelchair? Seriously...
It doesn't help that I think I'm starting to feel that seasonal depression thing - I just don't want to do anything but sit at my computer and play shockwave games and look for crip porn. And I'm not doing particularly well at either of those, even. Heather's the same way, though - we're both just in a seasonal slump of sorts, I guess. No serious relationship issues, we're both just kinda 'blah', you know?
I'm 3/4 done with the latest New Arrangement story but I just can't see where it's going from here, it's getting repetitive I think. I guess I set it up that way - I mean, how much variety can you put into a lesbian BD/SM relationship where the 'Top' is a complete quadriplegic who can only experience sexual fulfillment by having her hair pulled? I've made it interesting, but I still think it's repetitive.
Money is tight right now too - neither of us can work any overtime, that's been cut at both our companies, and there's no holiday bonuses either, so I'm stressing about what to get for Heather and she's stressing about what to do for me, I'm sure. I know it's cliche, but even two kinky bizarre fetish-loving lesbians can get in the dumps over the supposed 'Most wonderful time of the year'.
So that's it, I'm sure nobody really cares about my depressed rambling, everyone is just waiting on new stories. I was doing great there for a while, too. I'll try to get back on the horse this week. Maybe I just need to get laid? I'll bring that idea up with Heather...
Monday, November 9, 2009
I'm not dead
Yes I realize I've been quiet for a couple weeks, I'm OK, I have my reasons. I'm still working on stories it's just slow going. I might try a flash fiction session soon.
Monday, October 12, 2009
BLOG - how far would you go?
So, I've been thinking a lot, both in the course of writing more stories and while talking to people at work and online. One of the clinchers was watching a new promo for 'Extreme Wife' with Dawn Porter, a new BBC show exploring marriage customs and traditions around the world.
And of course I put my own spin on it... because that's how I roll ;)
So, how far would a person - I'm thinking woman, specifically, but it could be anyone - how far would a person go to have guaranteed security and safety and wealth? Like Michelle in my 'New Arrangement' story, what would you be willing to give up to be 'happy' and secure in your situation? If you could absolutely guarantee your partner would never cheat on you, never leave you for the rest of your life, would you give up your legs? Paralyzed or amputation? If you could be rich beyond your wildest dreams, would you give up your vision? You arms?
It's not as far-fetched as it might sound with the devotee/wannabe slant on it. Women compromise every day to stay safe and secure in their marriage. Women put up with physical and mental abuse for years and never leave because their husband provides for them, puts a roof over their heads, is a 'good provider' even if he's a bastard. Women in Russia and other places in the world are willing to uproot their whole lives and cultures to get married to Western men they have only met online; the 'Russian Bride' business is still booming, and has even had a devotee element added with some services offering things like amputee Russian brides. There are loads more examples, too, but you get my point.
So we know that women around the world will do lots, put up with lots, to stay married, to stay in that relationship that takes care of their needs, and none of those examples are a guarantee. A Russian bride can be sent back home, and abusive relationships never, ever end well. So if you had a choice, if you could get an iron-clad guarantee that you would be supported, taken care of, treated well, even pampered, and all it would cost was your legs, or your hands, or your eyes... would you?
Of course there's Happiness - something very important here. Could you truly be 'happy' if you became disabled for the sake of security? And if not, then would it be worth it? I think it's easier to be happy in our lives if we have guaranteed emotional and financial security, though, right? I'm pretty sure between 'able bodied and worried about the rent money' and 'paraplegic but wealthy and cared for the erst of my life' the latter woman will be the happier in 90% of cases studied...
Granted I'm not the best person to ask the question of, considering my particular fetishes, but I'm really curious. Would a guarantee of financial and emotional stability, in the form of a good, decent, honest, caring partner/spouse, be worth becoming permanently disabled? And is there a 'scale' there? Like, a comfortable middle-class life with yearly vacations and frequent dinners out might be worth paralysis or a leg amputation, but filthy rich and basking on the yacht might be worth the 'Boxing Helena' treatment?
And of course I put my own spin on it... because that's how I roll ;)
So, how far would a person - I'm thinking woman, specifically, but it could be anyone - how far would a person go to have guaranteed security and safety and wealth? Like Michelle in my 'New Arrangement' story, what would you be willing to give up to be 'happy' and secure in your situation? If you could absolutely guarantee your partner would never cheat on you, never leave you for the rest of your life, would you give up your legs? Paralyzed or amputation? If you could be rich beyond your wildest dreams, would you give up your vision? You arms?
It's not as far-fetched as it might sound with the devotee/wannabe slant on it. Women compromise every day to stay safe and secure in their marriage. Women put up with physical and mental abuse for years and never leave because their husband provides for them, puts a roof over their heads, is a 'good provider' even if he's a bastard. Women in Russia and other places in the world are willing to uproot their whole lives and cultures to get married to Western men they have only met online; the 'Russian Bride' business is still booming, and has even had a devotee element added with some services offering things like amputee Russian brides. There are loads more examples, too, but you get my point.
So we know that women around the world will do lots, put up with lots, to stay married, to stay in that relationship that takes care of their needs, and none of those examples are a guarantee. A Russian bride can be sent back home, and abusive relationships never, ever end well. So if you had a choice, if you could get an iron-clad guarantee that you would be supported, taken care of, treated well, even pampered, and all it would cost was your legs, or your hands, or your eyes... would you?
Of course there's Happiness - something very important here. Could you truly be 'happy' if you became disabled for the sake of security? And if not, then would it be worth it? I think it's easier to be happy in our lives if we have guaranteed emotional and financial security, though, right? I'm pretty sure between 'able bodied and worried about the rent money' and 'paraplegic but wealthy and cared for the erst of my life' the latter woman will be the happier in 90% of cases studied...
Granted I'm not the best person to ask the question of, considering my particular fetishes, but I'm really curious. Would a guarantee of financial and emotional stability, in the form of a good, decent, honest, caring partner/spouse, be worth becoming permanently disabled? And is there a 'scale' there? Like, a comfortable middle-class life with yearly vacations and frequent dinners out might be worth paralysis or a leg amputation, but filthy rich and basking on the yacht might be worth the 'Boxing Helena' treatment?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Blog - gahhhhhh!!
Some people in this community are just disgusting. I am AMAZED that grown people feel that behavior like this is acceptable, and I am astonished that other 'devotee content producers' bother to put any content at all out there.
You know what? If you aren't adding anything to the community, if you aren't doing anything but lurk and consume thes stories and videos and images that others create, then you have NO FUCKING RIGHT to demand ANYTHING from those of us who DO contribute. Jackass.
And I was feeling really good today too....
You know what? If you aren't adding anything to the community, if you aren't doing anything but lurk and consume thes stories and videos and images that others create, then you have NO FUCKING RIGHT to demand ANYTHING from those of us who DO contribute. Jackass.
And I was feeling really good today too....
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
STORY - Flash Fiction - What Happened in the Dark
What Happened in the Dark By ParaGirl
Lisa didn't expect it to hurt so much. She was pretty sure they broke her arm, or maybe just dislocated her shoulder, she wasn't sure. She bit her lip and struggled not to cry out. Her attackers were clumsy, whispering to each other, seemingly unsure of what to even do with her now that they had subdued her. The excitement was there, that red-hot arousal that she always felt a this point, when she was bound, face pressed to the dirt, her panties and skimpy skirt torn from her roughly. Her sex was on fire, she could tell she was soaked, literally dripping with anticipation, waiting for one of these idiot thugs to fuck her, to penetrate her and drive it home, give her that exquisite release....
Lisa knew this was crazy, and unsafe, but she couldn't control herself. Her rape fantasies had grown into rape roleplay with her lovers, and when that didn't work any more, it turned to this. Dressed in skimpy clothes, walking around bad parts of town acting tipsy or drunk. Most of the time, she was helped home by some good samaritin, left frustrated and unable to climax. Sometimes, though - some lowlife or frat boy or thug would take advantage of her, and then...
Finally, she felt a stiff cock press into her and she moaned and shivered as she came in waves of intense pleasure. It was insane, the pleasure, the deep waves of orgasm that filled her. It was better than any drug, better than any experience she had ever had. She could die, definitely, and that was part of the thrill. the throbbing in her arm was gone, and all she was left with was the pleasure as her attacker forced his shaft in and out of her, deeply in and out.
He didn't last long - they never did, rapists. Seemed like half of them were practically eunuchs, two thrusts and they were done. Pathetic. That's why she was actually happy there were two this time. It was more dangerous, of course, but it was worth it as he slipped his cock into her and pulled her hair sharply, calling her a cunt. She came again at that - he was rough, she could tell. He was a dangerous one, and even though her mind knew that her situation had gotten a lot worse, her sex just throbbed more, her ecstasy expanded until it filled her whole body, her whole world. He thrust into her and she cried out - he assumed it was pain or fear, didn't realize it was joy, lust, pleasure the likes of which he had never known.
She could tell he was getting ready to finish, his motions becming more jerky, more erratic, and she reached slowly into her pocket for the high-end pepper spray she kept there, armed and ready. Once they had gotten what they wanted - as she had - she didn't exactly want to stick around for pillow talk. She moaned as another wave of intense pleasure overwhelmed her and her attacker arched his back and let out a muffled moan, then something unexpected happened, something she hadn't planned on.
She pulled out the pepper spray as he came, popping the safety in time with his muffled, orgasmic moan, but then his hands were on her neck, and he was twisting, and then there was blinding pain, and then she was dead.
Wait. She wasn't dead. She opened her eyes. She was still laying beside the grimy loading dock. She could smell oil and garbage and piss, and her breathing was short and sharp. Her head pounded with the rhythm of her quickened pulse, but the rest of her body was covered in a cool numbness that Lisa didn't want to think about. She tried to turn her head, and light and pain flashed sharply behind her eyes again, and she blacked out.
Lisa woke to the antiseptic smells and chaotic sounds of a hospital room. She blinked her eyes painfully at the bright light that was flooding in on her. She heard the rhythmic beeps of some monitor, felt a hose at her nose feeding her cool oxygen. She felt the solid neck brace - well, she felt part of the solid neck brace, pressed against her chin and the back of her head. The rest of her body... not much of anything. That cool numb sensation seemed to start at her neck and radiate downwards. She couldn't move her head, couldn't see her body as she stared up. She remembered it all, every moment of it. She knew. the snapping of her neck. She knew.
Incomplete quadriplegia at the fourth cervical vertebrae. Permanent paralysis. Rehab. Full time care. Words like these filled Lisa's world. This was it. Her thrill seeking had put her in a wheelchair, unable to even scratch her own nose, for the rest of her life. She didn't even cry, not once. She deserved it, in a way - certainly she asked for it. What had she been thinking? She sat limp in her shower harness watching a nurse wash her pussy, and she couldn't feel a thing. that was the worst part to her, she realized - not being in a wheelchair, not being helpless. It was the sex. The pleasure. She started thinking about how she would never feel that amazing, erotic rush again. Never.
Lisa saw him on her third day of rehab. He was in the physical therapy room, helping a middle aged woman steady herself on a leg prosthesis. Lots of cripples here, she thought to herself. He looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Couldn't remember where she had seen him. It wasn't until that night, after she had been put in bed by her attendant, after he crept silently into her room with that sinister, deviant grin, that she remembered. He was the one. He was the rough guy. He was the neck-breaker. He was her rapist. And he was coming towards her. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
He came to her bed. He called her a cunt in that same raspy, nicotine-scarred voice, and he pulled the sheets off her paralyzed, useless body. He tore off the bulky diaper she slept in. He unzipped his pants. He got on the bed.
Her orgasm was impossibly good, the ecstasy and depth more than she had every experienced. She smelled his sweat and heard his grunts as he raped her, and her orgasm continued, waves of pleasure filling her crippled body. And, for the first time since she woke up in the hospital, Lisa cried.
Lisa didn't expect it to hurt so much. She was pretty sure they broke her arm, or maybe just dislocated her shoulder, she wasn't sure. She bit her lip and struggled not to cry out. Her attackers were clumsy, whispering to each other, seemingly unsure of what to even do with her now that they had subdued her. The excitement was there, that red-hot arousal that she always felt a this point, when she was bound, face pressed to the dirt, her panties and skimpy skirt torn from her roughly. Her sex was on fire, she could tell she was soaked, literally dripping with anticipation, waiting for one of these idiot thugs to fuck her, to penetrate her and drive it home, give her that exquisite release....
Lisa knew this was crazy, and unsafe, but she couldn't control herself. Her rape fantasies had grown into rape roleplay with her lovers, and when that didn't work any more, it turned to this. Dressed in skimpy clothes, walking around bad parts of town acting tipsy or drunk. Most of the time, she was helped home by some good samaritin, left frustrated and unable to climax. Sometimes, though - some lowlife or frat boy or thug would take advantage of her, and then...
Finally, she felt a stiff cock press into her and she moaned and shivered as she came in waves of intense pleasure. It was insane, the pleasure, the deep waves of orgasm that filled her. It was better than any drug, better than any experience she had ever had. She could die, definitely, and that was part of the thrill. the throbbing in her arm was gone, and all she was left with was the pleasure as her attacker forced his shaft in and out of her, deeply in and out.
He didn't last long - they never did, rapists. Seemed like half of them were practically eunuchs, two thrusts and they were done. Pathetic. That's why she was actually happy there were two this time. It was more dangerous, of course, but it was worth it as he slipped his cock into her and pulled her hair sharply, calling her a cunt. She came again at that - he was rough, she could tell. He was a dangerous one, and even though her mind knew that her situation had gotten a lot worse, her sex just throbbed more, her ecstasy expanded until it filled her whole body, her whole world. He thrust into her and she cried out - he assumed it was pain or fear, didn't realize it was joy, lust, pleasure the likes of which he had never known.
She could tell he was getting ready to finish, his motions becming more jerky, more erratic, and she reached slowly into her pocket for the high-end pepper spray she kept there, armed and ready. Once they had gotten what they wanted - as she had - she didn't exactly want to stick around for pillow talk. She moaned as another wave of intense pleasure overwhelmed her and her attacker arched his back and let out a muffled moan, then something unexpected happened, something she hadn't planned on.
She pulled out the pepper spray as he came, popping the safety in time with his muffled, orgasmic moan, but then his hands were on her neck, and he was twisting, and then there was blinding pain, and then she was dead.
Wait. She wasn't dead. She opened her eyes. She was still laying beside the grimy loading dock. She could smell oil and garbage and piss, and her breathing was short and sharp. Her head pounded with the rhythm of her quickened pulse, but the rest of her body was covered in a cool numbness that Lisa didn't want to think about. She tried to turn her head, and light and pain flashed sharply behind her eyes again, and she blacked out.
Lisa woke to the antiseptic smells and chaotic sounds of a hospital room. She blinked her eyes painfully at the bright light that was flooding in on her. She heard the rhythmic beeps of some monitor, felt a hose at her nose feeding her cool oxygen. She felt the solid neck brace - well, she felt part of the solid neck brace, pressed against her chin and the back of her head. The rest of her body... not much of anything. That cool numb sensation seemed to start at her neck and radiate downwards. She couldn't move her head, couldn't see her body as she stared up. She remembered it all, every moment of it. She knew. the snapping of her neck. She knew.
Incomplete quadriplegia at the fourth cervical vertebrae. Permanent paralysis. Rehab. Full time care. Words like these filled Lisa's world. This was it. Her thrill seeking had put her in a wheelchair, unable to even scratch her own nose, for the rest of her life. She didn't even cry, not once. She deserved it, in a way - certainly she asked for it. What had she been thinking? She sat limp in her shower harness watching a nurse wash her pussy, and she couldn't feel a thing. that was the worst part to her, she realized - not being in a wheelchair, not being helpless. It was the sex. The pleasure. She started thinking about how she would never feel that amazing, erotic rush again. Never.
Lisa saw him on her third day of rehab. He was in the physical therapy room, helping a middle aged woman steady herself on a leg prosthesis. Lots of cripples here, she thought to herself. He looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Couldn't remember where she had seen him. It wasn't until that night, after she had been put in bed by her attendant, after he crept silently into her room with that sinister, deviant grin, that she remembered. He was the one. He was the rough guy. He was the neck-breaker. He was her rapist. And he was coming towards her. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
He came to her bed. He called her a cunt in that same raspy, nicotine-scarred voice, and he pulled the sheets off her paralyzed, useless body. He tore off the bulky diaper she slept in. He unzipped his pants. He got on the bed.
Her orgasm was impossibly good, the ecstasy and depth more than she had every experienced. She smelled his sweat and heard his grunts as he raped her, and her orgasm continued, waves of pleasure filling her crippled body. And, for the first time since she woke up in the hospital, Lisa cried.
BLOG - who wants a story
I'm trying to put together a new flash fiction story but I'm having trouble coming up with a theme/subject. Anyone out there have any suggestions?
Monday, September 14, 2009
BLOG - so how do I make money?
So does anyone out there think it's possible for me to make money doing this writing thing? Any place that buys erotic fiction for the disabled....? Just curious.
STORY - Phantom Pain
The accident shouldn't have been that bad. I mean, it was bad - industrial accidents tend to be bad in general - but it wasn't THAT bad. An industrial laundry cart had broken free of the chain that was pulling it and it slid out of control, right into me. I saw it coming and dove out of the way, just not quite far enough.
I never blacked out. I saw the half-ton cart slam into my lower legs and feet, shattering every bone from my ankles down in spite of my required steel toes work boots. I was in shock initially, of course - seeing your feet crushed in front of you can do that to a girl - but after a couple minutes the pain started to bleed in. I had stopped looking at my feet - or what was left of them - at that point. I didn't need to see them to know they were destroyed. Words like 'amputation' hovered at the periphery of my thoughts, but I wouldn't let them in.
By the time the paramedics were there, starting to cut my boots off, the pain was beyond bearable, and they knocked me out. I fell into immediate and blissful unconsciousness, but my last conscious thoughts were a silent 'good bye' to my feet. I just knew... but I didn't really know. Not just yet.
I woke up four days later, an oxygen feed in my nose and my legs elevated and bandaged - I could see immediately there were no feet there. It was hard to tell the specifics with the heavy bandages on, but it looked like my legs ended two or three inches above my former ankles. The first thing that hit me was the harsh slap of reality, that I was now an amputee, that I had no feet any more. the next thing that hit me, in rapid succession, was the itch. I had an itch between my first and second toe on my left foot. But I had no left foot. I looked, I stared, seeing if there was something I was missing, but my legs definitely ended in round, heavily bandaged stumps. The itch I felt was impossible, but very real and very persistent. I decided to go with it and tried to 'wiggle my toes' to try and get it to stop.
My scream pulled in three nurses, the floor doctor, and another doctor who heard me from the elevator. The pain was intense, sharp, like my foot was being broken and crushed all over again, in slow motion. I cried and tried to claw at my bandages to relieve the pain, to the point where I had to be physically restrained. the gave me a shot of something, but it didn't help, the pain was too intense. They gave me another shot, directly into my stump, saying it was just 'phantom pain' and that it wasn't really there, but still I screamed and cried. Finally, someone gave me something that knocked me out, and again I was blissfully unconscious.
It was severe, chronic phantom pain, that how it was explained to me, and it should 'get better with time' and with therapy. Until then, they had me on a cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxers that made me loopy and sick to my stomach and had the lovely side effect of making me piss myself once in a while. I was barely coherent when they took my bandages off and I saw my stumps for the first time. I thought they looked pretty - but then again, I was pretty stoned. Even through my haze of painkillers, though, as they touched and cleaned and measured my stumps the white hot pain started bubbling up to the surface of my consciousness. By the time they got the new, thinner bandages onto my rounded stumps I was hyperventilating, feeling my phantom feet twist and fold and snap and burn. I was crying and begging them to knock me out as I felt the pain building to it's crescendo, and once they got an OK from my doctor, they blessedly obliged.
They fitted me for my prostheses, and again even though I was heavily drugged I barely made it through the process. I didn't know how I was going to walk or wear prostheses if every time anything more than a linen sheet touched my stumps they began to hurt at unbearable levels. I was poked and prodded so much, by every specialist in the hospital and beyond, and the general consensus was still just the generic 'phantom limb pain' or my favorite - 'extreme phantom discomfort'. I had a 'discomfort' in mind for them that involved an aluminum softball bat and a rectal exam...
Weeks went by. Then a month. Rehab started. Still, I was drugged to near unconsciousness and still I was dealing with bouts of pain that literally crippled me. Then I met Cathy. My roommate in rehab, she was a quadriplegic from a cycling accident. She had no sensation from her nipples down. In my painkiller-induced haze, I got the beginnings of an idea - just deaden all those nerves that were misfiring, causing all my phantom pain.
I talked to nurses, doctors, but they all said no, it wasn't possible to just deaden those nerves causing my pain. The technology wasn't advanced enough, it was too dangerous they said. Meanwhile I was becoming a junkie and even the huge doses of painkillers I was already taking weren't really cutting it any more. So what else could I do?
I couldn't find anyone to help me willingly, but as I was about to give up I got a lucky break. Without going into details, I took advantage of a desperately overworked medical intern and a mixup in injectible medications. It hurt like hell, even through the painkillers, but after five minutes I knew it had worked. After the terrified intern helped me off the exam table and back into the heavy hospital wheelchair, I told him I had never seen him, had no idea what had happened, and the next morning would suddenly wake up like this... that was my plan anyway...
Things never go quite as planned, of course. Trying to get back into my bed, I was way off balance, my floppy lifeless stumps just a weird dead weight that made it very difficult for me to maneuver myself. I almost made it into bed when I slipped, hitting the floor with a thud, and one of the nurses came running. It was obvious that I was paralyzed, and as soon as the doctors examined me it was obvious why. There's still an ongoing investigation on how I could have gotten that injection, though I keep telling them I did it myself. The important thing is that I am now pain free and medication free. I can't feel or move a thing from my belly down, of course. I'm incontinent, I have no sexual feeling, and I'll be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But, I'm not in pain - none at all. And personally, I think that's an OK compromise.
I never blacked out. I saw the half-ton cart slam into my lower legs and feet, shattering every bone from my ankles down in spite of my required steel toes work boots. I was in shock initially, of course - seeing your feet crushed in front of you can do that to a girl - but after a couple minutes the pain started to bleed in. I had stopped looking at my feet - or what was left of them - at that point. I didn't need to see them to know they were destroyed. Words like 'amputation' hovered at the periphery of my thoughts, but I wouldn't let them in.
By the time the paramedics were there, starting to cut my boots off, the pain was beyond bearable, and they knocked me out. I fell into immediate and blissful unconsciousness, but my last conscious thoughts were a silent 'good bye' to my feet. I just knew... but I didn't really know. Not just yet.
I woke up four days later, an oxygen feed in my nose and my legs elevated and bandaged - I could see immediately there were no feet there. It was hard to tell the specifics with the heavy bandages on, but it looked like my legs ended two or three inches above my former ankles. The first thing that hit me was the harsh slap of reality, that I was now an amputee, that I had no feet any more. the next thing that hit me, in rapid succession, was the itch. I had an itch between my first and second toe on my left foot. But I had no left foot. I looked, I stared, seeing if there was something I was missing, but my legs definitely ended in round, heavily bandaged stumps. The itch I felt was impossible, but very real and very persistent. I decided to go with it and tried to 'wiggle my toes' to try and get it to stop.
My scream pulled in three nurses, the floor doctor, and another doctor who heard me from the elevator. The pain was intense, sharp, like my foot was being broken and crushed all over again, in slow motion. I cried and tried to claw at my bandages to relieve the pain, to the point where I had to be physically restrained. the gave me a shot of something, but it didn't help, the pain was too intense. They gave me another shot, directly into my stump, saying it was just 'phantom pain' and that it wasn't really there, but still I screamed and cried. Finally, someone gave me something that knocked me out, and again I was blissfully unconscious.
It was severe, chronic phantom pain, that how it was explained to me, and it should 'get better with time' and with therapy. Until then, they had me on a cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxers that made me loopy and sick to my stomach and had the lovely side effect of making me piss myself once in a while. I was barely coherent when they took my bandages off and I saw my stumps for the first time. I thought they looked pretty - but then again, I was pretty stoned. Even through my haze of painkillers, though, as they touched and cleaned and measured my stumps the white hot pain started bubbling up to the surface of my consciousness. By the time they got the new, thinner bandages onto my rounded stumps I was hyperventilating, feeling my phantom feet twist and fold and snap and burn. I was crying and begging them to knock me out as I felt the pain building to it's crescendo, and once they got an OK from my doctor, they blessedly obliged.
They fitted me for my prostheses, and again even though I was heavily drugged I barely made it through the process. I didn't know how I was going to walk or wear prostheses if every time anything more than a linen sheet touched my stumps they began to hurt at unbearable levels. I was poked and prodded so much, by every specialist in the hospital and beyond, and the general consensus was still just the generic 'phantom limb pain' or my favorite - 'extreme phantom discomfort'. I had a 'discomfort' in mind for them that involved an aluminum softball bat and a rectal exam...
Weeks went by. Then a month. Rehab started. Still, I was drugged to near unconsciousness and still I was dealing with bouts of pain that literally crippled me. Then I met Cathy. My roommate in rehab, she was a quadriplegic from a cycling accident. She had no sensation from her nipples down. In my painkiller-induced haze, I got the beginnings of an idea - just deaden all those nerves that were misfiring, causing all my phantom pain.
I talked to nurses, doctors, but they all said no, it wasn't possible to just deaden those nerves causing my pain. The technology wasn't advanced enough, it was too dangerous they said. Meanwhile I was becoming a junkie and even the huge doses of painkillers I was already taking weren't really cutting it any more. So what else could I do?
I couldn't find anyone to help me willingly, but as I was about to give up I got a lucky break. Without going into details, I took advantage of a desperately overworked medical intern and a mixup in injectible medications. It hurt like hell, even through the painkillers, but after five minutes I knew it had worked. After the terrified intern helped me off the exam table and back into the heavy hospital wheelchair, I told him I had never seen him, had no idea what had happened, and the next morning would suddenly wake up like this... that was my plan anyway...
Things never go quite as planned, of course. Trying to get back into my bed, I was way off balance, my floppy lifeless stumps just a weird dead weight that made it very difficult for me to maneuver myself. I almost made it into bed when I slipped, hitting the floor with a thud, and one of the nurses came running. It was obvious that I was paralyzed, and as soon as the doctors examined me it was obvious why. There's still an ongoing investigation on how I could have gotten that injection, though I keep telling them I did it myself. The important thing is that I am now pain free and medication free. I can't feel or move a thing from my belly down, of course. I'm incontinent, I have no sexual feeling, and I'll be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But, I'm not in pain - none at all. And personally, I think that's an OK compromise.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
STORY - New Arrangement Part 4
A New Arrangement - Part 4
Michelle, guided by her sexy 'slave' Melissa, spent the next several hours staring at the computer screen, exploring the various worlds of the BD/SM scene. The levels and depths of this world amazed and excited her. Her first and only 'kinky' sexual encounter, with her husband Derek, had left her a quadriplegic, confined to her power wheelchair for the rest of her life, but it had also awakened feelings and desires in her that she never really knew existed. Feelings and appetites she was still trying to get used to.
Melissa was her dutiful slave girl, a fact that turned Michelle on more than she cared to admit. Anything Michelle wanted, no matter how menial or degrading, Melissa would do it instantly, happily. From changing her diapers to kissing her feet to getting her a drink, Melissa would jump to it, always with a smile, always with a 'Yes Mistress'.
Michelle saw websites about extreme bondage, spanking, latex, foot worship, leather, blood play, violet wands, costume play, and so many other things. Some turned her on to a huge degree, others did not, some even bothered and disturned her. Melissa even showed her a few sites that focused on women with disabilities, something that didn't surprise her nearly as much as she thought it should, but given Dereks' confessions to her and the rather extreme route he took to make his fantasy for a helplessly disabled wife come true she supposed it was natural that he wasn't the only person with that interest.
After several hours of exploring the various BD/SM subcultures with Melissa, a woman she now identified with as her submissive, her 'slave', Michelle began to feel not only aroused, but for the first time in her life she began to feel empowered. Yes, she was a complete quadriplegic, paralyzed from her neck down and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, but with Melissa, there was something more, something stirring deep within her.
"Slave." she said, sounding much more calm than her rapidly beating heart would indicate. Melissa stopped everything and looked at her.
"Yes Mistress?" she said eagerly.
"Sit on my lap, facing me."
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, her breath quickening. She carefully straddled Michelle's limp legs and wheelchair, spreading her own legs wide and balancing so that she was facing Michelle, her naked breasts almost even with Michelle's mouth.
"Now, start playing with my hair. Gently, softly." Michelle said. Melissa complied, running her fingers through Michelle's hair, breathing heavy. Her fingers traced though Michelle's hair with purpose, tracing sensual lines over Michelle's sensitive scalp. Brushing against Michelle's ears made her heart beat quicker, made her cheeks flush.
"Harder." she breathed, and felt Melissa immediately start to tug at her hair, run her nails through it, across her scalp. Michelle was breathing fast now, heavy, excited, incredibly aroused. She panted half-commands to Melissa and her slave obeyed, until Michelle was on the verge of orgasm, her quadriplegic body reacting in the only ways it could to the intense erotic stimulation.
"Closer." Michelle panted, until her mouth was just about reaching Melissa's breasts. Michelle moved her head forward an inch and began to kiss and lick Melissa's breasts. Melissa moaned and shivered a bit, but continued pulling at Michelle's hair and playing with her neck and ears and face. Michelle was driven to ecstasy and continued kissing and licking and sucking all the sensitive parts of her slave that she could reach.
Michelle tried to hold out but finally let out a loud gasp and shriek of pleasure as the 'quadgasm' ripped through her. She panted and tried to finish playing with Melissa's breasts, but she couldn't manage it - the orgasm and arousal had caused her to lose what little control of her body she had left.
Melissa didn't say anything, she just stroked Michelle's hair gently as she got off her lap. "May I kiss Mistress?" she asked, and Michelle nodded, smiling and still breathing heavily. Melissa kissed her on the cheek, then held her head and kissed her deeply on the lips. The two women kissed deeply, passionately, tongues probing hot and moist, until finally the embrace was broken. Melissa knelt before her quadriplegic mistress and lay her head on Michelle's paralyzed lap, sighing deeply.
"I love you Mistress." she said softly. Michelle didn't reply.
"Please get dressed in your proper uniform." Michelle said an hour later. Derek would be home in a little over an hour, and she wasn't ready to let him know about any of this.
"As you wish Mistress." was Melissa's reply. "Is there anything else Mistress woud like?" she asked hopefully, eyes wide. Michelle wasn't sure what she meant, but then remembered from the websites that a Mistress would force her slave to wear some charm or token that indicated ownership, dominance. Michelle didn't have anything like that, but she did have....
"Under your uniform, you are to wear one of my bulky overnight diapers." she said finally. Melissa smiled broadly. "And you are not to urinate in the toilet, only your diaper, and you will ask my permission before changing it."
"Of course Mistress." Melissa said, her eyes full of desire. "As you wish, my love."
Derek got home to find his quadriplegic wife sitting in her wheelchair watching a DVD and Melissa, her aide, preparing dinner. Michelle was dressed very sexy - stockings and a short skirt, no shoes, and Derek could tell she wore a padded diaper just for him. He kissed her warmly on the cheek, but her eyes wanted more, so he kissed her on the lips and was greeted by a deeply passionate kiss that lasted much longer than he was accustomed to.
"I need my diaper changed." she said into his ear as she took her mouth control between her lips and drove out of the living room and down the wide hallway. Derek followed excitedly. Melissa didn't even look up from her work, but she had a smile on her face and felt arousal as she urinated into her diaper.
Derek was undressed before the door was fully shut, and Michelle's mouth was reaching greedily for his cock. She was still so aroused from her day with Melissa, exploring her newfound power, that she just wanted more. Derek slipped his rock hard cock into her waiting mouth and grabbed her by the hair, gripping firmly and nearly making her cum right then and there. He took control then, pushing and pulling her head as she sucked and licked his white hot shaft.
It only took a few minutes and Michelle felt Derek go rigid, then he shot cum into her mouth, down her throat in hot spurts. He moaned loudly and released her hair from his grasp, and her head plopped back onto her plush headrest. Derek had her out of the wheelchair and onto the king sized bed in no time, and was spreading Melissa's limp legs as she watched, panting and wanting so badly to reach out, to grab his hard cock in her hands, to run her fingers through his hair... But she lay there, her body not obeying a single command, and somehow she was more aroused because of that.
As an able bodied woman her sex life was lackluster at best. Now that she was crippled, confined to a wheelchair, she had two amazing lovers and a newfound sexual identity she had never even guessed at...
Derek was inside her now, holding one of her floppy legs up, cradled under her knee. He thrust his hard cock in and out of her, eyes closed, and she whispered him on, told him how sexy he was, how strong he was, how safe she felt with him. It was when she started talking about her disability, her lack of sensation,lack of movement, that his breath and his pace quickened, and soon he was cuming again, thrusting deeply into her numb sex and crying out, back arched, sweat beading up on his muscular shoulders.
He collapsed beside her, panting, moaning with pleasure. She lay there, unable to move, just listening to him breathing. She wasn't done - she wanted more. She wanted to feel those strong hands caressing her face, her neck, running through her hair. She waited for his breathing to subside a bit.
"Derek." she said, a sultry whisper.
"Yes lover?" he replied, rolling his head to look at her.
"I want.." she started, but he smiled. Reached up and started stroking her head, running his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. She didn't open them again until after she was wracked with a deep, wonderful orgasm, moaning her satisfaction.
Michelle wheeled into the dining room, Derek having dressed her in a short skirt and t-shirt with knee socks and slippers. Before he arrived, Melissa walked over to her with the appearance of helping her park at the table, but whispered 'May I change my diaper, Mistress?". Michelle nodded with a smile, then added "You may not masturbate. Just change your diaper. Understood?" A combination of excitement and disappointment crossed her slaves face, and Michelle quickly added "I'll take care of that for you, soon." Melissa headed happily to the lavatory to change.
Dinner was a wonderful affair, with Derek happily feeding Michelle chicken and pasta and wine, wiping her chin when he needed to. Melissa was there serving, but stayed out of the way. There was a happiness on her face as well, Michelle thought, just being part of this bizarre little 'family'.
After dinner, Michelle decided that she wanted to watch a movie. Derek set it up for her, but then instead of sitting to watch with her, he headed into the kitchen with his briefcase. He talked to Melissa for a solid fifteen or twenty minutes, then returned to watch the movie. Michelle was curious, and a little concerned, though she didn't know whether she'd feel jealousy towards Derek or Melissa at this point.
"What was all that?" she asked, the fear creeping into her voice.
"What - with Melissa? Just some contracts love, for being a full time live-in caregiver. Didn't I tell you she'd be staying here?"
"Staying where - here in the house?" Michelle said, her eyes wide.
"Yes - to help care for you, just until I'm able to quit my job completely. I hope that's OK? I'm sorry if I didn't..."
"Oh no, it's fine. Wonderful in fact. I'm glad she'll be here - just in case, you know? It makes me feel more..." 'Horny' was what she wanted to say, but 'confident' is what ended up coming out...
Bedtime came far too quickly, but after he got her ready for bed and lay her on her pillows, he began playing with her hair and kissing her neck and cheeks and ears, getting her very excited, all worked up. He stroked her hair, then began gentle pulling and playful tugging, slowly and sensually building it up. finally he was pulling her hair, tugging at it, and kissing her full on the lips, his hot tongue probing her mouth erotically. she came again, loud and strong - at least as strong as a quadriplegic orgasm could be. It felt strong to her, that was what mattered.
When he was sure she was done and satisfied, Derek repositioned her body for her, then took her limp feet in his hands. She watched him rubbing his cock with her soft, limp feet, jerking himself off slowly, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation her crippled feet were providing. His pace picked up and Michelle's legs wobbled with the effort, until finally he came again, shooting hot warm cum all over her useless feet. He collapsed to the bed, breathing heavy, and went to clean off her feet.
"No, don't..." she said, causing him to stop reaching for the washcloth. "I want to keep it on there. Can you help me lick it off?"
Derek obliged gladly, gently taking Michelle's limp leg and flexing it carefully so that she could lick the salty-sweet semen off her own limp foot. She did so greedily, then Derek put her foot back down and tucked her in. Sleep came soon after.
Michelle, guided by her sexy 'slave' Melissa, spent the next several hours staring at the computer screen, exploring the various worlds of the BD/SM scene. The levels and depths of this world amazed and excited her. Her first and only 'kinky' sexual encounter, with her husband Derek, had left her a quadriplegic, confined to her power wheelchair for the rest of her life, but it had also awakened feelings and desires in her that she never really knew existed. Feelings and appetites she was still trying to get used to.
Melissa was her dutiful slave girl, a fact that turned Michelle on more than she cared to admit. Anything Michelle wanted, no matter how menial or degrading, Melissa would do it instantly, happily. From changing her diapers to kissing her feet to getting her a drink, Melissa would jump to it, always with a smile, always with a 'Yes Mistress'.
Michelle saw websites about extreme bondage, spanking, latex, foot worship, leather, blood play, violet wands, costume play, and so many other things. Some turned her on to a huge degree, others did not, some even bothered and disturned her. Melissa even showed her a few sites that focused on women with disabilities, something that didn't surprise her nearly as much as she thought it should, but given Dereks' confessions to her and the rather extreme route he took to make his fantasy for a helplessly disabled wife come true she supposed it was natural that he wasn't the only person with that interest.
After several hours of exploring the various BD/SM subcultures with Melissa, a woman she now identified with as her submissive, her 'slave', Michelle began to feel not only aroused, but for the first time in her life she began to feel empowered. Yes, she was a complete quadriplegic, paralyzed from her neck down and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, but with Melissa, there was something more, something stirring deep within her.
"Slave." she said, sounding much more calm than her rapidly beating heart would indicate. Melissa stopped everything and looked at her.
"Yes Mistress?" she said eagerly.
"Sit on my lap, facing me."
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, her breath quickening. She carefully straddled Michelle's limp legs and wheelchair, spreading her own legs wide and balancing so that she was facing Michelle, her naked breasts almost even with Michelle's mouth.
"Now, start playing with my hair. Gently, softly." Michelle said. Melissa complied, running her fingers through Michelle's hair, breathing heavy. Her fingers traced though Michelle's hair with purpose, tracing sensual lines over Michelle's sensitive scalp. Brushing against Michelle's ears made her heart beat quicker, made her cheeks flush.
"Harder." she breathed, and felt Melissa immediately start to tug at her hair, run her nails through it, across her scalp. Michelle was breathing fast now, heavy, excited, incredibly aroused. She panted half-commands to Melissa and her slave obeyed, until Michelle was on the verge of orgasm, her quadriplegic body reacting in the only ways it could to the intense erotic stimulation.
"Closer." Michelle panted, until her mouth was just about reaching Melissa's breasts. Michelle moved her head forward an inch and began to kiss and lick Melissa's breasts. Melissa moaned and shivered a bit, but continued pulling at Michelle's hair and playing with her neck and ears and face. Michelle was driven to ecstasy and continued kissing and licking and sucking all the sensitive parts of her slave that she could reach.
Michelle tried to hold out but finally let out a loud gasp and shriek of pleasure as the 'quadgasm' ripped through her. She panted and tried to finish playing with Melissa's breasts, but she couldn't manage it - the orgasm and arousal had caused her to lose what little control of her body she had left.
Melissa didn't say anything, she just stroked Michelle's hair gently as she got off her lap. "May I kiss Mistress?" she asked, and Michelle nodded, smiling and still breathing heavily. Melissa kissed her on the cheek, then held her head and kissed her deeply on the lips. The two women kissed deeply, passionately, tongues probing hot and moist, until finally the embrace was broken. Melissa knelt before her quadriplegic mistress and lay her head on Michelle's paralyzed lap, sighing deeply.
"I love you Mistress." she said softly. Michelle didn't reply.
"Please get dressed in your proper uniform." Michelle said an hour later. Derek would be home in a little over an hour, and she wasn't ready to let him know about any of this.
"As you wish Mistress." was Melissa's reply. "Is there anything else Mistress woud like?" she asked hopefully, eyes wide. Michelle wasn't sure what she meant, but then remembered from the websites that a Mistress would force her slave to wear some charm or token that indicated ownership, dominance. Michelle didn't have anything like that, but she did have....
"Under your uniform, you are to wear one of my bulky overnight diapers." she said finally. Melissa smiled broadly. "And you are not to urinate in the toilet, only your diaper, and you will ask my permission before changing it."
"Of course Mistress." Melissa said, her eyes full of desire. "As you wish, my love."
Derek got home to find his quadriplegic wife sitting in her wheelchair watching a DVD and Melissa, her aide, preparing dinner. Michelle was dressed very sexy - stockings and a short skirt, no shoes, and Derek could tell she wore a padded diaper just for him. He kissed her warmly on the cheek, but her eyes wanted more, so he kissed her on the lips and was greeted by a deeply passionate kiss that lasted much longer than he was accustomed to.
"I need my diaper changed." she said into his ear as she took her mouth control between her lips and drove out of the living room and down the wide hallway. Derek followed excitedly. Melissa didn't even look up from her work, but she had a smile on her face and felt arousal as she urinated into her diaper.
Derek was undressed before the door was fully shut, and Michelle's mouth was reaching greedily for his cock. She was still so aroused from her day with Melissa, exploring her newfound power, that she just wanted more. Derek slipped his rock hard cock into her waiting mouth and grabbed her by the hair, gripping firmly and nearly making her cum right then and there. He took control then, pushing and pulling her head as she sucked and licked his white hot shaft.
It only took a few minutes and Michelle felt Derek go rigid, then he shot cum into her mouth, down her throat in hot spurts. He moaned loudly and released her hair from his grasp, and her head plopped back onto her plush headrest. Derek had her out of the wheelchair and onto the king sized bed in no time, and was spreading Melissa's limp legs as she watched, panting and wanting so badly to reach out, to grab his hard cock in her hands, to run her fingers through his hair... But she lay there, her body not obeying a single command, and somehow she was more aroused because of that.
As an able bodied woman her sex life was lackluster at best. Now that she was crippled, confined to a wheelchair, she had two amazing lovers and a newfound sexual identity she had never even guessed at...
Derek was inside her now, holding one of her floppy legs up, cradled under her knee. He thrust his hard cock in and out of her, eyes closed, and she whispered him on, told him how sexy he was, how strong he was, how safe she felt with him. It was when she started talking about her disability, her lack of sensation,lack of movement, that his breath and his pace quickened, and soon he was cuming again, thrusting deeply into her numb sex and crying out, back arched, sweat beading up on his muscular shoulders.
He collapsed beside her, panting, moaning with pleasure. She lay there, unable to move, just listening to him breathing. She wasn't done - she wanted more. She wanted to feel those strong hands caressing her face, her neck, running through her hair. She waited for his breathing to subside a bit.
"Derek." she said, a sultry whisper.
"Yes lover?" he replied, rolling his head to look at her.
"I want.." she started, but he smiled. Reached up and started stroking her head, running his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. She didn't open them again until after she was wracked with a deep, wonderful orgasm, moaning her satisfaction.
Michelle wheeled into the dining room, Derek having dressed her in a short skirt and t-shirt with knee socks and slippers. Before he arrived, Melissa walked over to her with the appearance of helping her park at the table, but whispered 'May I change my diaper, Mistress?". Michelle nodded with a smile, then added "You may not masturbate. Just change your diaper. Understood?" A combination of excitement and disappointment crossed her slaves face, and Michelle quickly added "I'll take care of that for you, soon." Melissa headed happily to the lavatory to change.
Dinner was a wonderful affair, with Derek happily feeding Michelle chicken and pasta and wine, wiping her chin when he needed to. Melissa was there serving, but stayed out of the way. There was a happiness on her face as well, Michelle thought, just being part of this bizarre little 'family'.
After dinner, Michelle decided that she wanted to watch a movie. Derek set it up for her, but then instead of sitting to watch with her, he headed into the kitchen with his briefcase. He talked to Melissa for a solid fifteen or twenty minutes, then returned to watch the movie. Michelle was curious, and a little concerned, though she didn't know whether she'd feel jealousy towards Derek or Melissa at this point.
"What was all that?" she asked, the fear creeping into her voice.
"What - with Melissa? Just some contracts love, for being a full time live-in caregiver. Didn't I tell you she'd be staying here?"
"Staying where - here in the house?" Michelle said, her eyes wide.
"Yes - to help care for you, just until I'm able to quit my job completely. I hope that's OK? I'm sorry if I didn't..."
"Oh no, it's fine. Wonderful in fact. I'm glad she'll be here - just in case, you know? It makes me feel more..." 'Horny' was what she wanted to say, but 'confident' is what ended up coming out...
Bedtime came far too quickly, but after he got her ready for bed and lay her on her pillows, he began playing with her hair and kissing her neck and cheeks and ears, getting her very excited, all worked up. He stroked her hair, then began gentle pulling and playful tugging, slowly and sensually building it up. finally he was pulling her hair, tugging at it, and kissing her full on the lips, his hot tongue probing her mouth erotically. she came again, loud and strong - at least as strong as a quadriplegic orgasm could be. It felt strong to her, that was what mattered.
When he was sure she was done and satisfied, Derek repositioned her body for her, then took her limp feet in his hands. She watched him rubbing his cock with her soft, limp feet, jerking himself off slowly, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation her crippled feet were providing. His pace picked up and Michelle's legs wobbled with the effort, until finally he came again, shooting hot warm cum all over her useless feet. He collapsed to the bed, breathing heavy, and went to clean off her feet.
"No, don't..." she said, causing him to stop reaching for the washcloth. "I want to keep it on there. Can you help me lick it off?"
Derek obliged gladly, gently taking Michelle's limp leg and flexing it carefully so that she could lick the salty-sweet semen off her own limp foot. She did so greedily, then Derek put her foot back down and tucked her in. Sleep came soon after.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
BLOG - Still alive
Yes, I'm still alive, not updating as much as I originally planned to, sorry about that. I'll try to be better :)
A quick update - I'm currently writing the next chapter of 'New Arrangement', I am making every effort to get that done and posted by end of week. No promises though.
The flash fiction exercises have slowed as I haven't been at my computer a lot, and I've been spending a bit more time with no hands/fingers with which to type, so that slows things down as well. I tried writing something quick using only my toes, but it simply didn't work, sadly. I'd need a lot more practice before I can pull that off.
Other than that, we're just enjoying the summer weather and an unusual amount of together-time, as our schedules are somewhat synchronous right now. At least more synchronous than they usually are, with me on my bastardized second shift and her on an overtime-laden first shift.
Thanks to everyone for the emails and such, I'll try my best to keep up with the blog now, as time allows...
A quick update - I'm currently writing the next chapter of 'New Arrangement', I am making every effort to get that done and posted by end of week. No promises though.
The flash fiction exercises have slowed as I haven't been at my computer a lot, and I've been spending a bit more time with no hands/fingers with which to type, so that slows things down as well. I tried writing something quick using only my toes, but it simply didn't work, sadly. I'd need a lot more practice before I can pull that off.
Other than that, we're just enjoying the summer weather and an unusual amount of together-time, as our schedules are somewhat synchronous right now. At least more synchronous than they usually are, with me on my bastardized second shift and her on an overtime-laden first shift.
Thanks to everyone for the emails and such, I'll try my best to keep up with the blog now, as time allows...
Monday, August 17, 2009
BLOG - so yeah, anyway....
I'm not deleting Heather's post - we were both a little drunk, but I don't think it was that bad. There ARE a lot of pervs in this subculture, if you don't agree you're living in denial. But I've met a lot of really nice people too, and made some good friends, so it balances out, you know?
Had a fun and exciting weekend overall. Did some blindsimming on Saturday and the amputee thing yesterday, a lot of foot play for Heather. The weather was nice so we did go out lot, enjoying the weather, went out to have ice cream together (me in my chair) and all kinds of stuff.
I'll probably try more flash fiction this week, and I've got another full story about halfway done, it's one of those things that I work on when I get inspired.
Had a fun and exciting weekend overall. Did some blindsimming on Saturday and the amputee thing yesterday, a lot of foot play for Heather. The weather was nice so we did go out lot, enjoying the weather, went out to have ice cream together (me in my chair) and all kinds of stuff.
I'll probably try more flash fiction this week, and I've got another full story about halfway done, it's one of those things that I work on when I get inspired.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
blog - typiong with my toes
i am typing this entirelywith my tose - actually with a pencil griped between them. its hard as hell. heather is going nuts over it though.
Hi all you readers. There really is a Heather - that's me. I've got Cathy's arms bound up again, and I just stole the keyboard and there's not a ot she can do about it, LOL. I did it this morning and I'm making her use her feet for everything - EVERYTHING. And no you can't have a picture - stop asking her that!
Ta Ta!
Heather & Cathy
PS - Cathy is yelling at me as I type this, but I do think a lot of you are pervs. Some of you seem really sweet, but I think a lot of you are total pervs. Don't worry, Cathy is too, believe me. She'll probably delete this once I give her her arms back, but for now... LOL!
Hi all you readers. There really is a Heather - that's me. I've got Cathy's arms bound up again, and I just stole the keyboard and there's not a ot she can do about it, LOL. I did it this morning and I'm making her use her feet for everything - EVERYTHING. And no you can't have a picture - stop asking her that!
Ta Ta!
Heather & Cathy
PS - Cathy is yelling at me as I type this, but I do think a lot of you are pervs. Some of you seem really sweet, but I think a lot of you are total pervs. Don't worry, Cathy is too, believe me. She'll probably delete this once I give her her arms back, but for now... LOL!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
BLOG - Another Flash
Did a story today, another 'Flash Fiction' exercise that went a LOT differently than I had thought it would. The concept was simple - I would imagine I was newly injured, low level quadriplegic, and it was my first day back at work after the accident.
Well, it went in a much different direction that I initially thought it would - much more bitter, but much more realistic I think. I don't think I was writing from the standpoint of 'me', the wannabe and fetishist. I actually seemed to almost channel what a 'normal' woman would feel if she were in that situation.
She doesn't actually get to work in the story - it's her morning routine, mostly, and her reflections on her situation. As with the last and my 'rules' for flash fiction, I wrote it in a little over an hour, no edits or rewrites, just a standard spell check.
I'm curious to know what people think.
Well, it went in a much different direction that I initially thought it would - much more bitter, but much more realistic I think. I don't think I was writing from the standpoint of 'me', the wannabe and fetishist. I actually seemed to almost channel what a 'normal' woman would feel if she were in that situation.
She doesn't actually get to work in the story - it's her morning routine, mostly, and her reflections on her situation. As with the last and my 'rules' for flash fiction, I wrote it in a little over an hour, no edits or rewrites, just a standard spell check.
I'm curious to know what people think.
STORY - First Day Back
Flash Fiction - First Day Back by ParaCathy
Cathy used her wrists and palms to grasp the soft sheets, tossing them to the side and uncovering herself. She pushed herself up with some effort, using her forearms and elbows as she learned in rehab, until she was sitting, then pulled her limp, numb lower body a foot, so she was leaning against the oak headboard.
It was her first day back at work since the accident, and she was nervous, couldn't sleep. She woke up an hour before her alarm, which was already set an hour earlier than it had been before... before her jogging accident, before her broken back, before...
She looked to her left, to the chrome and black wheelchair that sat there, wheels locked, ready to carry her, to take her wherever she needed to go. She focused back on her normal routine, the routine that had been drilled into her over weeks and weeks of rehab.
Her braces were first, and she used her wrists and mouth to pull on the nylon and plastic splints, holding her wrists rigid, her lifeless fingers curled against her palm. She pressed the Velcro closures and then went to work on her diaper. It was a bulky overnight diaper that she hated, but also understood she needed. Changing her sheets every other day would be much more taxing - and more embarrassing, considering the reason behind it. She remembered the first time she saw the nurses change her sheets after she had wet them, and blushed a little, embarrassed at the memory.
Using her braced wrists and hands, she was able to remove the nighttime diaper and dispose if it, then took out some cleansing wipes and cleaned herself. There was no feeling, no sensation, nothing at all any more, not from her nipples down. Feet, legs, sex, stomach - it was all just numb now, useless. It was still her, of course - her body, her parts - but they were different now. She was different now.
Her panties were next. No more exotic thongs, though. She pulled open her nightstand drawer using the pull-loop that Miranda had added to it for her. Pulled out a pair of pink cotton panties and a 'protective undergarment' - a fancy way to say a small diaper, again in case she didn't cath in time, or her schedule was off a little. She struggled first to pull her limp left leg up until her knee just about hit her chest, then struggled with her mostly useless hands to get the panties on over her curled left foot. She did it, then pulled up the right leg and, after a few tries, finally got that leg into the panties too. Then it was just using her braced wrists to pull the panties up her unmoving legs, until they were up to her thighs. She slipped in the padded diaper insert and pulled them all the way up, rolling her hips side to side clumsily to get them all the way up.
Her bra was next - no more Victoria Secret for her. No way she could manage the clasps. She pulled an adapted bra over her head and pushed her arms through it, then used her braced wrists to pull and push it into place over her full - though half numb - breasts.
This process had already taken a full twenty five minutes and Cathy was feeling frustrated. She hadn't even made it into her wheelchair yet, hadn't even tried getting her stockings on. She had don it a few times in rehab, as she liked wearing stockings and pantyhose, but she knew it would be hard, that she might not even manage it.
She pulled a pair of nude pantyhose from her drawer and began the laborious process of scrunching them up onto her limp hands. First her left leg, floppy dead weight. She pulled the scrunched hose over her curled foot and began pulling it up past her ankle, to her calf, using her wrists and braced palms. Then the same process for the right leg, scrunching the hose over her crippled hands, then pulling the stretchy material over her unfeeling foot, up her leg, matching the level of the left. Then she pulled and slid and manipulated her stockings, her legs, her half-dead hands, to get the hose up her limp legs, up to her hips, tugging and pulling, rolling her hips from side to side like they showed her in rehab. Smoothing the stockings out with her braced hands, her wrists.
It took her another half hour. Thirty two minutes, to be exact - she was keeping track on the digital clock by the bedside. Thirty two minutes to put on a pair of nude colored pantyhose. And they still didn't set right on her right foot, the toe was noticeably crooked, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to fix it. She was just satisfied, even proud, that she had gotten it done all by herself. Something so simple a few months ago, barely a second thought in her daily routine, but now....
Cathy grabbed her smooth transfer board from the bedside and propped it between the bed and her wheelchair, pushing thoughts of 'before' out of her head. It would drive her to madness, thinking of 'before', because with a broken back and a diagnosis of low-level quadriplegic there was no 'before'. There was just 'here and now'. Just ugly words like 'wheelchair' and 'cripple' and 'catheter' and 'assisted devices'.
She began the slow, careful transfer into her wheelchair, first setting the transfer board firmly, moving her buttocks onto it, slipping her already atrophied legs off the bed limply, getting her balance - or what was left of it. She pushed with one braced hand, pulled with the other, slid her bottom over the smooth transfer board into the seat of her wheelchair. Seat belt first - she made that mistake already, second day home, and toppled to the floor. The Velcro belt was secured in place, then she started pulling her legs into the chair's legrests. Positioning them as best she could, though her toes always flopped and pointed in odd directions now. Not very ladylike, but then again was she even still a lady? Or just some 'thing' in a chair, numb and lifeless from her nipples down? The things that made her a woman now foreign to her, familiar yet distant, like an aunt you remember form childhood but haven't seen in decades.
She moved the transfer board back to it's spot by the bed and pushed on the knobbed rims of her manual chair, using the strength in her biceps and triceps to move herself, turning towards the door. She could have had a power chair - probably should have had a power chair. Hell, wished she had a power chair the first time she wheeled over moderate carpet, and Miranda's parent's house. She had to ask for help, she couldn't get the chair moving once it had stopped. Too much resistance from that plush carpeting. She cried that night on the way home. Miranda held her hand, but she barely felt it.
She made it to the bathroom and started that process. Pulling down her pantyhose, then her panties and diaper, took a while, but wasn't as difficult in her chair. She took out the catheter, cleaned everything as she was expected to, and then proceeded to 'do her business'. The color looked OK, no infections or other things to call the doctor about. She still had a hard time getting used to things like that, checking her pee. Just part of the deal now - lots of ways to land back in the hospital when you can't feel two thirds of your body. Infection, pressure sores, circulation problems. The doctors had gone over so many things, showed her films that were more like horror movies than medical treatments. And this was her life now.
She finished, cleaned everything, then took her 'adapted' hairbrush - that would be a regular hairbrush with a loop around the handle that cost $40 instead of the normal $8. She slowly and clumsily brushed her hair, hated the way it looked, brushed it again, made it worse, then finally got it to a point where it was at least passable. Small victories were about the best she hoped for since the accident.
Done in the bathroom she wheeled to her closet, all her clothing now hanging 'wheelchair height', and picked out a very conservative skirt and blouse. The skirt was, of course, 'adaptive clothing' - specially made for someone in a chair, someone who wouldn't be standing up in it. She pulled on the white blouse and used the 'button puller' to get it buttoned up. A simple tool, she actually thought it would have been handy even before her accident, when she could use her hands, because it made buttoning her blouse very simple. After her blouse, she took the skirt - Velcro closures and a specially cut waist helped her to get it on without too much struggle, though it still took her nearly ten minutes to get it on and fastened properly. She pushed herself to the floor length mirror and looked at herself.
She tried to see 'Cathy' - her face, the curve of her breasts, the fall of her auburn hair. Instead she saw the wheelchair. She saw her useless legs. She saw the braces on her hands. She saw her curled feet. She saw the silver SUV that had thrown her twelve feet into the air as she was jogging, shattering her spine. She saw the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She turned her eyes away.
She wheeled to the kitchen and started the coffee, then took out some bread and slid it into the toaster. Everything was 'adapted' for her, true, but it was still a pain in the ass. Just putting something within easy reach didn't really make it easier for someone who couldn't move or feel her fingers, she thought bitterly, grabbing a coffee mug between her wrists and placing it under the Keurig machine. Once it was heated up, she dropped a K-Cup into the hopper and hit the flashing button, the machine whirring to life and brewing her morning coffee.
She ate her toast and slowly drank her coffee, watching CNN, talking heads debating about something or someone she had never heard of. She used to be so interested in the news, wanting to sound 'informed' and 'worldly'. Now her world was very different, and she really didn't care about those things any more. Her world was about getting through the day without falling out of her wheelchair or spilling her drink all over herself or pissing herself. that was about the biggest deal in world events she could handle at this point.
Things would get better, that was the mantra in rehab. Not her legs, not her hands, but 'things'. They meant, of course, that with practice and rehab and exercise and adherence to a 'program', living with her disability would get better, be more managable, daily tasks would seem less daunting. But that was after years. Maybe three or four of five of them. ans some things she would never 'get used to'. Never just 'accept and move on'. That was from Mike, one of her rehab coaches, who had been a paraplegic for a decade. A decade in a chair, and the only ray of hope he could give her was 'It will get better, but it will take a few years, at least'. Awesome.
And it was her first day back at work.
She wheeled to the door and reached over to the plant stand she had converted to her 'easy-reach shoe storage'. She only had one pair of 'approved' shoes, black leather things that were 'good for her feet' and 'protective' but looked like an elderly librarian had designed them. She lifted her limp left leg first and slipped the shoe onto her curled foot, making sure her toes weren't pinched or twisted, then placed her foot back onto the foot bar. She did the Same for the right, almost dropping the shoe but catching it by pressing it between her left leg and forearm, then struggling to manipulate it back into position. She got it on and placed her foot back on her footrest, trying to position her feet 'normally', but no matter what she tried they always slid or flopped back into looking 'wrong' - curled and turned in at her ankles. She stopped fidgeting with them in annoyed defeat and wheeled to her desk, rummaging through her paperwork, making sure she had her door card, her ID badge. Work had elevators and ramps, she wasn't worried about that nearly as much as what her co-workers would do, what they would say. She was going to feel like she was in an aquarium or zoo exhibit for a few weeks, she was sure.
She told herself she was ready for it, but as the clock ticked closer and closer to the time she had to meet the car they were sending, the wheelchair accessible transport they were providing until she got her license back, she wasn't as sure. She was starting to feel nervous. Afraid.
The clock struck eight thirty and she wheeled out of her apartment, taking her keys and placing her leather bag on her lap. She wheeled down the hall, pushing against the knobs on her rims with her braced palms, and reached the front door. She pressed her door card to the panel on the wall and it swung open for her. She saw the 'car' - an adapted mini-van with the side lift already down and waiting for her - and wheeled up to it , forcing a smile at the driver, and elderly gentleman. He locked her chair to the lift and raised her up eight inches, then she wheeled into the vehicle and loced her chair by the window. The lift folded in and the doors closed, and she was suddenly on her way...
Cathy used her wrists and palms to grasp the soft sheets, tossing them to the side and uncovering herself. She pushed herself up with some effort, using her forearms and elbows as she learned in rehab, until she was sitting, then pulled her limp, numb lower body a foot, so she was leaning against the oak headboard.
It was her first day back at work since the accident, and she was nervous, couldn't sleep. She woke up an hour before her alarm, which was already set an hour earlier than it had been before... before her jogging accident, before her broken back, before...
She looked to her left, to the chrome and black wheelchair that sat there, wheels locked, ready to carry her, to take her wherever she needed to go. She focused back on her normal routine, the routine that had been drilled into her over weeks and weeks of rehab.
Her braces were first, and she used her wrists and mouth to pull on the nylon and plastic splints, holding her wrists rigid, her lifeless fingers curled against her palm. She pressed the Velcro closures and then went to work on her diaper. It was a bulky overnight diaper that she hated, but also understood she needed. Changing her sheets every other day would be much more taxing - and more embarrassing, considering the reason behind it. She remembered the first time she saw the nurses change her sheets after she had wet them, and blushed a little, embarrassed at the memory.
Using her braced wrists and hands, she was able to remove the nighttime diaper and dispose if it, then took out some cleansing wipes and cleaned herself. There was no feeling, no sensation, nothing at all any more, not from her nipples down. Feet, legs, sex, stomach - it was all just numb now, useless. It was still her, of course - her body, her parts - but they were different now. She was different now.
Her panties were next. No more exotic thongs, though. She pulled open her nightstand drawer using the pull-loop that Miranda had added to it for her. Pulled out a pair of pink cotton panties and a 'protective undergarment' - a fancy way to say a small diaper, again in case she didn't cath in time, or her schedule was off a little. She struggled first to pull her limp left leg up until her knee just about hit her chest, then struggled with her mostly useless hands to get the panties on over her curled left foot. She did it, then pulled up the right leg and, after a few tries, finally got that leg into the panties too. Then it was just using her braced wrists to pull the panties up her unmoving legs, until they were up to her thighs. She slipped in the padded diaper insert and pulled them all the way up, rolling her hips side to side clumsily to get them all the way up.
Her bra was next - no more Victoria Secret for her. No way she could manage the clasps. She pulled an adapted bra over her head and pushed her arms through it, then used her braced wrists to pull and push it into place over her full - though half numb - breasts.
This process had already taken a full twenty five minutes and Cathy was feeling frustrated. She hadn't even made it into her wheelchair yet, hadn't even tried getting her stockings on. She had don it a few times in rehab, as she liked wearing stockings and pantyhose, but she knew it would be hard, that she might not even manage it.
She pulled a pair of nude pantyhose from her drawer and began the laborious process of scrunching them up onto her limp hands. First her left leg, floppy dead weight. She pulled the scrunched hose over her curled foot and began pulling it up past her ankle, to her calf, using her wrists and braced palms. Then the same process for the right leg, scrunching the hose over her crippled hands, then pulling the stretchy material over her unfeeling foot, up her leg, matching the level of the left. Then she pulled and slid and manipulated her stockings, her legs, her half-dead hands, to get the hose up her limp legs, up to her hips, tugging and pulling, rolling her hips from side to side like they showed her in rehab. Smoothing the stockings out with her braced hands, her wrists.
It took her another half hour. Thirty two minutes, to be exact - she was keeping track on the digital clock by the bedside. Thirty two minutes to put on a pair of nude colored pantyhose. And they still didn't set right on her right foot, the toe was noticeably crooked, but she didn't have the energy or the patience to fix it. She was just satisfied, even proud, that she had gotten it done all by herself. Something so simple a few months ago, barely a second thought in her daily routine, but now....
Cathy grabbed her smooth transfer board from the bedside and propped it between the bed and her wheelchair, pushing thoughts of 'before' out of her head. It would drive her to madness, thinking of 'before', because with a broken back and a diagnosis of low-level quadriplegic there was no 'before'. There was just 'here and now'. Just ugly words like 'wheelchair' and 'cripple' and 'catheter' and 'assisted devices'.
She began the slow, careful transfer into her wheelchair, first setting the transfer board firmly, moving her buttocks onto it, slipping her already atrophied legs off the bed limply, getting her balance - or what was left of it. She pushed with one braced hand, pulled with the other, slid her bottom over the smooth transfer board into the seat of her wheelchair. Seat belt first - she made that mistake already, second day home, and toppled to the floor. The Velcro belt was secured in place, then she started pulling her legs into the chair's legrests. Positioning them as best she could, though her toes always flopped and pointed in odd directions now. Not very ladylike, but then again was she even still a lady? Or just some 'thing' in a chair, numb and lifeless from her nipples down? The things that made her a woman now foreign to her, familiar yet distant, like an aunt you remember form childhood but haven't seen in decades.
She moved the transfer board back to it's spot by the bed and pushed on the knobbed rims of her manual chair, using the strength in her biceps and triceps to move herself, turning towards the door. She could have had a power chair - probably should have had a power chair. Hell, wished she had a power chair the first time she wheeled over moderate carpet, and Miranda's parent's house. She had to ask for help, she couldn't get the chair moving once it had stopped. Too much resistance from that plush carpeting. She cried that night on the way home. Miranda held her hand, but she barely felt it.
She made it to the bathroom and started that process. Pulling down her pantyhose, then her panties and diaper, took a while, but wasn't as difficult in her chair. She took out the catheter, cleaned everything as she was expected to, and then proceeded to 'do her business'. The color looked OK, no infections or other things to call the doctor about. She still had a hard time getting used to things like that, checking her pee. Just part of the deal now - lots of ways to land back in the hospital when you can't feel two thirds of your body. Infection, pressure sores, circulation problems. The doctors had gone over so many things, showed her films that were more like horror movies than medical treatments. And this was her life now.
She finished, cleaned everything, then took her 'adapted' hairbrush - that would be a regular hairbrush with a loop around the handle that cost $40 instead of the normal $8. She slowly and clumsily brushed her hair, hated the way it looked, brushed it again, made it worse, then finally got it to a point where it was at least passable. Small victories were about the best she hoped for since the accident.
Done in the bathroom she wheeled to her closet, all her clothing now hanging 'wheelchair height', and picked out a very conservative skirt and blouse. The skirt was, of course, 'adaptive clothing' - specially made for someone in a chair, someone who wouldn't be standing up in it. She pulled on the white blouse and used the 'button puller' to get it buttoned up. A simple tool, she actually thought it would have been handy even before her accident, when she could use her hands, because it made buttoning her blouse very simple. After her blouse, she took the skirt - Velcro closures and a specially cut waist helped her to get it on without too much struggle, though it still took her nearly ten minutes to get it on and fastened properly. She pushed herself to the floor length mirror and looked at herself.
She tried to see 'Cathy' - her face, the curve of her breasts, the fall of her auburn hair. Instead she saw the wheelchair. She saw her useless legs. She saw the braces on her hands. She saw her curled feet. She saw the silver SUV that had thrown her twelve feet into the air as she was jogging, shattering her spine. She saw the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She turned her eyes away.
She wheeled to the kitchen and started the coffee, then took out some bread and slid it into the toaster. Everything was 'adapted' for her, true, but it was still a pain in the ass. Just putting something within easy reach didn't really make it easier for someone who couldn't move or feel her fingers, she thought bitterly, grabbing a coffee mug between her wrists and placing it under the Keurig machine. Once it was heated up, she dropped a K-Cup into the hopper and hit the flashing button, the machine whirring to life and brewing her morning coffee.
She ate her toast and slowly drank her coffee, watching CNN, talking heads debating about something or someone she had never heard of. She used to be so interested in the news, wanting to sound 'informed' and 'worldly'. Now her world was very different, and she really didn't care about those things any more. Her world was about getting through the day without falling out of her wheelchair or spilling her drink all over herself or pissing herself. that was about the biggest deal in world events she could handle at this point.
Things would get better, that was the mantra in rehab. Not her legs, not her hands, but 'things'. They meant, of course, that with practice and rehab and exercise and adherence to a 'program', living with her disability would get better, be more managable, daily tasks would seem less daunting. But that was after years. Maybe three or four of five of them. ans some things she would never 'get used to'. Never just 'accept and move on'. That was from Mike, one of her rehab coaches, who had been a paraplegic for a decade. A decade in a chair, and the only ray of hope he could give her was 'It will get better, but it will take a few years, at least'. Awesome.
And it was her first day back at work.
She wheeled to the door and reached over to the plant stand she had converted to her 'easy-reach shoe storage'. She only had one pair of 'approved' shoes, black leather things that were 'good for her feet' and 'protective' but looked like an elderly librarian had designed them. She lifted her limp left leg first and slipped the shoe onto her curled foot, making sure her toes weren't pinched or twisted, then placed her foot back onto the foot bar. She did the Same for the right, almost dropping the shoe but catching it by pressing it between her left leg and forearm, then struggling to manipulate it back into position. She got it on and placed her foot back on her footrest, trying to position her feet 'normally', but no matter what she tried they always slid or flopped back into looking 'wrong' - curled and turned in at her ankles. She stopped fidgeting with them in annoyed defeat and wheeled to her desk, rummaging through her paperwork, making sure she had her door card, her ID badge. Work had elevators and ramps, she wasn't worried about that nearly as much as what her co-workers would do, what they would say. She was going to feel like she was in an aquarium or zoo exhibit for a few weeks, she was sure.
She told herself she was ready for it, but as the clock ticked closer and closer to the time she had to meet the car they were sending, the wheelchair accessible transport they were providing until she got her license back, she wasn't as sure. She was starting to feel nervous. Afraid.
The clock struck eight thirty and she wheeled out of her apartment, taking her keys and placing her leather bag on her lap. She wheeled down the hall, pushing against the knobs on her rims with her braced palms, and reached the front door. She pressed her door card to the panel on the wall and it swung open for her. She saw the 'car' - an adapted mini-van with the side lift already down and waiting for her - and wheeled up to it , forcing a smile at the driver, and elderly gentleman. He locked her chair to the lift and raised her up eight inches, then she wheeled into the vehicle and loced her chair by the window. The lift folded in and the doors closed, and she was suddenly on her way...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Blog - Twitter feed
I'm going to start using Twitter a bit more, and I've linked this blog to my Twitter feed, so any blog post I make should automatically be posted to Twitter as well, in case anyone was following me.
BLOG - Flash Fiction
I've started trying a new idea for my writing. The concept is to just take an idea and create a really short story around it, just write it out in one sitting, no edits or rewrites or rethinks, nothing more than spelling or minor grammar corrections, and then publish it.
I tried it today and I like the result - it's posted in the previous entry. It's called 'Tit for Tat' and I wrote it in about 45 minutes, one sitting, no edits, I just did a spell check at the end and published it. It's extreme and kind of crazy and lacks a lot of detail, but what's there is the pure, raw concept of my idea brought into focus. Two women with a disability fetish and a mean streak, having at one another. Who will win? Well - we all do, I guess :)
I tried it today and I like the result - it's posted in the previous entry. It's called 'Tit for Tat' and I wrote it in about 45 minutes, one sitting, no edits, I just did a spell check at the end and published it. It's extreme and kind of crazy and lacks a lot of detail, but what's there is the pure, raw concept of my idea brought into focus. Two women with a disability fetish and a mean streak, having at one another. Who will win? Well - we all do, I guess :)
STORY - Tit for Tat
Tit for Tat - By Paragirl
I feel my way to the bed, crawling slowly across the floor. My legs are dead - they have been for a week, at least. The eyes are new, though, and I know this blindness is permanent, just like the legs.
I know she's watching me, on the bed trying trying not to make a sound. Her arms - rather her stumps, that was my doing - wiggling and trying to reach her pussy as she watches me struggle. I'm sure she's turned on by it, by my new found helplessness. The legs were one thing - it was pretty kinky actually, waking up numb from my hips down, seeing her fucking my numb pussy with that silver dildo. Fucking my unfeeling ass over and over again while I watched. I could have been OK like that, with my dead limp legs, needing a wheelchair to get around. It still pissed me off, though - that was why I did her arms.
She wasn't as excited or understanding, waking up from her drug-induced slumber to find herself looking at perfectly round arm stumps that wiggled just beneath her shoulders. I fed her and played with her pussy, rubbing her wet clit with my floppy crippled toes, and she started getting into it, but I knew... I could see it in her eyes. I should have been more careful, I guess...
We made love often for a few days, and she really seemed to be enjoying her armless condition. She loved being fed, loved being dressed by me. She said she felt like a doll. I paid lots of attention to her pussy, too - she could feel it at least, so I took good care of her that way. My pussy was dead, numb, like it didn't even exist. I couldn't even control my pee, so I wore bulky diapers. She loved that. She'd use her feet to play with my diaper, pull it off roughly, play with my dead sex and tell me how sexy it felt. How sexy my floppy useless legs looked.
I crawled now, across the plush rug of the bedroom, - I could feel it against my naked breasts as I dragged myself, though my body 'ended' conspicuously at my navel. I haven't really gotten used to that yet, and now that I was blind, it seemed to heighten my awareness even more - my awareness of my lack of awareness, my lack of feeling, sensation, movement. How my body was just dead weight, dragging behind me, soft and heavy and useless.
I found the bed and I heard the soft sound of a spring changing shape subtly as she shifted her weight in anticipation. I could imagine how hot she was now, seeing me drag myself blindly across the room, seeing my milky white eyes and limp lifeless legs. I assumed they were milky white - that seemed like something she would do, make it more obvious, more pronounced. It was eye drops, I'm pretty sure. Something simple, and she trained herself to use her toes to pull my eyes open while I was unconscious, to drip whatever toxin she had found into both eyes. I was kind of proud, really - she had learned to do so much with her feet and toes in a very short time. That's why they were next.
I reached the bed and slowly, laboriously dragged my dead lower half up. I heard her this time. A small moan and a giggle. I imaged how my legs wiggled and flopped as I struggled up the bed. I reached out and found her foot there, warm and seductive. I used her leg as purchase to pull myself up fully onto the bed, and then crawled towards her. Kissed her legs, her thighs. I moved slowly, sensually. Kissing and licking. Feeling her all over, my fingers replacing my blind eyes. Felt the soft fur of her muff, felt a smooth dimple in her left ass cheek, felt her breathing start to get deeper, heavier.
My fingers found her stumps and I caressed and rubbed them sensually, making her moan even more. I felt her legs shifting under my body and, even though I couldn't feel a thing, couldn't see it, I knew she was playing with my clit. I kissed and caressed her stumps and her breasts and snuck one hand down to her pussy, rubbing it gently, feeling how wet and aroused she was. She was playing with my pussy with her toes and I was sucking her arm stump and fingering her. She was almost ready to cum, I could feel her heartbeat racing, feel her muscles tensing. She was completely mine now, and she let her guard down completely, as I expected.
she didn't suspect anything because I was naked, and I was crippled, and I was blind. She didn't think I was a threat. Didn't see me move my hand around to my back. Didn't see me slip the capped syringe out of my numb ass. Didn't realize what I was doing as I was feeling her ass. Didn't feel the needle slip in during her orgasm. Then she was out cold.
The operation would be more difficult without eyesight, but bilateral amputation of the feet and lower legs wasn't a very tricky procedure. Doing it by feel wouldn't be all that difficult. and the results would be so very, very satisfying...
I smiled and began.
I feel my way to the bed, crawling slowly across the floor. My legs are dead - they have been for a week, at least. The eyes are new, though, and I know this blindness is permanent, just like the legs.
I know she's watching me, on the bed trying trying not to make a sound. Her arms - rather her stumps, that was my doing - wiggling and trying to reach her pussy as she watches me struggle. I'm sure she's turned on by it, by my new found helplessness. The legs were one thing - it was pretty kinky actually, waking up numb from my hips down, seeing her fucking my numb pussy with that silver dildo. Fucking my unfeeling ass over and over again while I watched. I could have been OK like that, with my dead limp legs, needing a wheelchair to get around. It still pissed me off, though - that was why I did her arms.
She wasn't as excited or understanding, waking up from her drug-induced slumber to find herself looking at perfectly round arm stumps that wiggled just beneath her shoulders. I fed her and played with her pussy, rubbing her wet clit with my floppy crippled toes, and she started getting into it, but I knew... I could see it in her eyes. I should have been more careful, I guess...
We made love often for a few days, and she really seemed to be enjoying her armless condition. She loved being fed, loved being dressed by me. She said she felt like a doll. I paid lots of attention to her pussy, too - she could feel it at least, so I took good care of her that way. My pussy was dead, numb, like it didn't even exist. I couldn't even control my pee, so I wore bulky diapers. She loved that. She'd use her feet to play with my diaper, pull it off roughly, play with my dead sex and tell me how sexy it felt. How sexy my floppy useless legs looked.
I crawled now, across the plush rug of the bedroom, - I could feel it against my naked breasts as I dragged myself, though my body 'ended' conspicuously at my navel. I haven't really gotten used to that yet, and now that I was blind, it seemed to heighten my awareness even more - my awareness of my lack of awareness, my lack of feeling, sensation, movement. How my body was just dead weight, dragging behind me, soft and heavy and useless.
I found the bed and I heard the soft sound of a spring changing shape subtly as she shifted her weight in anticipation. I could imagine how hot she was now, seeing me drag myself blindly across the room, seeing my milky white eyes and limp lifeless legs. I assumed they were milky white - that seemed like something she would do, make it more obvious, more pronounced. It was eye drops, I'm pretty sure. Something simple, and she trained herself to use her toes to pull my eyes open while I was unconscious, to drip whatever toxin she had found into both eyes. I was kind of proud, really - she had learned to do so much with her feet and toes in a very short time. That's why they were next.
I reached the bed and slowly, laboriously dragged my dead lower half up. I heard her this time. A small moan and a giggle. I imaged how my legs wiggled and flopped as I struggled up the bed. I reached out and found her foot there, warm and seductive. I used her leg as purchase to pull myself up fully onto the bed, and then crawled towards her. Kissed her legs, her thighs. I moved slowly, sensually. Kissing and licking. Feeling her all over, my fingers replacing my blind eyes. Felt the soft fur of her muff, felt a smooth dimple in her left ass cheek, felt her breathing start to get deeper, heavier.
My fingers found her stumps and I caressed and rubbed them sensually, making her moan even more. I felt her legs shifting under my body and, even though I couldn't feel a thing, couldn't see it, I knew she was playing with my clit. I kissed and caressed her stumps and her breasts and snuck one hand down to her pussy, rubbing it gently, feeling how wet and aroused she was. She was playing with my pussy with her toes and I was sucking her arm stump and fingering her. She was almost ready to cum, I could feel her heartbeat racing, feel her muscles tensing. She was completely mine now, and she let her guard down completely, as I expected.
she didn't suspect anything because I was naked, and I was crippled, and I was blind. She didn't think I was a threat. Didn't see me move my hand around to my back. Didn't see me slip the capped syringe out of my numb ass. Didn't realize what I was doing as I was feeling her ass. Didn't feel the needle slip in during her orgasm. Then she was out cold.
The operation would be more difficult without eyesight, but bilateral amputation of the feet and lower legs wasn't a very tricky procedure. Doing it by feel wouldn't be all that difficult. and the results would be so very, very satisfying...
I smiled and began.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Chatting and Cheating?
So I chat a lot, and often those chats tend to be very sexual, erotic, kinky, just downright naughty. I never really considered that 'cheating' on heather, but lately I'm having second thoughts. Last night I had a long, hot, steamy chat that resulted in multiple orgasms. I have never seen nor met the person I was chatting with, I don't even know what she looks like, or indeed like so many internet chats if 'she' was even a 'she'.
It was just typing, that's what I've always told myself. Typing and reading and masturbating, true - but how is that different from reading some erotic story and masturbating to that? Is it? I'm not sure any more.
the real problem came last night after Heather got home and asked what I had been doing all afternoon - not in a bad way, just typical conversation, a 'how was your day' kind of query - and I lied. Looked right at her, smiled, and lied. Said I checked email and did some laundry and watched some TiVoed episodes of The Closer.
Well, I DID check email, and I DID watch half an episode of The Closer while sitting on the couch basking in the 'afterglow' of multiple orgasms and hot cyber fantasy. But I couldn't tell her. I felt like it somehow crossed a line - that all this sexual chatting crosses a very real line in my very real relationship. I could always insulate myself before, because I have a very very strict policy of never meeting or even calling people I meet online, because of really bad past experience, so I could easily tell myself there was nothing 'real' about it. Just words on a screen, just fantasy.
I don't think that's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. I think that for two-plus hours yesterday afternoon I was cheating on my girlfriend, seriously hardcore cheating on her, and I feel really, really awful about that right now. I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. Something has shifted my perceptions or something.
So what do you think? Are you in a relationship? What if your partner was sitting at home having a long, steamy, erotic chat with someone on the computer, having multiple orgasms? He or she would never plan on meeting this chat partner physically, not even call them on the phone - it's just chat on the computer. Would that matter to you? If you could see them, from some hidden room, watch them type and get naked and stick a dildo in or finger themselves or jerk off, would it feel any less like betrayal than if you were watching them make love to a person physically? Is it different? Is it less wrong just because it's easier?
I love my girlfriend. I hope some day the laws in this nation would be progressive enough to allow her to become my wife. I know what I'm doing is wrong. I guess I always did. So why is it bothering me so much now?
It was just typing, that's what I've always told myself. Typing and reading and masturbating, true - but how is that different from reading some erotic story and masturbating to that? Is it? I'm not sure any more.
the real problem came last night after Heather got home and asked what I had been doing all afternoon - not in a bad way, just typical conversation, a 'how was your day' kind of query - and I lied. Looked right at her, smiled, and lied. Said I checked email and did some laundry and watched some TiVoed episodes of The Closer.
Well, I DID check email, and I DID watch half an episode of The Closer while sitting on the couch basking in the 'afterglow' of multiple orgasms and hot cyber fantasy. But I couldn't tell her. I felt like it somehow crossed a line - that all this sexual chatting crosses a very real line in my very real relationship. I could always insulate myself before, because I have a very very strict policy of never meeting or even calling people I meet online, because of really bad past experience, so I could easily tell myself there was nothing 'real' about it. Just words on a screen, just fantasy.
I don't think that's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. I think that for two-plus hours yesterday afternoon I was cheating on my girlfriend, seriously hardcore cheating on her, and I feel really, really awful about that right now. I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. Something has shifted my perceptions or something.
So what do you think? Are you in a relationship? What if your partner was sitting at home having a long, steamy, erotic chat with someone on the computer, having multiple orgasms? He or she would never plan on meeting this chat partner physically, not even call them on the phone - it's just chat on the computer. Would that matter to you? If you could see them, from some hidden room, watch them type and get naked and stick a dildo in or finger themselves or jerk off, would it feel any less like betrayal than if you were watching them make love to a person physically? Is it different? Is it less wrong just because it's easier?
I love my girlfriend. I hope some day the laws in this nation would be progressive enough to allow her to become my wife. I know what I'm doing is wrong. I guess I always did. So why is it bothering me so much now?
Monday, August 3, 2009
BLOG - Our Vacation
OK, so I've gotten about three dozen emails asking to detail our vacation. I'm not going to go into GREAT detail (I.E. this won't be a porn story) but I can let people know what we did and stuff...
First off, we decided (with the help of the poll I ran here) that I would go in my wheelchair. We had already decided that I would go with a disability, obviously, and Heather was fine with the wheelchair, as she knows that's what I identify with most. We did bring a few extra 'props' of course - don't' leave home without them - but as far as the room and all regular arrangements, I was a wheelchair user. We never said 'paraplegic', just 'wheelchair user'.
So we went to a REALLY nice inn/spa in Vermont, a very GLBT friendly place that's actually owned by a really sweet Lesbian couple. We didn't need to book a 'wheelchair accessible' room because it was all one level and all the rooms were set up so that I had no issues with my wheelchair. The toilet even had grab bars, which was nice, and the whole place was laid out in an easy, casual way that made wheeling very easy. No stairs to speak of, a few little 'drops' that Heather had no trouble helping with.
The Inn was a very private 'romantic getaway' kind of place, and we took advantage of that a LOT. We got daily massages together, I got my first ever 'mud wrap' which was interesting, and Heather got a 'hot stone massage' which was like $100 but she said it was so amazing.
We had really nice dinners every night, a few at the inn and others out in town, me always in my chair naturally. We went out on Friday night to a VERY elegant place about 40 minutes away from the spa, someplace the concierge at the inn told us about, and we dressed up really fancy, Heather in a really sexy red dress and thigh-hi stockings and me in a really pretty charcoal dress and complimenting hose, with no shoes. I think we definitely got looks, that's for sure - though probably more for the way we were holding hands and cuddling than me being in a wheelchair.
I did make a few compromises for the week - the biggest was 'no diapers', as Heather just wasn't into that. I was cool with it, as I was being treated as a wheelchair user the whole week and pampered and treated like a queen... And it was mostly Heather paying for it since it was like a $2500 getaway and there's NO WAY I could pay for that on my shitty salary....
Other things we did that might interest people - on Wednesday morning Heather got me a REALLY nice, high-end amazing practically ORGASMIC pedicure (which she say and watched, and I think had a little mini-orgasm from), and then right afterward we went back to our room, put the 'do not disturb' sign on our door, and Heather bound my arms so I was DAE amputee, and I stayed that way until dinner time. Heather spent the whole time making me do things with my newly pedicured feet, like trying to lift a pen, write my name.... eventually I learned to use my feet to use a vibrator on Heather and she came about a dozen times as I used my feet and toes to play with her. That was really hot, I have to admit - armless is fast becoming my second favorite disability fantasy, and I REALLY want to try hooks at some point - not sure that will ever happen, but I'd like to try it... though I know for 'real life disability' wheelchair is the only thing I'd choose.
So we're back now, after a really lovely time. We're still planning a blindsimming weekend getaway soon, probably by mid-august, just need to get the final plans taken care of, and it can't cost a lot, since we spent a LOT on this last vacation. I'm back to working on some new stories, including the 'New Arrangement' series that people seem to enjoy a lot. I'm going other things too, though, don't worry :)
First off, we decided (with the help of the poll I ran here) that I would go in my wheelchair. We had already decided that I would go with a disability, obviously, and Heather was fine with the wheelchair, as she knows that's what I identify with most. We did bring a few extra 'props' of course - don't' leave home without them - but as far as the room and all regular arrangements, I was a wheelchair user. We never said 'paraplegic', just 'wheelchair user'.
So we went to a REALLY nice inn/spa in Vermont, a very GLBT friendly place that's actually owned by a really sweet Lesbian couple. We didn't need to book a 'wheelchair accessible' room because it was all one level and all the rooms were set up so that I had no issues with my wheelchair. The toilet even had grab bars, which was nice, and the whole place was laid out in an easy, casual way that made wheeling very easy. No stairs to speak of, a few little 'drops' that Heather had no trouble helping with.
The Inn was a very private 'romantic getaway' kind of place, and we took advantage of that a LOT. We got daily massages together, I got my first ever 'mud wrap' which was interesting, and Heather got a 'hot stone massage' which was like $100 but she said it was so amazing.
We had really nice dinners every night, a few at the inn and others out in town, me always in my chair naturally. We went out on Friday night to a VERY elegant place about 40 minutes away from the spa, someplace the concierge at the inn told us about, and we dressed up really fancy, Heather in a really sexy red dress and thigh-hi stockings and me in a really pretty charcoal dress and complimenting hose, with no shoes. I think we definitely got looks, that's for sure - though probably more for the way we were holding hands and cuddling than me being in a wheelchair.
I did make a few compromises for the week - the biggest was 'no diapers', as Heather just wasn't into that. I was cool with it, as I was being treated as a wheelchair user the whole week and pampered and treated like a queen... And it was mostly Heather paying for it since it was like a $2500 getaway and there's NO WAY I could pay for that on my shitty salary....
Other things we did that might interest people - on Wednesday morning Heather got me a REALLY nice, high-end amazing practically ORGASMIC pedicure (which she say and watched, and I think had a little mini-orgasm from), and then right afterward we went back to our room, put the 'do not disturb' sign on our door, and Heather bound my arms so I was DAE amputee, and I stayed that way until dinner time. Heather spent the whole time making me do things with my newly pedicured feet, like trying to lift a pen, write my name.... eventually I learned to use my feet to use a vibrator on Heather and she came about a dozen times as I used my feet and toes to play with her. That was really hot, I have to admit - armless is fast becoming my second favorite disability fantasy, and I REALLY want to try hooks at some point - not sure that will ever happen, but I'd like to try it... though I know for 'real life disability' wheelchair is the only thing I'd choose.
So we're back now, after a really lovely time. We're still planning a blindsimming weekend getaway soon, probably by mid-august, just need to get the final plans taken care of, and it can't cost a lot, since we spent a LOT on this last vacation. I'm back to working on some new stories, including the 'New Arrangement' series that people seem to enjoy a lot. I'm going other things too, though, don't worry :)
Friday, July 31, 2009
BLOG - Sorry it took so long
Sorry it took so long for this update, we went on vacation and had a GREAT time, but I haven't had a lot of time to write or update, and twitter is a pain in the ass to use from my phone - I need one with a keyboard I guess...
Anyway, I have a few more stories on the way. I've had a lot of requests for a continuation of the 'New Arrangement' story so I'm working on that, but it actually went in a somewhat different direction due to some new 'interests' Heather and I have been exploring. As always, let me know what you think....
Anyway, I have a few more stories on the way. I've had a lot of requests for a continuation of the 'New Arrangement' story so I'm working on that, but it actually went in a somewhat different direction due to some new 'interests' Heather and I have been exploring. As always, let me know what you think....
NEW Story - New Arrangement Part 3
New Arrangement Part 3
Michelle awoke to warm sunlight pouring into her large, well appointed bedroom. She assumed the bed was warm and plush, but she really had no idea, as she had no feeling at all from her chin down. She was a quadriplegic, officially having broken her neck in a bad fall, but only she and her husband knew the truth - she had been paralyzed during sex, partly for a huge payout of insurance money, and partly for her husbands fetish for helpless women. In any case, this was her life now - paralyzed from her neck down, unable to move anythign but her head, confined to a power wheelchair. the worst part about it was the fact that, somehow, she was really starting to enjoy it.
Michelle hated to work, hated to do much of anything, which had been where her and Derek had started the conversation that ended in her current condition. Now she didn't have to do a thing - well, technically couldn't do a thing - and as much as it was frightening and frustrating and annoying, it was also comfortable, sensual, even erotic. To see Derek use her limp, unfeeling legs and feet to pleasure himself, to watch him lovingly clean her pussy and put on her diaper. Dress her, feed her. Fuck her. She was loved and cared for and basically worshiped, and all she had to give up was all movement and feeling from her neck down. Overall, Michelle thought to herself, not a bad trade.
She called out to Derek that she was awake and ready for her morning routine, when she saw a very attractive redhead in a white nurses' outfit come into the room, smiling brightly.
"Hi Michelle, I'm Melissa. Derek had to leave for work, something about an early morning conference, but I'll be taking care of you during the daytime."
"Hi Melissa. Derek told me about you, I just wasn't expecting you so soon. It's nice to meet you. I'd get up and shake your hand, but..." Michelle smiled. Melissa smiled back, something 'extra' in her glance that made Michelle a little curious.
Melissa was very professional and very thorough taking care of Michelle's morning routine. Melissa changed her diaper - as Michelle still preferred the diapers, and she knew Derek liked them as well - then dressed her in a very flattering, soft and comfortable dress. Michelle assumed it was comfortable, at least - she had no idea any more - but it was soft slipping over her face, she liked the feel of it.
Next Melissa used the lift to get Michelle into her wheelchair, positioning her limp arms and legs, then strapping her in securely. She used the attendant control to drive Michelle into the large bathroom, and then started brushing Michelle's shoulder length hair. It was this that began getting Michelle worked up, got her feeling aroused, feeling hotter and hotter as the hairbrush slipped though her soft hair. She was trying not to moan, not to react, not wanting to make Melissa feel uncomfortable on her first day, but she couldn't help herself, uttering 'oh god, pull my hair' in what she thought was a near-silent whisper. Melissa continued brushing her hair, but added in some gentle yet meaningful tugs, until finally Michelle couldn't take any more and she moaned with pleasure, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensations she was feeling.
Instead of backing off or running in embarrassed terror, Melissa continued stroking and brushing Michelle's hair, more sensually now, adding in a few gentle tugs with her fingers. Michelle was breathing heavy, moaning with every tug and pull of her hair, until finally...
"Ohhhhh god....." Michelle moaned aloud. Her body was limp, totally still, but there was no question that she had a powerful orgasm from the hair brushing and pulling. Melissa said nothing, but Michelle saw the smile on her face.
"So, was that part of the normal service you offer?" Michelle asked after the bathroom routine was complete. It was obviously not a complaint.
"No, actually... first time." Melissa said quietly. "Never met anyone who was... affected in that way. By hair brushing, I mean."
"It's new to me as well, believe me." Michelle said. "Never thought I'd ever feel aroused again after my accident, but the hair thing... it was unexpected, but not unwelcome. I tried to keep quiet as you were brushing me, but..."
"It's OK, Michelle. At first I thought you were uncomfortable, but once I understood what was happening, I.... I guess I couldn't help myself. I hope I didn't overstep any bounds..."
"If you did, I'm thankful for it." Michelle giggled. "I was sure you'd feel uncomfortable and quit if I had an orgasm every time you brushed my hair."
Melissa laughed warmly. "Nope - if that's the worst I have to put up with here, I'm moving in tomorrow! Besides, orgasms are very healthy, didn't you know that?" she giggled as she made some oatmeal for Michelle's breakfast.
"I'll have to remember that - it's part of my new 'health regimen' I guess... I just wish I could return the favor."
Melissa giggled a little too much at this, and Michelle thought she looked uncomfortable.
"Sorry Melissa - I guess I'm just a little more comfortable with my condition than others are."
"It's not that, Michelle, I'm fine with your disability. I'm more than fine with it, really..." Melissa stroked Michelle's cheek. "I find it very sensual, to be honest. It's part of the reason I took the job. I hope you're OK with that."
Michelle was conflicted for a moment, then smiled. "So kiss me already." she said.
"Are you sure? What about your husband?"
"Believe me - he wont' complain." Michelle said, thinking to herself that it was Derek that put her in this wheelchair, and the only thing keeping him out of jail was her keeping quiet. He couldn't begrudge her a few small 'extracurricular activities' now that she was a cripple - especially since he was still working every day, something he promised her he wouldn't do. She had needs, and being a complete quadriplegic, naturally she needed help with those needs. Melissa kissing her, helping her to have orgasms, well that was little different than masturbation for her now that her body was no longer hers to control.
Melissa didn't wait for a second invitation, and began kissing Michelle deeply and passionately, stroking her hair and her cheeks. Michelle returned the passion as best she could with only her head and lips able to respond, wishing she could do more. By the time Melissa broke contact, however, Michelle saw that her blouse was open and she was using Michelle's limp hand to caress her erect nipples, and she was flushed and breathing heavily.
"You know what Derek likes?" Michelle asked, her breathing also heavy as she was feeling more and more aroused. "He takes my limp little feet and he... " she tried to think of a less crude way of saying it, but Melissa understood immediately
"Jerks off with them?" she said with a giggle.
"Yes - and I'll admit, it's hot!" Michelle said, also with a girlish giggle.
"I'll bet..." Melissa said, placing Michelle's mouth control within her reach. "Want to have some breakfast?"
Michelle took the mouth control between her lips and guided her wheelchair through the living room and into the large kitchen. She noted the sound her her tires as they went from the hardwoods to the tiled kitchen floor, imagining her limp legs and floppy feet wobbling a little as she hit the small but perceptible bump at the transition between the floor types.
Breakfast was nice, with Melissa feeding her orange juice, a waffle, and some fresh fruit. Michelle still wasn't used to being fed, but the way Melissa did it was nice, it felt comfortable, even pleasurable as Melissa wiped her chin or brushed a hair off her forehead. Whenever Derek fed her, there was a lust in his eyes, a deep desire that was burning just below the surface. Michelle liked that, to be sure - but with Melissa it was different. There was a kind of caring there, mixed in with a more sensual desire. If Michelle could have reached out and touched Melissa's cheek, she would have.
Breakfast was done and Michelle guided her wheelchair to the spare bedroom that had been set up as Michelle's physical therapy room. Melissa gently lifted Michelle's paralyzed body, laying it on the exercise mat that was set up.
"Why don't you take off my dress, Melissa. Wouldn't want to get it sweaty." Michelle said "and while you're at it, you can get more comfortable too." Melissa removed Michelle's dress without question, so Michelle was laying there on the mat in her diaper. Unexpectedly, however, Melissa removed her entire uniform as well, so she was naked, her body tan and firm. Her nipples erect.
Melissa began at Michelle's legs, doing all the required physical therapy movements and stretches, but in ways Michelle had never experienced. Each movement, each position was like the most erotic tantra yoga. Michelle watched as her legs and arms were moved and manipulated, her flaccid muscles stretched and lovingly caressed by Melissa. Michelle saw Melissa's strong fingers kneading into the soft tissues of her thighs and she wished she could spread her useless legs and invite Melissa in. She closed her eyes and fantasized that Melissa was making love to her, kissing and licking her unfeeling body, her fingers and tongue exploring every inch of Michelle. Michelle moaned as she fantasized, and as she opened her eyes it was no longer a fantasy. Michelle watched helpless as Melissa caressed her own body with Michelle's limp fingers, her curled feet. She lay there and watched as Melissa moved sensually around her, still doing the physical therapy movements, but now as part of a slow, sensual, erotic ballet that Michelle felt both a part of and detached from at the same time.
"I feel strange." Michelle said, and Melissa knew what she meant by 'strange'. "Tell me what you need, Michelle. I'm here for you..." Melissa said, still rubbing and massaging Michelle's limp body.
"I need...." Michelle didn't say it, but Melissa kissed her on the lips, pressed her nipples to Michelle's lips. Michelle licked and sucked the warm breasts greedily, using all the movement her body had left to offer, teasing and sucking those nipples as Melissa started stroking and pulling her hair. Michelle was breathing heavy, her face flushed, her pulse quickening as the feelings of pleasure filled her. Then Melissa stopped. Michelle looked up at her, questioning.
"I need something from you..." Melissa said, flushed and breathing heavy, her naked skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Michelle rolled her eyes down, looking at her quadriplegic body as it lay immobile on the floor mat, then back to Melissa.
"Anything more than laying here horny is going to be a problem, I think." Michelle said with a smile, but her eyes were still looking at her naked nurse with a burning curiosity.
"I'm a submissive." Melissa said with what appeared to be some effort. Michelle didn't understand. "I mean, I'm not good at initiating things like this, Michelle. I need you to..."
"To what?" Michelle asked, still not quite understanding.
"To give me orders. To tell me what to do. To command me." Melissa said, her cheeks getting flushed. "I'm sorry, this is difficult to explain." she said, and Michelle thought she might be losing her nerve. She had an idea and went for it.
"Then stop explaining and start kissing my feet, nurse." Michelle said sharply. The reaction was instant and, for Michelle, unexpected. Melissa dropped to her knees, said 'Of course Mistress.', and began kissing and sucking on Michelle's unfeeling feet.
Michelle tried other commands, telling Melissa to kiss her breasts, suck her fingers, nibble on her breasts. she watched as Melissa seemed almost physically compelled to obey. It was arousing - it was more than arousing - to watch this attractive, naked woman crawling on the floor, kissing and manipulating Michelle's paralyzed body in any way Michelle wished.
"Kiss me, nurse" Michelle said, and immediately felt Melissa's lips pressed to hers. "Pull my hair." Michelle whispered, and Melissa's slender fingers worked their way into Michelle's sensitive scalp, sending sparks through her - at least the parts she could feel, anyway.
Melissa was amazing when she was being commanded and Michelle was getting the hang of it. After a short time, Michelle was screaming with pleasure, her body and mind wracked with 'quadgasms' as Melissa touched and stroked and pulled her hair and kissed and nibbled her lips.
Michelle realized after a time that they were done - she was in a fog, still somewhat dazed from the exercise, and Melissa lay beside her smiling and breathing heavily, staring at Michelle.
"What can I do for you now, dear?" Michelle asked, wanting to return the amazing sexual favor somehow. Melissa's expression softened a bit.
"Mistress, you don't ever need to do anything for me. Caring for you and doing as you wish is all I desire. I just hope I am a good sla-... I mean, that I am a good nurse and caregiver."
"A good what?" Michelle asked, having caught the minor slip in Melissa's comment. "I command you to tell me the truth."
"A good slave, Mistress." Melissa said, her cheeks flushing and her eyes brightening.
"Sit in my wheelchair." Michelle said.
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, and immediately sat in Michelle's large power wheelchair.
"Drive yourself close to me. Closer. Slowly." Melissa drove the chair slowly and carefully, following Michelle's every word, until the wheelchair was parked exactly where Michelle wanted it.
"Now lower your toes on the footrests. A little more. There. Now I want to make you cum as you sit there, you understand?" Michelle said, now looking up at Melissa's bare feet and toes just above her face.
"Yes Mistress, as it pleases you." Melissa said softly. Michelle could tell she was excited already, even though she had no idea what Michelle was up to.
"And you are to leave your arms on the armrests, is that clear?" said Michelle.
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, her breathing heavy again, cheeks flushed.
Without another word, Michelle rolled her head and craned her neck enough to pull Melissa's big toe into her mouth. She used her lips and tongue to kiss and suck and nibble on Melissa's toes, and Melissa's reaction was exactly what Michelle had hoped for. As she sucked on Melissa's sensitive toes and licked her feet, Melissa cried out in two, possibly three orgasms. Michelle was pleased that her plan had worked, smiling as Melissa sat in her wheelchair, eyes closed, breathing heavy. Michelle realized that Melissa looked really hot in a wheelchair. Information that would certainly be filed for later use...
Michelle commanded her new 'slave' to change her diaper (as well as kiss her pussy before cleaning it, which seemed to cause another small orgasm), dress her, and put her back in her wheelchair.
"Does Mistress wish her slave to get back into her uniform?" Melissa asked. Michelle thought about it.
"Mistress wishes slave to wear white thigh-high stockings." she said finally.
"As part of slave's uniform?" Melissa asked
"No slave - as your entire uniform." Michelle smiled. Melissa smiled as well, and soon wore a pair of white thigh-high stockings with a seam sliding sensually up the backs.
Michelle glanced her slave up and down approvingly, then took her mouth control between her lips and wheeled herself into Dereks' office, where the computer was. "Slave." she called out, and Melissa was there by her side immediately.
"I want to learn more about this." she said, staring at the computer screen. "What can you show me."
Melissa's eyes glistened. "I can show you everything, Mistress." Melissa said, and powered on the computer, bringing up the web browser. "Everything and more..."
Michelle awoke to warm sunlight pouring into her large, well appointed bedroom. She assumed the bed was warm and plush, but she really had no idea, as she had no feeling at all from her chin down. She was a quadriplegic, officially having broken her neck in a bad fall, but only she and her husband knew the truth - she had been paralyzed during sex, partly for a huge payout of insurance money, and partly for her husbands fetish for helpless women. In any case, this was her life now - paralyzed from her neck down, unable to move anythign but her head, confined to a power wheelchair. the worst part about it was the fact that, somehow, she was really starting to enjoy it.
Michelle hated to work, hated to do much of anything, which had been where her and Derek had started the conversation that ended in her current condition. Now she didn't have to do a thing - well, technically couldn't do a thing - and as much as it was frightening and frustrating and annoying, it was also comfortable, sensual, even erotic. To see Derek use her limp, unfeeling legs and feet to pleasure himself, to watch him lovingly clean her pussy and put on her diaper. Dress her, feed her. Fuck her. She was loved and cared for and basically worshiped, and all she had to give up was all movement and feeling from her neck down. Overall, Michelle thought to herself, not a bad trade.
She called out to Derek that she was awake and ready for her morning routine, when she saw a very attractive redhead in a white nurses' outfit come into the room, smiling brightly.
"Hi Michelle, I'm Melissa. Derek had to leave for work, something about an early morning conference, but I'll be taking care of you during the daytime."
"Hi Melissa. Derek told me about you, I just wasn't expecting you so soon. It's nice to meet you. I'd get up and shake your hand, but..." Michelle smiled. Melissa smiled back, something 'extra' in her glance that made Michelle a little curious.
Melissa was very professional and very thorough taking care of Michelle's morning routine. Melissa changed her diaper - as Michelle still preferred the diapers, and she knew Derek liked them as well - then dressed her in a very flattering, soft and comfortable dress. Michelle assumed it was comfortable, at least - she had no idea any more - but it was soft slipping over her face, she liked the feel of it.
Next Melissa used the lift to get Michelle into her wheelchair, positioning her limp arms and legs, then strapping her in securely. She used the attendant control to drive Michelle into the large bathroom, and then started brushing Michelle's shoulder length hair. It was this that began getting Michelle worked up, got her feeling aroused, feeling hotter and hotter as the hairbrush slipped though her soft hair. She was trying not to moan, not to react, not wanting to make Melissa feel uncomfortable on her first day, but she couldn't help herself, uttering 'oh god, pull my hair' in what she thought was a near-silent whisper. Melissa continued brushing her hair, but added in some gentle yet meaningful tugs, until finally Michelle couldn't take any more and she moaned with pleasure, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensations she was feeling.
Instead of backing off or running in embarrassed terror, Melissa continued stroking and brushing Michelle's hair, more sensually now, adding in a few gentle tugs with her fingers. Michelle was breathing heavy, moaning with every tug and pull of her hair, until finally...
"Ohhhhh god....." Michelle moaned aloud. Her body was limp, totally still, but there was no question that she had a powerful orgasm from the hair brushing and pulling. Melissa said nothing, but Michelle saw the smile on her face.
"So, was that part of the normal service you offer?" Michelle asked after the bathroom routine was complete. It was obviously not a complaint.
"No, actually... first time." Melissa said quietly. "Never met anyone who was... affected in that way. By hair brushing, I mean."
"It's new to me as well, believe me." Michelle said. "Never thought I'd ever feel aroused again after my accident, but the hair thing... it was unexpected, but not unwelcome. I tried to keep quiet as you were brushing me, but..."
"It's OK, Michelle. At first I thought you were uncomfortable, but once I understood what was happening, I.... I guess I couldn't help myself. I hope I didn't overstep any bounds..."
"If you did, I'm thankful for it." Michelle giggled. "I was sure you'd feel uncomfortable and quit if I had an orgasm every time you brushed my hair."
Melissa laughed warmly. "Nope - if that's the worst I have to put up with here, I'm moving in tomorrow! Besides, orgasms are very healthy, didn't you know that?" she giggled as she made some oatmeal for Michelle's breakfast.
"I'll have to remember that - it's part of my new 'health regimen' I guess... I just wish I could return the favor."
Melissa giggled a little too much at this, and Michelle thought she looked uncomfortable.
"Sorry Melissa - I guess I'm just a little more comfortable with my condition than others are."
"It's not that, Michelle, I'm fine with your disability. I'm more than fine with it, really..." Melissa stroked Michelle's cheek. "I find it very sensual, to be honest. It's part of the reason I took the job. I hope you're OK with that."
Michelle was conflicted for a moment, then smiled. "So kiss me already." she said.
"Are you sure? What about your husband?"
"Believe me - he wont' complain." Michelle said, thinking to herself that it was Derek that put her in this wheelchair, and the only thing keeping him out of jail was her keeping quiet. He couldn't begrudge her a few small 'extracurricular activities' now that she was a cripple - especially since he was still working every day, something he promised her he wouldn't do. She had needs, and being a complete quadriplegic, naturally she needed help with those needs. Melissa kissing her, helping her to have orgasms, well that was little different than masturbation for her now that her body was no longer hers to control.
Melissa didn't wait for a second invitation, and began kissing Michelle deeply and passionately, stroking her hair and her cheeks. Michelle returned the passion as best she could with only her head and lips able to respond, wishing she could do more. By the time Melissa broke contact, however, Michelle saw that her blouse was open and she was using Michelle's limp hand to caress her erect nipples, and she was flushed and breathing heavily.
"You know what Derek likes?" Michelle asked, her breathing also heavy as she was feeling more and more aroused. "He takes my limp little feet and he... " she tried to think of a less crude way of saying it, but Melissa understood immediately
"Jerks off with them?" she said with a giggle.
"Yes - and I'll admit, it's hot!" Michelle said, also with a girlish giggle.
"I'll bet..." Melissa said, placing Michelle's mouth control within her reach. "Want to have some breakfast?"
Michelle took the mouth control between her lips and guided her wheelchair through the living room and into the large kitchen. She noted the sound her her tires as they went from the hardwoods to the tiled kitchen floor, imagining her limp legs and floppy feet wobbling a little as she hit the small but perceptible bump at the transition between the floor types.
Breakfast was nice, with Melissa feeding her orange juice, a waffle, and some fresh fruit. Michelle still wasn't used to being fed, but the way Melissa did it was nice, it felt comfortable, even pleasurable as Melissa wiped her chin or brushed a hair off her forehead. Whenever Derek fed her, there was a lust in his eyes, a deep desire that was burning just below the surface. Michelle liked that, to be sure - but with Melissa it was different. There was a kind of caring there, mixed in with a more sensual desire. If Michelle could have reached out and touched Melissa's cheek, she would have.
Breakfast was done and Michelle guided her wheelchair to the spare bedroom that had been set up as Michelle's physical therapy room. Melissa gently lifted Michelle's paralyzed body, laying it on the exercise mat that was set up.
"Why don't you take off my dress, Melissa. Wouldn't want to get it sweaty." Michelle said "and while you're at it, you can get more comfortable too." Melissa removed Michelle's dress without question, so Michelle was laying there on the mat in her diaper. Unexpectedly, however, Melissa removed her entire uniform as well, so she was naked, her body tan and firm. Her nipples erect.
Melissa began at Michelle's legs, doing all the required physical therapy movements and stretches, but in ways Michelle had never experienced. Each movement, each position was like the most erotic tantra yoga. Michelle watched as her legs and arms were moved and manipulated, her flaccid muscles stretched and lovingly caressed by Melissa. Michelle saw Melissa's strong fingers kneading into the soft tissues of her thighs and she wished she could spread her useless legs and invite Melissa in. She closed her eyes and fantasized that Melissa was making love to her, kissing and licking her unfeeling body, her fingers and tongue exploring every inch of Michelle. Michelle moaned as she fantasized, and as she opened her eyes it was no longer a fantasy. Michelle watched helpless as Melissa caressed her own body with Michelle's limp fingers, her curled feet. She lay there and watched as Melissa moved sensually around her, still doing the physical therapy movements, but now as part of a slow, sensual, erotic ballet that Michelle felt both a part of and detached from at the same time.
"I feel strange." Michelle said, and Melissa knew what she meant by 'strange'. "Tell me what you need, Michelle. I'm here for you..." Melissa said, still rubbing and massaging Michelle's limp body.
"I need...." Michelle didn't say it, but Melissa kissed her on the lips, pressed her nipples to Michelle's lips. Michelle licked and sucked the warm breasts greedily, using all the movement her body had left to offer, teasing and sucking those nipples as Melissa started stroking and pulling her hair. Michelle was breathing heavy, her face flushed, her pulse quickening as the feelings of pleasure filled her. Then Melissa stopped. Michelle looked up at her, questioning.
"I need something from you..." Melissa said, flushed and breathing heavy, her naked skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Michelle rolled her eyes down, looking at her quadriplegic body as it lay immobile on the floor mat, then back to Melissa.
"Anything more than laying here horny is going to be a problem, I think." Michelle said with a smile, but her eyes were still looking at her naked nurse with a burning curiosity.
"I'm a submissive." Melissa said with what appeared to be some effort. Michelle didn't understand. "I mean, I'm not good at initiating things like this, Michelle. I need you to..."
"To what?" Michelle asked, still not quite understanding.
"To give me orders. To tell me what to do. To command me." Melissa said, her cheeks getting flushed. "I'm sorry, this is difficult to explain." she said, and Michelle thought she might be losing her nerve. She had an idea and went for it.
"Then stop explaining and start kissing my feet, nurse." Michelle said sharply. The reaction was instant and, for Michelle, unexpected. Melissa dropped to her knees, said 'Of course Mistress.', and began kissing and sucking on Michelle's unfeeling feet.
Michelle tried other commands, telling Melissa to kiss her breasts, suck her fingers, nibble on her breasts. she watched as Melissa seemed almost physically compelled to obey. It was arousing - it was more than arousing - to watch this attractive, naked woman crawling on the floor, kissing and manipulating Michelle's paralyzed body in any way Michelle wished.
"Kiss me, nurse" Michelle said, and immediately felt Melissa's lips pressed to hers. "Pull my hair." Michelle whispered, and Melissa's slender fingers worked their way into Michelle's sensitive scalp, sending sparks through her - at least the parts she could feel, anyway.
Melissa was amazing when she was being commanded and Michelle was getting the hang of it. After a short time, Michelle was screaming with pleasure, her body and mind wracked with 'quadgasms' as Melissa touched and stroked and pulled her hair and kissed and nibbled her lips.
Michelle realized after a time that they were done - she was in a fog, still somewhat dazed from the exercise, and Melissa lay beside her smiling and breathing heavily, staring at Michelle.
"What can I do for you now, dear?" Michelle asked, wanting to return the amazing sexual favor somehow. Melissa's expression softened a bit.
"Mistress, you don't ever need to do anything for me. Caring for you and doing as you wish is all I desire. I just hope I am a good sla-... I mean, that I am a good nurse and caregiver."
"A good what?" Michelle asked, having caught the minor slip in Melissa's comment. "I command you to tell me the truth."
"A good slave, Mistress." Melissa said, her cheeks flushing and her eyes brightening.
"Sit in my wheelchair." Michelle said.
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, and immediately sat in Michelle's large power wheelchair.
"Drive yourself close to me. Closer. Slowly." Melissa drove the chair slowly and carefully, following Michelle's every word, until the wheelchair was parked exactly where Michelle wanted it.
"Now lower your toes on the footrests. A little more. There. Now I want to make you cum as you sit there, you understand?" Michelle said, now looking up at Melissa's bare feet and toes just above her face.
"Yes Mistress, as it pleases you." Melissa said softly. Michelle could tell she was excited already, even though she had no idea what Michelle was up to.
"And you are to leave your arms on the armrests, is that clear?" said Michelle.
"Yes Mistress." Melissa said, her breathing heavy again, cheeks flushed.
Without another word, Michelle rolled her head and craned her neck enough to pull Melissa's big toe into her mouth. She used her lips and tongue to kiss and suck and nibble on Melissa's toes, and Melissa's reaction was exactly what Michelle had hoped for. As she sucked on Melissa's sensitive toes and licked her feet, Melissa cried out in two, possibly three orgasms. Michelle was pleased that her plan had worked, smiling as Melissa sat in her wheelchair, eyes closed, breathing heavy. Michelle realized that Melissa looked really hot in a wheelchair. Information that would certainly be filed for later use...
Michelle commanded her new 'slave' to change her diaper (as well as kiss her pussy before cleaning it, which seemed to cause another small orgasm), dress her, and put her back in her wheelchair.
"Does Mistress wish her slave to get back into her uniform?" Melissa asked. Michelle thought about it.
"Mistress wishes slave to wear white thigh-high stockings." she said finally.
"As part of slave's uniform?" Melissa asked
"No slave - as your entire uniform." Michelle smiled. Melissa smiled as well, and soon wore a pair of white thigh-high stockings with a seam sliding sensually up the backs.
Michelle glanced her slave up and down approvingly, then took her mouth control between her lips and wheeled herself into Dereks' office, where the computer was. "Slave." she called out, and Melissa was there by her side immediately.
"I want to learn more about this." she said, staring at the computer screen. "What can you show me."
Melissa's eyes glistened. "I can show you everything, Mistress." Melissa said, and powered on the computer, bringing up the web browser. "Everything and more..."
Monday, July 13, 2009
Absent lately...
Sorry I didn't post this past weekend, or much at all lately. I've been working some extra hours before vacation, and I spent a lot of this past weekend with no arms, as a DAE pretender, which was really sexy and fun, but didn't allow me much time for computer fun. It also didn't allow me much time to work on stories, but I'll try to wrap up at least one before my vacation starts.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
One more thing - new favorite YouTube channel
http://www.youtube.com/user/jad0909
This is just a cool and sexy girl who does everything from amputee pretending to cast fetish to braces. I love the vids. I really want to know where she gets that awesome KAFO brace she has in the KAFO video, too. I want a pair!
This is just a cool and sexy girl who does everything from amputee pretending to cast fetish to braces. I love the vids. I really want to know where she gets that awesome KAFO brace she has in the KAFO video, too. I want a pair!
Happy 5th of July
Heather is still sleeping, though probably not for long. I think we're going shoe shopping today, which is very exciting.
Last night we went to a wonderful 4th of July party at Heather's uncles' house, including fireworks and a little too much beer for me... felt very silly by the end of the night. Luckily Heather was driving. Went swimming for like, an hour - that was wonderful, it felt so nice. The water was cool, because of all the recent rain, but it was still nice.
Other than swimming I was, of course, in my wheelchair. After we go home, though, Heather needed a little 'something special' and so she bound my arms into my above elbow 'stumps' then did something different - blindfolded me. She didn't want me to walk, though - she just wanted me to fumble around blindly with my feet, trying to find her and play with her breasts, her pussy - it was really erotic, and she said it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever experienced, combining her serious foot fetish with her interest in blindness. I certainly didn't mind it!
I've got two new stories in the works- I'm hoping to have at least one done this week, but I'm not sure I can focus that much on it. I'll try...
Last night we went to a wonderful 4th of July party at Heather's uncles' house, including fireworks and a little too much beer for me... felt very silly by the end of the night. Luckily Heather was driving. Went swimming for like, an hour - that was wonderful, it felt so nice. The water was cool, because of all the recent rain, but it was still nice.
Other than swimming I was, of course, in my wheelchair. After we go home, though, Heather needed a little 'something special' and so she bound my arms into my above elbow 'stumps' then did something different - blindfolded me. She didn't want me to walk, though - she just wanted me to fumble around blindly with my feet, trying to find her and play with her breasts, her pussy - it was really erotic, and she said it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever experienced, combining her serious foot fetish with her interest in blindness. I certainly didn't mind it!
I've got two new stories in the works- I'm hoping to have at least one done this week, but I'm not sure I can focus that much on it. I'll try...
Monday, June 29, 2009
Blog - My weekend
So I did some writing this weekend, but not as much as I had hoped. I spent the weekend in my wheelchair - Heather wanted to do a blindsimming trip to see Transformers, but I decided that was a very visual movie and went in my chair instead. She was fine with it and after the movie, agreed it was far better seeing it than just hearing it.
Other than that, we had a LOT of fun yesterday afternoon with some serious foot worship and our Hitachi wand, the single greatest sex toy known to womankind. Like I said - I didn't get a lot of writing done, ended up horny all weekend with only a few pages written. I'll get it done soon though...
Other than that, we had a LOT of fun yesterday afternoon with some serious foot worship and our Hitachi wand, the single greatest sex toy known to womankind. Like I said - I didn't get a lot of writing done, ended up horny all weekend with only a few pages written. I'll get it done soon though...
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Blog - I'm on Twitter
So I've jumped on the Twitter bandwagon as @paracathy - I don't see a lot of devotee or wheelchair fetish presence yet, but it seems pretty interesting so far. Anyone want to follow me?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
NEW Story - The Broken Rule
The Broken Rule
First rule of being a caregiver is to never get emotionally involved. Not that you shouldn't care, of course - you have to care, you have to feel something for the people you work with. But emotional attachment, that's a different story. That's just bad karma, for so many reasons. Not just romantic involvement either. You can't become 'best friends' with your charge. Even if they're the coolest, most awesome person ever, that level of relationship never goes well. I knew this, had known it for years. Like I said, it was the first rule, the most important rule - and it took me almost ten years to break it.
My first charge was a great guy, elderly, had a serious stroke, hemiplegic. I worked with him for almost five years, and I started working with him two weeks before graduation, thanks to agency placement and an early look at my grades (all top marks). He passed away in his sleep, while another caregiver was with him. I got the message form the agency that morning, before I headed in to his apartment. I shed some tears - he was a very nice man, had a loving family - but I was back at work the next day. No big deal. No attachment.
My second charge was an old woman with ALS. We never connected, and I took care of her for three years, afternoon shift. Sat and made sure she could see her game shows, changed her diapers. Surfed the web thanks to a purse-sized Netbook and her neighbor's unsecured wi-fi. That was two years.
Rebecca was next, after a few short-lived hospice stints. She was a sad case, twelve years old, quadriplegic due to a seriously abusive father. Her mom was blind, too - same reason. Fucking sick bastard. There were more than a few nights I went home in tears from that one, I'll admit, and though I did become friends with Becky's mom and we still talked on the phone from time to time, I didn't feel that I had ever broken that golden rule. I stayed with Becky for a little over three years, until they had to move to Arizona for some health reasons. Becky had really blossomed, though, in the years I knew her, and was looking forward to high school and maybe even driving some day, with some specially adapted equipment.
Then came Meghan. I have to say, even though I took great pride in my work, I took it all very seriously, and I held that first rule pretty much sacred, I knew I was in trouble on my first day.
How do I describe Meghan? She was ten years my junior, she had just turned nineteen, and was taking a hear off before college. She was severely disabled, of course - that's why she needed a caregiver. She was born without arms - she had smooth shoulders the just ended. Rare birth defect, nobody saw it coming, but her family was able to cope with it. She was learning to use her legs and feet for arms and hands, standard rehab stuff, from a very early age, when the second half of God's 1-2 punch hit her.
Her neighbors were very 'global village' kinds of people and, when Meghan was only ten, they had an exchange student from India visit for half a school year. Meghan was very friendly and outgoing, of course, and became friends with the student, Priyesh, who was four or five years older than Meghan, but was very nice and very friendly as well. The pair hung out a number of times, went swimming together - had typical 'school friends' contact for a few months. Then Meghan started to feel sick. Then Meghan couldn't use her feet to pick things up any more. Then Meghan woke up unable to move her legs at all. Not even wiggle a toe.
It didn't take long for the doctors to narrow things down and diagnose Meghan with polio. Priyesh's paperwork turned out to have some 'inaccuracies' in it, and he was indeed carrying the polio virus. Meghan had contracted the disease, along with one other girl in Priyesh's class. It was quite the scandal, apparently, though I didn't remember anything in the papers about it.
That had been nine years previous and had permanently confined Meghan to a mouth-controlled wheelchair. It hadn't damped her spirit, however - in truth, it had probably caused her inner light to shine all the more brightly, because that's just how Meghan was.
When I met her, she was wearing a smart skirt, nude stockings on her wasted, polio-crippled legs, and a grey long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves hanging empty at her shoulders. She sat in a fancy power wheelchair, her mouth stick at the ready, and she smiled this glowing, beacon-like smile that took me off guard. I'd worked with dozens of critically ill and severely disabled clients over the years, and Meghan was the first, the absolute first, who did not show the slightest hint of the inner bitterness and negativity that comes with having a condition that required, well... me.
I introduced myself and got a rundown from Rob, the caregiver I was taking over for. He was getting married and moving to Nebraska or something, but you could tell there was a bond between he and Meghan that went somewhat beyond that of caregiver and patient. I mentally chastised Rob for breaking the first rule, but in my heart, after just meeting Meghan, I could almost understand.
I pushed that out of my mind. For a little while, anyway.
"So, am I your most pathetic case?" Meghan asked cheerfully after Rob had left and I started about my routine. The question caught me off guard, more for her characterizing herself as 'pathetic' than anything else.
"Actually, you're in second place." I said honestly, still trying to keep my professional distance while at the same time being friendly and approachable.
"Oooh, really? Tell me about it!" she asked, using her mouth control to turn in my direction, her face full of curiosity and excitement.
"Young girl." I said, stopping what I was doing. "Twelve when I met her. Her dad threw her against the wall for changing the channel on the TV. Broke her neck." I swallowed. Becky was still a hard one for me. "Her mom tried to call 911 to get her help. He tore the phone out of the wall, beat her in the face with it. Blinded her, both eyes."
"Jesus." Meghan said, eyes wide.
"I know. Sorry - probably shouldn't have gone into so much detail." I said, genuinely sorry for having said so much. Instead of horror, though, Meghan beamed. I looked at her. "Something funny?" I asked at the smile on her face.
"sorry, I feel terrible for the girl and her mom, naturally, but this is the first time I've come in second place. I feel almost normal! I need to facebook this!" And she took her mouth control between her lips and moved into another room as I stood there shocked.
And that, in a nutshell, was Meghan. She knew she was terribly crippled. Armless, no hope of prosthetic, polio-crippled legs that had basically stopped growing when she was ten. But she had a beauty about her that was almost supernatural. Her amber hair glowed, her face was gorgeous, her smile was electric. She didn't seem to have a negative bone in her crippled body, and even when she talked about her disability there was no bitterness, no self pity. She was just 'Meghan', and she was disabled in body, but never, ever in spirit.
Looking back now, I think knew that first day that the only outcome for me was to fall in love with Meghan. I didn't even know if she was gay, I wasn't even sure I was gay, but what I did know on that first day was that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. That when we were together, it was like I was lying on a sunny beach, and when I left at the end of the day, it was like my life filled with clouds and rain.
Every day,I'd show up for work a little earlier. Every day, I'd spend an extra few minutes after my relief arrived. I'd help Meghan with her facebook, or just watch a little TV with her, or get takeout Chinese delivered, paying for it out of my own pocket, even though it was against her nutritional plan. Every day, my job became less about 'taking care of Meghan' and more about 'Making Meghan happy.' And then one day, maybe two months into the job, Meghan did it, she crossed the line, and I let her, and I never looked back.
"Elizabeth." she said in her beautiful, sing-song voice.
"Yes, dear?" I asked, having dropped the formality of 'Meghan' or 'Miss Jones' on my second day.
"I'm almost 20, you know." she said matter of factly. She was, it was true. Her birthday was only six or so weeks away. I had already thought about what I would get her.
"Yes - coming up soon. Any thoughts on what you'd like?"
Meghan looked at me with her deep, chocolate brown eyes, and as usual, I started to melt. Then she said it.
"I'd like to lose my virginity. With you." she said simply, but with such deep emotion that all I could do was to move to her wheelchair and hug her, feeling her armless shoulders, smelling her apple-blossom shampoo. And I kissed her.
I have always dreamed of a kiss like that kiss. Not a cliche, romance novel kiss that's all about love and kittens and brass horns. It was loving, it was passionate, it was heartfelt, yes. But more than that this was a kiss straight out of my deepest most erotic fantasy. My guts turned to warm pudding and my pussy felt like it was a waterfall. My knees buckled and I started kissing Meghan's legs, her thighs, and she begged me to do more. Pleaded with me. The lust in her voice was deeper and more sincere that I had ever heard.
I pushed her wheelchair to the bedroom and undressed in front of her. We said nothing. I kissed her, deeply, passionately, running my fingers through her hair. She moaned, she pressed her abbreviated body against mine from her wheelchair. I slipped her soft t-shirt off, she wasn't wearing a bra. I kissed her breasts sensually, I licked and nibbled her nipples, and she moaned.
I knew I would never feel her fingers running through my hair as I kissed her. I knew I would never feel her legs wrapped around me as I held her. I knew that, more than anyone I had ever been with, I wanted Meghan. With every fiber of my being, I wanted her. As crippled and as helpless as she was, I could not imagine living my life without her.
I kissed her armless shoulder, tracing sensual patterns across her smooth skin with my tongue, and she practically whimpered. I moved down her warm, soft body as she sat in her wheelchair, slowly pulling down her cotton skirt, revealing her diaper. The diaper that I had changed dozens of times, never admitting to myself what I wanted to do once I had it off. Now I tore it open just to touch that golden fur that glistened - Meghan was so aroused, it was like a heavy dew had fallen just for me.
Her legs were small, thin, limp from the polio that had crippled her. She couldn't move them at all, not even wiggle a toe; the polio had seen to that. But she could still feel them. Feel every touch, every caress. I slipped her soft socks off of her feet and began to kiss them, to suck on her small toes, like I had fantasized as I lay in bed at night dreaming of her hair, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. I kissed and licked her feet and she giggle, and then she moaned, and then she begged me to come closer, to move higher up her small, useless legs.
I wanted to tease her - I really did. I wanted her first sexual experience to be long, and sensual, and erotic, and drawn out. I wanted it to be perfect for her, for my perfect crippled angel. But she didn't want that. The need in her eyes, the deep desire in her voice drew me in, and I hadn't even taken her out of her wheelchair when my tongue pressed against the exquisite folds of her moist flower. It was like a lightning strike had hit both of us as I spread her withered legs and licked and sucked on her clit as I poked my tongue into her sweet virgin sex.
Meghan moaned and yelled and screamed as I ate her out, caressing and kissing and licking her pussy, her limp legs. It didn't take long before all that pent up sexual frustration finally broke, and she came, oh my darling Meghan came in waves of orgasm that made her weep, tears of joy and pleasure rolling down her cheeks. She had always tried to think of herself as 'normal', but sex, sensuality, that was something that always eluded her in her armless, crippled state. A fact that I was happy to change for her.
I lay her in bed without her even asking, and I kissed and held her as she smiled, as she thanked me, as she wept. And then I moved myself into a position that made it easy for her to access my dripping wet sex, and without a word she was at me. Her mouth was so talented, it caught me off guard, though it had been her only means of interacting with the world since she was ten - it shouldn't have surprised me as it did. Her tongue and lips made me write in pleasure and moan with delight, and as I caressed her smooth, armless shoulders, I came loudly, explosively, my juices glistening across her beaming face. She didn't want to stop, and I came another three times as she licked and kissed my sensitive clit, before finally collapsing beside her, wrapping my arms around her warm, panting frame.
I could feel her limp, soft legs pressed against my naked skin, I could feel the smooth armless shoulders rub against me. Meghan was helpless, unable to even scratch her nose or use the toilet on her own, but to me she was perfect, she was so beautiful, so sensual, and I told her that, whispered it in her ear as we lay there together. And I told her I loved her. She said nothing. She wept. I knew it wasn't with sadness.
I cleaned Meghan and dressed her and got myself cleaned up a half hour before my shift ended, and my replacement - a very nice older woman named Sarah - immediately knew something had changed. There was an energy, an atmosphere in the place that was so warm and almost electric. As I clocked out of my shift and looked into Meghan's beautiful, loving eyes, I died a little inside as I left for home. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that much longer - to leave her like that. I don't think either of us could handle it.
I showed up for work the next day an hour early carrying an overnight bag, and told Meghan I didn't intend to let her sleep alone again. She asked me to dress her, and instead of her signature long sleeved shirt I dressed her in a pink athletic fit tank top with no bra, exposing her deformity, accentuating her difference, and I loved it. And she saw the way I looked at her, with the love and attraction I felt for her, and she loved it too. It lifted her, it excited her. It made her happy, a happiness that she felt she might never experience in all her life. A happiness I too, knew I had been missing, until this beautiful, sensual, crippled girl came into my life.
We made love again that day, this time a slow, sensual, erotic thing that made us both cry out in passion and delight for hours. We went out to lunch at a local cafe, and Meghan relished the looks and stares of passers by as I fed her a sandwich and iced coffee and we talked and giggled together. Meghan then called the nursing agency and told them that her situation had changed, and that she no longer needed night time care. She looked at me with loving eyes. The situation had certainly changed. The whole world had changed. For both of us.
First rule of being a caregiver is to never get emotionally involved. Not that you shouldn't care, of course - you have to care, you have to feel something for the people you work with. But emotional attachment, that's a different story. That's just bad karma, for so many reasons. Not just romantic involvement either. You can't become 'best friends' with your charge. Even if they're the coolest, most awesome person ever, that level of relationship never goes well. I knew this, had known it for years. Like I said, it was the first rule, the most important rule - and it took me almost ten years to break it.
My first charge was a great guy, elderly, had a serious stroke, hemiplegic. I worked with him for almost five years, and I started working with him two weeks before graduation, thanks to agency placement and an early look at my grades (all top marks). He passed away in his sleep, while another caregiver was with him. I got the message form the agency that morning, before I headed in to his apartment. I shed some tears - he was a very nice man, had a loving family - but I was back at work the next day. No big deal. No attachment.
My second charge was an old woman with ALS. We never connected, and I took care of her for three years, afternoon shift. Sat and made sure she could see her game shows, changed her diapers. Surfed the web thanks to a purse-sized Netbook and her neighbor's unsecured wi-fi. That was two years.
Rebecca was next, after a few short-lived hospice stints. She was a sad case, twelve years old, quadriplegic due to a seriously abusive father. Her mom was blind, too - same reason. Fucking sick bastard. There were more than a few nights I went home in tears from that one, I'll admit, and though I did become friends with Becky's mom and we still talked on the phone from time to time, I didn't feel that I had ever broken that golden rule. I stayed with Becky for a little over three years, until they had to move to Arizona for some health reasons. Becky had really blossomed, though, in the years I knew her, and was looking forward to high school and maybe even driving some day, with some specially adapted equipment.
Then came Meghan. I have to say, even though I took great pride in my work, I took it all very seriously, and I held that first rule pretty much sacred, I knew I was in trouble on my first day.
How do I describe Meghan? She was ten years my junior, she had just turned nineteen, and was taking a hear off before college. She was severely disabled, of course - that's why she needed a caregiver. She was born without arms - she had smooth shoulders the just ended. Rare birth defect, nobody saw it coming, but her family was able to cope with it. She was learning to use her legs and feet for arms and hands, standard rehab stuff, from a very early age, when the second half of God's 1-2 punch hit her.
Her neighbors were very 'global village' kinds of people and, when Meghan was only ten, they had an exchange student from India visit for half a school year. Meghan was very friendly and outgoing, of course, and became friends with the student, Priyesh, who was four or five years older than Meghan, but was very nice and very friendly as well. The pair hung out a number of times, went swimming together - had typical 'school friends' contact for a few months. Then Meghan started to feel sick. Then Meghan couldn't use her feet to pick things up any more. Then Meghan woke up unable to move her legs at all. Not even wiggle a toe.
It didn't take long for the doctors to narrow things down and diagnose Meghan with polio. Priyesh's paperwork turned out to have some 'inaccuracies' in it, and he was indeed carrying the polio virus. Meghan had contracted the disease, along with one other girl in Priyesh's class. It was quite the scandal, apparently, though I didn't remember anything in the papers about it.
That had been nine years previous and had permanently confined Meghan to a mouth-controlled wheelchair. It hadn't damped her spirit, however - in truth, it had probably caused her inner light to shine all the more brightly, because that's just how Meghan was.
When I met her, she was wearing a smart skirt, nude stockings on her wasted, polio-crippled legs, and a grey long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves hanging empty at her shoulders. She sat in a fancy power wheelchair, her mouth stick at the ready, and she smiled this glowing, beacon-like smile that took me off guard. I'd worked with dozens of critically ill and severely disabled clients over the years, and Meghan was the first, the absolute first, who did not show the slightest hint of the inner bitterness and negativity that comes with having a condition that required, well... me.
I introduced myself and got a rundown from Rob, the caregiver I was taking over for. He was getting married and moving to Nebraska or something, but you could tell there was a bond between he and Meghan that went somewhat beyond that of caregiver and patient. I mentally chastised Rob for breaking the first rule, but in my heart, after just meeting Meghan, I could almost understand.
I pushed that out of my mind. For a little while, anyway.
"So, am I your most pathetic case?" Meghan asked cheerfully after Rob had left and I started about my routine. The question caught me off guard, more for her characterizing herself as 'pathetic' than anything else.
"Actually, you're in second place." I said honestly, still trying to keep my professional distance while at the same time being friendly and approachable.
"Oooh, really? Tell me about it!" she asked, using her mouth control to turn in my direction, her face full of curiosity and excitement.
"Young girl." I said, stopping what I was doing. "Twelve when I met her. Her dad threw her against the wall for changing the channel on the TV. Broke her neck." I swallowed. Becky was still a hard one for me. "Her mom tried to call 911 to get her help. He tore the phone out of the wall, beat her in the face with it. Blinded her, both eyes."
"Jesus." Meghan said, eyes wide.
"I know. Sorry - probably shouldn't have gone into so much detail." I said, genuinely sorry for having said so much. Instead of horror, though, Meghan beamed. I looked at her. "Something funny?" I asked at the smile on her face.
"sorry, I feel terrible for the girl and her mom, naturally, but this is the first time I've come in second place. I feel almost normal! I need to facebook this!" And she took her mouth control between her lips and moved into another room as I stood there shocked.
And that, in a nutshell, was Meghan. She knew she was terribly crippled. Armless, no hope of prosthetic, polio-crippled legs that had basically stopped growing when she was ten. But she had a beauty about her that was almost supernatural. Her amber hair glowed, her face was gorgeous, her smile was electric. She didn't seem to have a negative bone in her crippled body, and even when she talked about her disability there was no bitterness, no self pity. She was just 'Meghan', and she was disabled in body, but never, ever in spirit.
Looking back now, I think knew that first day that the only outcome for me was to fall in love with Meghan. I didn't even know if she was gay, I wasn't even sure I was gay, but what I did know on that first day was that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. That when we were together, it was like I was lying on a sunny beach, and when I left at the end of the day, it was like my life filled with clouds and rain.
Every day,I'd show up for work a little earlier. Every day, I'd spend an extra few minutes after my relief arrived. I'd help Meghan with her facebook, or just watch a little TV with her, or get takeout Chinese delivered, paying for it out of my own pocket, even though it was against her nutritional plan. Every day, my job became less about 'taking care of Meghan' and more about 'Making Meghan happy.' And then one day, maybe two months into the job, Meghan did it, she crossed the line, and I let her, and I never looked back.
"Elizabeth." she said in her beautiful, sing-song voice.
"Yes, dear?" I asked, having dropped the formality of 'Meghan' or 'Miss Jones' on my second day.
"I'm almost 20, you know." she said matter of factly. She was, it was true. Her birthday was only six or so weeks away. I had already thought about what I would get her.
"Yes - coming up soon. Any thoughts on what you'd like?"
Meghan looked at me with her deep, chocolate brown eyes, and as usual, I started to melt. Then she said it.
"I'd like to lose my virginity. With you." she said simply, but with such deep emotion that all I could do was to move to her wheelchair and hug her, feeling her armless shoulders, smelling her apple-blossom shampoo. And I kissed her.
I have always dreamed of a kiss like that kiss. Not a cliche, romance novel kiss that's all about love and kittens and brass horns. It was loving, it was passionate, it was heartfelt, yes. But more than that this was a kiss straight out of my deepest most erotic fantasy. My guts turned to warm pudding and my pussy felt like it was a waterfall. My knees buckled and I started kissing Meghan's legs, her thighs, and she begged me to do more. Pleaded with me. The lust in her voice was deeper and more sincere that I had ever heard.
I pushed her wheelchair to the bedroom and undressed in front of her. We said nothing. I kissed her, deeply, passionately, running my fingers through her hair. She moaned, she pressed her abbreviated body against mine from her wheelchair. I slipped her soft t-shirt off, she wasn't wearing a bra. I kissed her breasts sensually, I licked and nibbled her nipples, and she moaned.
I knew I would never feel her fingers running through my hair as I kissed her. I knew I would never feel her legs wrapped around me as I held her. I knew that, more than anyone I had ever been with, I wanted Meghan. With every fiber of my being, I wanted her. As crippled and as helpless as she was, I could not imagine living my life without her.
I kissed her armless shoulder, tracing sensual patterns across her smooth skin with my tongue, and she practically whimpered. I moved down her warm, soft body as she sat in her wheelchair, slowly pulling down her cotton skirt, revealing her diaper. The diaper that I had changed dozens of times, never admitting to myself what I wanted to do once I had it off. Now I tore it open just to touch that golden fur that glistened - Meghan was so aroused, it was like a heavy dew had fallen just for me.
Her legs were small, thin, limp from the polio that had crippled her. She couldn't move them at all, not even wiggle a toe; the polio had seen to that. But she could still feel them. Feel every touch, every caress. I slipped her soft socks off of her feet and began to kiss them, to suck on her small toes, like I had fantasized as I lay in bed at night dreaming of her hair, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. I kissed and licked her feet and she giggle, and then she moaned, and then she begged me to come closer, to move higher up her small, useless legs.
I wanted to tease her - I really did. I wanted her first sexual experience to be long, and sensual, and erotic, and drawn out. I wanted it to be perfect for her, for my perfect crippled angel. But she didn't want that. The need in her eyes, the deep desire in her voice drew me in, and I hadn't even taken her out of her wheelchair when my tongue pressed against the exquisite folds of her moist flower. It was like a lightning strike had hit both of us as I spread her withered legs and licked and sucked on her clit as I poked my tongue into her sweet virgin sex.
Meghan moaned and yelled and screamed as I ate her out, caressing and kissing and licking her pussy, her limp legs. It didn't take long before all that pent up sexual frustration finally broke, and she came, oh my darling Meghan came in waves of orgasm that made her weep, tears of joy and pleasure rolling down her cheeks. She had always tried to think of herself as 'normal', but sex, sensuality, that was something that always eluded her in her armless, crippled state. A fact that I was happy to change for her.
I lay her in bed without her even asking, and I kissed and held her as she smiled, as she thanked me, as she wept. And then I moved myself into a position that made it easy for her to access my dripping wet sex, and without a word she was at me. Her mouth was so talented, it caught me off guard, though it had been her only means of interacting with the world since she was ten - it shouldn't have surprised me as it did. Her tongue and lips made me write in pleasure and moan with delight, and as I caressed her smooth, armless shoulders, I came loudly, explosively, my juices glistening across her beaming face. She didn't want to stop, and I came another three times as she licked and kissed my sensitive clit, before finally collapsing beside her, wrapping my arms around her warm, panting frame.
I could feel her limp, soft legs pressed against my naked skin, I could feel the smooth armless shoulders rub against me. Meghan was helpless, unable to even scratch her nose or use the toilet on her own, but to me she was perfect, she was so beautiful, so sensual, and I told her that, whispered it in her ear as we lay there together. And I told her I loved her. She said nothing. She wept. I knew it wasn't with sadness.
I cleaned Meghan and dressed her and got myself cleaned up a half hour before my shift ended, and my replacement - a very nice older woman named Sarah - immediately knew something had changed. There was an energy, an atmosphere in the place that was so warm and almost electric. As I clocked out of my shift and looked into Meghan's beautiful, loving eyes, I died a little inside as I left for home. I knew I wouldn't be able to do that much longer - to leave her like that. I don't think either of us could handle it.
I showed up for work the next day an hour early carrying an overnight bag, and told Meghan I didn't intend to let her sleep alone again. She asked me to dress her, and instead of her signature long sleeved shirt I dressed her in a pink athletic fit tank top with no bra, exposing her deformity, accentuating her difference, and I loved it. And she saw the way I looked at her, with the love and attraction I felt for her, and she loved it too. It lifted her, it excited her. It made her happy, a happiness that she felt she might never experience in all her life. A happiness I too, knew I had been missing, until this beautiful, sensual, crippled girl came into my life.
We made love again that day, this time a slow, sensual, erotic thing that made us both cry out in passion and delight for hours. We went out to lunch at a local cafe, and Meghan relished the looks and stares of passers by as I fed her a sandwich and iced coffee and we talked and giggled together. Meghan then called the nursing agency and told them that her situation had changed, and that she no longer needed night time care. She looked at me with loving eyes. The situation had certainly changed. The whole world had changed. For both of us.
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