Wednesday, December 22, 2010

New Story - A Stepmother's Love

I was reading one of my Yahoo grouns (yes, some people still use those - seems so quaint now) and in the Wheelchair Fiction group there was a small story fragment posted, called 'Loving my Stepmother' - well it was a short thing with no real story and no author, but it was a cool idea and kind of sexy (well, if you're into that sort of thing - I am, of course) so I decided to re-write it my own way.
I posted this earlier in the week to the Wheelchair Fiction group but got no response - those Yahoo groups are pretty dead now - so I've re-edited it a little and I'll post it here for people to enjoy! Hope you like it!

A Stepmother’s Love by ParaCathy

It was raining, I remember that, thick sheets of rain that beat against the windows and roof and coiled around us like shimmering ropes. Helen, my stepmother and only remaining family, cursed under her breath as she tapped the brakes and skirted around the edge of a substantial puddle.

It was my fault we were on the road in such a downpour - I had detention for cutting class, a cheap senior year stunt that landed me in the principals' office yet again. Because of that, Helen had to come pick me up, and I could tell she was annoyed.

We had a decent relationship overall, my stepmother and I, though I never did get around to calling her ‘mom’, even after ten years. Naturally as a parent it always made her mad when I acted out, when I got into trouble. I was entitled, at least in my head - I had lost my father to cancer only a year before, after all, and I was still coming to terms with it. Sure she had lost a husband, the only man she had ever loved, but in my mind that didn’t matter, my loss was greater, my grief deeper.

I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard Helen gasp, felt the car hydroplane, heard that gut-wrenching sound as the car got hit by - or hit - some object in the rain. I’d like to say I stayed calm as the car spun and then then seemed to almost float in mid air, but I know I screamed in terror, and then we hit again, and then...

How does one describe waking up in the hospital after a severe injury? To say I was disoriented was a huge understatement. Between the numerous injuries and the plethora of drugs they were pumping into me, I had a hard time remembering my own name, never mind where I was or what I was doing there.

My first memory, my first real, concrete memory after the accident was seeing the thin hospital bedsheet fall down around the small round ‘thing’ that should have been my left thigh. I then saw, in stark contrast, the massive elevated cast on my right leg and the way my foot seemed somehow ‘wrong’ in the heavy plaster dressings.

Helen visited me some time after that, I can’t recall the specifics but I do remember her being wheeled in. I learned from the nurses that she was both more and less fortunate than I was, not requiring any surgery and not even losing any blood, but... I remember seeing her in her wheelchair, seeing the way she sat, braced up, the stark white compression stockings and wide, soft booties on her legs and feet doing nothing to hide their obvious and pronounced uselessness.

We held hands and I think I cried, I cant recall clearly. The long weeks in the hospital blurred together so much, and I know there was a lot of crying for both of us. I remember seeing my stump, the remains of my left leg, so small and round and neat. I remember my right leg coming out of the cast and knowing, just knowing that I needn’t worry about learning to use crutches. My leg, my crippled little foot, weren’t going to support me, I was sure of that.

Helen progressed very well through rehab and was practically an expert wheelchair user before I was even well enough to start my own training, but she was there beside me, helping me to re-learn so many daily tasks from my wheelchair. Un-assisted I couldn’t even stand on my right leg, but with a heavy steel and leather caliper with a custom orthopedic shoe I had received late in my rehab training, I did manage to stand and take a few tentative, wobbly steps, Helen cheering me the whole way. It was very difficult work, naturally, and before my first day of training was over I was convinced that a wheelchair would be my primary mode of ambulation from that point forward.

Homecoming was bittersweet. After nearly half a year away, I returned to find the place I had called home since birth utterly and completely changed to adapt to our new conditions. Gone were the warm brick steps and rich wood door, replaced by a new concrete wheelchair ramp and a steel auto-opening doorway. As soon as I got inside the changes were even more profound - the kitchen and dining room had changed completely, the living room had new furniture, the layout was wide open to accommodate two wheelchair-bound women.
The bathroom was the biggest change, as it was completely unrecognizable. Specially adapted toilet, shower, grab bars... the list went on. I knew we needed all of this now, to stay independent and safe, but it was just another reminder of how the life we used to have was now over. I ran my hands over the cool metal grab bars and the smooth white porcelain sinks and looked in the mirror, specially mounted and angled so that I could see myself properly.

My red hair was much longer than I used to keep it, but I liked it, though I’d probably go for a style soon. My body - what I could see of it in the mirror, the parts above my waist - looked toned and firm from all the rehab, my face had a healthy glow despite of the situation. My eyes were sad, though... they looked older than they should.

I parked my wheelchair in my room; it had changed in some ways, to allow me to get around and dress in my wheelchair, but overall it was the same and for the first time since I got home, the first time since my terrible accident, I felt a connection to the life I used to have, a life with two healthy legs and a stepmother who could walk...

It all hit me then, the weight of it all, my disability, Helen’s paralysis, so much had happened, and I finally just broke down, sobbing into my hands as I sat there.

I didn’t hear Helen wheel up behind me, but I felt her arms around me, felt her stroking my hair, comforting me. She said she understood, and I knew she really did, her legs were useless, she was confined to a wheelchair forever, like I was.

I’m not even sure what came over me - I think I just wanted to be closer to her, not having our wheelchairs blocking that close physical contact, but I transferred into her paralyzed lap and rested my head against her large, soft breasts and closed my eyes, feeling her stroke my hair. I heard her heartbeat and felt her warm breast under my cheeks and it made me happy, it warmed me, it pushed away the bad feelings, it...

I suddenly felt strange, I was having a hard time understanding the sensation, but as my stepmother stroked my hair and ran her soft hand across my cheek, I recognized arousal, and I felt it from us both. I moved a hand closer to Helen’s large breast, brushing the dusty brown areola around her nipple through her shirt, and her heartbeat and breathing quickened noticeably.

I don’t know why neither of us said anything; maybe we couldn’t, maybe our combined grief over our situations made us crave any kind of pleasurable contact, any positive experience, but whatever the reason the last taboo was shattered as Helen - the only mother I knew from the time I was eight years old - had unbuttoned her blouse and exposed her large, full, pillow-like breasts. Without thinking and with no hesitation I placed my lips upon the closest nipple and began to suckle it greedily, my hands fondling and caressing it as Helen moaned.

As I suckled and fondled her breasts I felt Helen’s smooth warm hands slip under my t-shirt and slip the clasp of my Victoria Secret bra. I felt her cup and caress my breasts as I kissed and sucked hers, my heart pounding like Japanese drummers and my hands shaking, and suddenly I felt my bladder empty in a warm, wet stream, through my panties, over my stump, and down my stepmother’s limp, crippled legs. Instead of embarrassment, though, there was a deep sense of relief and, dare I say, satisfaction, and Helen moaned softly as well, hearing me pee on her more than actually feeling the warm liquid stream down her limp legs.

“I think maybe you need some protection now, baby.” Helen said, seeing the puddle below us both. “I’ll get you one of my diapers and then we’ll get this little accident cleaned up.”
I’m not sure I can adequately describe the excitement I felt at those words, and I really can’t explain why they affected me so much, but I wriggled on my stepmother’s lap as she continued to play with my breasts, then moved to caress my stump.

We held one another there in a near post-coital embrace for some time, I lost track, and then finally I transferred out of Helen’s lap and stripped off my soiled clothes and she told me to lay in bed as she wheeled out of the room. She returned a few minutes later, also stripped of her wet slacks and blouse and now wearing only white compression stockings and a fresh diaper.

She wheeled beside my bed and washed me carefully with moist wipes and I yearned for her touch. She maneuvered a bulky padded diaper, too large for me but still wonderful, between my crippled leg and my stump. As she fastened it securely, unable to help myself, I came with a warm, forceful orgasm that made me moan and made my stump twitch and bob about. Helen patted my diaper-padded sex with a smile.

“That’s my baby, you’ll be fine now...” she said, then stroked my crippled foot and played with my curled toes a little, moaning as she did so.

“We’ll be fine, mommy.” I said, unable to help myself as I lay there, reaching out to caress her limp, paralyzed thigh...

1 comment:

  1. Rather kinky and i some ways unhealthy relationship, but also a sweet story. But on the other hand, it is a story of two women who looses everything not once but twice in a year and need some comfort. I would d love here more about them.