D-Models - long time Devotee Resource

We all know that devotee resources come and go - great sites that are active for a while, producing great content, that simply vanish, or else stop updating and linger on like zombies.  It happens often - people get tired of it, or get harassed for their interests, or they can't make any money because of piracy, a sad fact of our community.

Some sites, however, have remained, steadily producing quality devotee material for many years, regularly updating with new models and new scenes for your viewing pleasure.  D-Models has been one of these sites, producing high quality images of beautiful disabled models for over a decade!

Link:  http://d-models.tajvdz.nl/index.html 

D-Models produces photo sets of beautiful paraplegic and amputee women in outdoor, indoor, and even bedroom settings.  The quality of their work is very high, with clear, well composed photos, and their models have something for everyone; attractive women with a variety of disabilities.  They also offer at least two new updates a month, an impressive feat lately, and offer beautiful new models often.

In a community where sites cone and go regularly, D-Models has stood the test of time and still produces some of the most excellent photos in the community. 

Two to Beam Up - Devotee Star Trek Fan Fiction

Two to Beam Up    by ParaCathy

“Transport initiated”

“Chief there’s a problem; we’ve got a surge in the primary buffer matrix!”  

“Switch to auxiliary!”  

“I can’t, we’re in a cascade failure, we’re losing her!”

“I’ve got a partial lock, but the secondary buffer is corrupt!”

“Dammit…  Can you reconfigure the primary?”  

“If I reconfigure the primary we’ll get an incomplete pattern.”

“Better most of her than none of her…”  

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...

Story - Close Encounters of the Devotee Kind

Close Encounters of the Devotee Kind

Sarah was having the most horrible dream, terrifying visions of leering, gray faces and violently spinning purple and orange lights. She felt pain, though she was pretty sure somewhere in the back of her mind that she shouldn't have been able to, then she felt a deep cold sensation down her right leg. The rest of her night was spent in restless, uncomfortable sleep, and when her alarm clock buzzed aggressively she felt like she hadn't slept at all. Then, as the turned off her alarm and pulled off the sheets, she screamed.

"Miss Jones, I'm afraid we simply don't have any explanation. It's... it's like nothing we've ever seen. Your right leg has been expertly amputated, as you can obviously see, and it's completely healed. By all accounts and by every means of examination we have, your leg was amputated mid thigh at least a decade ago." the doctor said, obviously deeply confused.

"But it was there YESTERDAY!" Sarah said exasperated, like someone who had been saying the same thing over and over all day. She was sitting on an exam table, her left leg dangling out of her hospital gown, her right leg - well, her right stump - pressing flat into the padded exam table top. "I had two legs went I went to bed, I've been over this a hundred times today!" she said, openly crying again. She had indeed woken to find her right leg completely gone, just a smooth, round stump in it's place. She could feel it, move it, it didn't hurt at all, but the fact remained that her leg was gone without a trace. She had vague recollections of bad dreams, but in all the panic of awaking as an amputee, she didn't put much thought into her nightmares.

"I understand your concern." said the new doctor unconvincingly. What was he, the eight? Ninth? She had lost count. Some time after lunch she realized they weren't diagnosing anything any more, they were just curious. Nothing like it had ever been seen, completely new phenomena, totally astonishing, blah blah blah - there was an air of sarcasm to all of it, though, an underlying incredulity that made Sarah uncomfortable. "But right now there is no indication that things will get worse. Other than the, um..., unusual situation, you are in perfect health, so..."

"So what? You're sending me home?" she said, looking defeated.

"There's nothing more we can do here, Sarah." the doctor said with a resigned sigh. "There is simply nothing medically wrong with you - at least nothing any part of medical science has ever encountered before. Go home, get some rest, and call this number in the morning - It's the number of a local rehab center with a good outpatient program to help you adjust."

"Adjust??" Sarah said, not fully understanding.

"Yes, adjust to your, um... situation." he said again, his bedside manner completely undone by the bizarre situation. "I believe you indicated earlier that you were familiar with the use of crutches?"

"So that's it? Give the one legged girl a pair of crutches and send her home?" Sarah was trying not to cry again, she was tired of it and didn't want to give this guy the satisfaction. The doctor handed her a pair of ordinary aluminum underarm crutches and she grabbed hold of them, angry and annoyed and a little afraid. With a little effort she stood on her one remaining leg and got her balance, taking a few tentative steps around the room. She was clumsy and the crutches hurt her shoulders, but at least she was walking and not being pushed in a wheelchair. She ushered the doctor out of the room and then slowly got dressed.

She crutched out of the room, the leg of her slacks folded crudely around her stump, and signed all the paperwork necessary for release, painfully aware of all the eyes tracking her every move. She was frightened and annoyed and tired and wanted nothing more than just getting back home. Thankfully the hospital provided a shuttle back to her condo and, after the most disturbing, frightening, and bizarre day of her whole life, she crutched into her living room and plopped heavily onto the couch, letting her crutches clatter to the floor. Her good leg ached, her shoulders ached, and she had no idea what she was going to do now that she was an amputee. She looked at the number to the outpatient rehab center and resolved to call it in the morning. She turned on the TV, watching something stupid that she couldn't pay attention to, and soon the stress of the day finally overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep.

The dreams again. The leering faces, the pain, the cool sensations, the flashing lights. She tossed and turned and finally cried out, waking herself and rolling off the couch, unbalanced because of her missing leg. She threw her hands out to catch herself and saw her right arm - or what remained of it, just another smooth, round stump that ended between her elbow and shoulder. She hit the floor with a thud and cried out, more from shock than actual pain.

"Sarah, we would like to formally apologize." said the very official looking man in the very expensive suit. Certainly not a doctor, possibly an administrator of some kind. Maybe a lawyer. "In short, we found your story yesterday so completely implausible that we honestly thought you were a psychiatric patient. The number you were given yesterday as you were discharged was to a psychiatric hotline, not a rehab center." the man looked very red, very nervous.

"So all that time yesterday, you never believed me? Not a single person?" she said angrily. She lay semi-reclined in bed, her arm stump waving animatedly as she shouted.

"Please, see it from our point of view, Sarah." the man said. "What has happened to you, well, it's simply not possible!"

"And yet here I am!" she said, staring at him and holding up her new stump.

"Please take my word, and the promise of the entire staff of this hospital, that we are doing everything we can to understand this situation and ensure that is doesn't happen again."

"Ha!" she shouted, her eyes puffy with tears. "You have no idea what's going on, how can you say you can stop it?"

"You will be staying here, in a private room in the hospital, and there are teams from the CDC and bio-toxins lab at your condo testing everything they can. We'll find the issue, and until you do, you should be safe here."

"I don't feel safe anywhere..." Sarah said, rubbing her arm stump with her slender left hand.

"Hi, I'm Olivia." said the young nurses' aid as she entered Sarah's room with a tray of food. Sarah had to admit it smelled great and she was starving after a day of the most extreme and intensive medical tests she had ever experienced.

"Hi Olivia." Sarah said quietly, trying to force a weak smile. "What's that?"

"Dinner - don't look at it that way, it's not hospital food. I went out and got a nice dinner from a place down the street - marinated grilled chicken, vegetables - it should be good." she smiled and set up Sarah's tray and raised her bed a little so Sarah was sitting up more.

"Thanks, Olivia." said Sarah and grabbed the fork from the tray. She looked down at the knife and the grilled chicken breasts and started to cry.

"It's OK Sarah, I can help." Olivia said, quickly grabbing the knife and fork and cutting Sarah's food into bite sized pieces. "Don't you worry about a thing, I can help you take care of whatever you need. You're my only patient tonight." she smiled warmly.

Sarah ate slowly, not really speaking. Halfway through dinner she looked up at Olivia. "I have to..." she said, a note of urgency in her voice.

"To what, Sarah?" Olivia asked, getting to her feet.

Sarah looked at her, a cross between panicked and embarrassed, and Olivia understood. "You want the bedpan or try for the toilet?" she asked.

"Toilet, I can make it." Sarah said, and Olivia helped her into a rolling attendant chair and pushed her into the bathroom, then helped her onto the toilet and looked away discretely as Sarah urinated, then helped her get cleaned up. to her credit, Sarah didn't cry when Olivia had to help her wipe.

Once Sarah was back in bed and had finished dinner, Olivia turned on the TV.

"Stay and watch with me?" Sarah asked, more fear and desperation in her voice than she expected.

"Sure." Olivia said cheerfully. "Like I said - you're my only patient tonight."

The two watched TV until close to midnight and Olivia finally fell asleep in the reclining chair by Sarah's bed. Sarah, too, finally succumbed to sleep, though she continued to fight it until after 1am according to the big round clock on the wall. She fell asleep, her left hand holding the stump of her right arm, and hoped that she wouldn't have those terrible bad dreams again.

The dreams came, though, and Sarah was terrified, she was confused. The same dreams, the insane leering faces, the bizarre sensations, the lights. There were voices in this one, too, something Sarah could barely make out. The sensations and sounds and fears all rolled and swirled together until Sarah finally awoke, gasping. In the half light of the private room she could see that Olivia was still sitting near the bed, tossing and thrashing and moaning in her sleep.

"Olivia!" she called out in little more than a whisper. She swallowed, then took a deep breath and called out more loudly. "Olivia! Wake up!" she said.

Olivia's eyes popped open with a start and she looked around the room as if she had momentarily forgotten where she was. "Oh, Sarah, I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. I had the most bizarre dream..." she said, still groggy and wiping sleep from her eyes.

"Olivia, look at me." Sarah said in the most calm voice she could manage. "I want you to stay calm, OK?"

Olivia looked at Sarah curiously, then froze, as if something was suddenly dawning on her. She looked down, following Sarah's gaze to her legs - or what had been her legs, anyway. Her long, athletic legs were now short, underdeveloped, lifeless, and totally numb.

"Sarah..." she said, her breath coming quickly, panic starting to set in. "Sarah, I can't feel my legs!" Olivia cried, staring down at her now crippled, paralyzed legs.

"Me either Olivia." Sarah said, pulling off her sheets. Both legs ended in round stumps between knee and hip, her left arm now her only remaining limb. "Maybe we can get matching wheelchairs...."

There was an insane rush around the hospital as soon as Sarah and Olivia's conditions were discovered. According to hallway surveillance both women had never left the room and nobody had gotten in, the door remained shut the whole time. There was no explanation for the situation and everyone in the hospital was completely baffled.

"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked Olivia as they wheeled her back into the room they now shared. Olivia's eyes were red from recent crying.

"I'm paralyzed completely from T2 down. And it looks as if..."

"As if you've been paralyzed for years." Sarah said, completely understanding.

"As if I've been paralyzed since birth..." Olivia corrected bitterly.

Sarah watched as Olivia struggled to transfer out of her hospital wheelchair onto the bed beside her, dragging her small, crippled legs with her. Her feet were curled and ankles turned in and her legs lacked all muscle tone. It really looked like she had been in a wheelchair all her life. Sarah could see the bulky hospital diaper under her hospital gown and her cheeks went pink, embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed." Olivia said with a sigh, seeing her reaction. "Last night I helped you use the toilet. Ironically, tonight I can't use it any more..." she said, patting the diaper. "But this isn't our fault, it's just something crazy, insane that happened..."

"That is happening." Sarah corrected.

"You think?" Olivia asked, looking at her wide-eyed.

"It's been three nights in a row for me, why wouldn't I?" she said. "Maybe you should sleep in a different room Olivia." Olivia shook her head.

"No, I figure we're in this together now. If they're coming back for you, chances are they'll want me too."

Sarah reached out her one remaining hand and Olivia took hold of it, grasping it firmly.

"Besides." Olivia continued, lifting one of her limp legs and shifting it on the bed. "We've got to try and stay awake all night and see what happens."

The two women sat in the hospital bed together, eating and watching TV and chatting as if they had known each other forever. They were both being monitored via a tangle of wires, and there was a closed circuit TV camera watching them both. Sarah needed a lot of help to get simple things done with only one arm and no legs, but even paralyzed Olivia was a big help. Sarah helped Olivia with a couple diaper changes as well, not feeling at all embarrassed by it any more. It was surprising and bizarre how quickly they both seemed to be adjusting to disabled life - though in the confines of a fully staffed hospital Sarah was certain things were not nearly as complicated as they would be back home.

One AM rolled around with the women still awake and chatting. Then 1:30, 1:45, 1:55 and both women were wide awake, watching television and talking animatedly. Olivia was giving Sara a stump massage that felt really wonderful, and both women were giggling about calling it a 'foot massage'. At 1:58am exactly, however, both women dropped to the bed and fell into a deep and immediate sleep.

The dreams were more terrifying than ever, and Sarah realized that in some way, she was actually awake and experiencing everything for real, not in a typical dream state. She felt the cold gripping sensation on her left arm and then knew immediately that her last remaining limb was gone. She looked around frantically and saw more swirling colors, bizarre otherworldly faces, but she couldn't make anything out clearly, it was like she was on some very strong hallucinogenic drug trip.

Sarah woke with a gasp and the lights were already coming on. It was still 1:58am according to the hospital clock, but it seemed like the dream 'attack' had taken hours. A doctor and two nurses rushed into the room and started checking things - a cold stethoscope was pressed to Sarah's breast. Olivia was still thrashing a bit and Sarah reached for her, but realized immediately that her left arm was, as she had experienced in the dream, amputated at the same level as her right arm. She was a quadruple amputee, helpless.

One of the nurses shook Olivia awake and she cried out. "Sarah!" she said, arms groping around. "Sarah, I can't see!" she said, panicked. "Where are you??"

"I'm here Olivia." Sarah said. "I'm right here, the doctor is here too."

"I can't find you Sarah, take my hand." she said, her voice still panicky.

"I can't Olivia, I don't have any arms now." Sarah said. "And it looks like your eyes are gone, sweety." she said, not wishing to belabor the point. Olivia's hands went to her eyes, then pulled away when they felt the hollow, empty eyelids.

The cameras caught nothing but three and a half seconds of static. The multiple vital signs monitors were level and flat until that static hit, then both women's vital signs jumped up as if they were terrified. That was all the evidence that was collected, aside from the fact that Sarah's left arm was amputated and Olivia's eyes were both surgically removed.

In their hospital room, they sat in wheelchairs, across from each other at a square table their breakfast was spread out on. Eggs, bacon, coffee, waffles. It all smelled great, but neither woman had much appetite. Sarah was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts someone had found for her, her stumps exposed. Olivia was in small sweatpants and fuzzy socks covering her crippled legs and feet, though her bulky diaper was obvious under it. she wore sunglasses, too - at her own insistence. Both women were being fed by orderlies who seemed more than a little uncomfortable being there - it was obvious everyone in the hospital knew what had happened, or had at least heard something bizarre. Olivia turned her head to where she imagined Sarah was sitting.

"So, what's next?" She said.

Sarah stared at her and started to reply...

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.

NEW story - Saw fantasy

Saw Fantasy

I wake up groggy, the tranquilizer slowly wearing off. I don't know where I am - it's dimly lit, and it smells like oil and old car parts. What the hell happened? I'm tied down somehow, I can barely move, but my arms seem to be free. I start trying to figure out what's going on, feeling around, and a big TV pops on in front of me.

The scary masked guy says that I shouldn't move, to stay right where I am. For some reason, I listen - I freeze and stare at the screen. He wears a freaky rubber mask, and his voice is deep with rough edges. He starts talking to me.

"Cathy, you have a choice to make right now, literally a life or death decision. Look at the clock below the screen. It is counting down from twenty minutes. At the end of that countdown, an explosive charge directly below you will detonate, and destroy everything in this room. There is a large metal door behind you, twenty feet away. One minute before the explosion, it will start to close. Nothing can stop it from closing once it starts, and nothing can open it again. to survive, you will have to make it through that door."

I begin to panic. What the fuck was going on?

"As you can see, you are locked to this platform. There is a key that can release you, attached to a chain that is within your reach. However, if you reach out to take it, a weight will be released from the ceiling above you, aimed directly at your back. It will sever your spine completely. It will paralyze you. You will then be able to unlock yourself and get through the door - though I warn you, that twenty feet will take you longer than you expect with a broken back."

I'm breathing heavy. This has to be some sick joke.

"By my calculations you have a little over eighteen minutes left. So you need to choose. You can live, spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair, or you can be killed when that clock reaches zero. I leave the decision to you."

I looked at the clock. It ticked to eighteen minutes as the sicko in the mask finished. The screen went black. I looked around, panicked. The room was some kind of storage room or workshop, though it looked unused. I spotted the brass key on the chain as promised, and slowly went to reach for it. As I expected, there is a metal wire connected to my wrists that pulls tight as I get about six inches from the key. The cable must lead to the trigger for the weight dangling precariously above me. I pull my hands back and think. I'm dripping with sweat.

Seventeen minutes. The red digital numbers count down with frightening speed. I scream, scream like I have never screamed before. I keep screaming and screaming until my throat is completely hoarse and I'm not making any sound. Nobody is coming.

Fifteen minutes. It has to be bullshit. This kind of thing doesn't happen, it must be some kind of sick prank, like a twisted reality TV show. But was it? I tried to think about what the hell happened, how I got here. I remembered the concert - it was a concert, right? Loud band, smoky... I had drinks. No, a drink. Someone gave me a drink. A beer? what happened then? I couldn't remember, all the memories jumbled in my head. Drugged? Was I drugged? Oh shit, was this fucking real??

Thirteen minutes. I have thirteen minutes to live. I can't stop the tears from coming, my vision is blurred by stinging tears mixed with sweat. I can't even brush the hairs out of my face.

Twelve minutes. I try reaching slowly for the key. Carefully reaching, trying to push the tied cable back on my arms. It's tight, I can't move it much. The cable tightens, I move another quarter inch. I hear a creak from above me, a metallic clicking noise. I freeze. My fingers are five inches from the key. Five fucking inches between life and death.

Eleven minutes. I don't have to die. If the wacko was telling the truth, I can just reach out and grab the key. And break my back. And live my life in a wheelchair. No more dance. No more cycling. No more sex. Assuming I could unlock myself and get through the door in time. Assuming the trauma of breaking my back didn't knock me unconscious. Assuming the masked wackjob was telling the truth and grabbing the key released me and didn't trigger the bomb early.

9:59 9:58 9:57

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I reach out my hands for the key and I hear it, I hear the metal 'click' and I think I can even hear the whir of the weight falling, falling through the air towards me. I grasp the key in both hands and close my eyes.

The impact hurts, hurts like I can't believe, but the worst part is where I don't hurt. My body just ends at my stomach. My upper back and breasts hurt, hurt like red fire, but that fire ends in a sinister line of 'nothing' I'm breathing heavy, breathing fast. Trying to move. The clock is still counting down.

9:00 I find the lock and fumble with the key, almost dropping it through my sweat-slicked fingers. It takes me three tries, but I get the key in and I hear the 'click' of my bonds opening. I shrug my shoulders and chains drop to the floor with a shrill clatter. I try pushing myself off the bench I've been chained to and I fall to the floor, my balance gone. I hit with a hard thud and feel my shoulder pop horribly, a new sharp pain shooting through me. I begin to try to crawl, and it's like the wacko said, it's hard, really hard, to drag my broken back and dead, limp, numb legs behind me across the floor.

7:00 FUCK! I'm screaming and trying to drag myself. I see the door now, it looks so fucking far away. I pull myself, fingers clawing into the concrete floor until they bleed. I move inch by inch. I can't see the clock any more. I'm driven by pure fear and rage and adrenaline, and I keep crawling.

I'm swearing, I'm panting, my shoulder is killing me, and I've only covered half the distance. How long has it been. I keep pulling. Keep crawling.

It's such an odd sensation, when I stop to think about it. My lower half is dead weight - I feel nothing at all, like I just end at my stomach. I don't look back, for fear of seeing me really like that, seeing my body end at my ribcage, my entrails and viscera dragging behind me in a crimson red trail.

I'm six or seven feet now. I can see beyond the door. How much longer?

I hear a new sound, a hum, and that huge door begins to close. It's slow, it will likely take the full minute to close completely, but I'm not through it yet. Not even close. I shriek and scream and I pull myself, pull my numb crippled body towards that giant door. There's a caterpillar screw at the top, slowly spinning. Caterpillar screw - I remember that name because I saw it in school once and thought it was funny.

School. I'll have to use a wheelchair at school. Fuck fuck fuck.

The door is more than half closed when I reach it, exhausted. I grab onto the edge to try and stop it, but it doesn't budge. It keeps closing with that slow, ponderous movement. I keep pulling myself through it, I'm exhausted, I'm in terrible pain. My hands are bloody from crawling across the rough cement. I've only got seconds to get through the door.

I don't make it. There isn't any pain, thankfully. I can't get through the door all the way, and the psycho in the mask was right - there was no way to stop it. I made it through to my knees when the door finally pinned me, prevented me from moving any more. So I watch. Watch the giant steel door slowly compress my legs, my knees, and then simply amputate them. I'm completely detached from the process, as I can't feel a thing, and suddenly I'm able to pull myself away from the door, my mangled stumps pulling away with a sick sound that makes me want to vomit.

Instead of that, I black out, just as I hear the loud concussive blast that likely liquefied everything in the room. Including my legs.

I wake up to blinding white light. I remember everything, every moment of the ordeal. I know I'm dead. I look around and see an angel, hovering beside me. no, not angel. A nurse. I'm not dead. fuck.

The doctor is dripping with faux compassion as he details my 'condition'. My back was completely severed along two thoracic vertebrae. I was completely paralyzed from my stomach down, zero chance of recovery thanks to all the moving I did to crawl out of the room. Sick bastard knew that. Legs amputated mid-thigh. I could see the bulky round bandaged 'things', the remainders of my long, healthy legs, under the light hospital sheets. And again - at least it didn't hurt. I assume that anyone else losing their legs in a steel door would probably be in a considerable amount of pain.

Police are there, of course, asking a million questions. My mom, freaking out, crying. I'm detached from it all. Like it's all happening to someone else. Like I didn't sneak out of the house to see a concert. Like I'll wake up and play soccer again and dance again and...

I'm sitting alone now, in a hospital waiting area, looking out the big windows. Sitting in a wheelchair. Not MY wheelchair - they said that would come in a week or so. I cant' feel anything below my belly button, and I have a wide Velcro belt around my waist, holding me in the wheelchair.

I look out the window, and all I can see is him. That freaky rubber mask. That hoarse voice. And for some reason, something deep in my brain glows red, and I smile...

Story - The Adventures of Mandy and Cathy, Chapter 1

The Adventures of Mandy and Cathy, Chapter 1 By Paragirl

It started out with a smile and a martini. Cathy saw Mandy in a local bar, primarily a lesbian establishment though the occasional curious breeder did wander in. Immediately she knew Mandy was different, special. Her perfect blond hair, her large, gorgeous breasts, her killer smile - all these paled in comparison to Mandy's outfit. It was simple, a short black dress with an elegant plunging neckline, but it showed so much more than cleavage. Cathy stared at the high-tech prosthetics which made up all four of Mandy's limbs. She didn't care why or how, she just knew that she wanted to experience this woman in every way possible. So naturally, she bought her a drink...

One Martini (selected because the glass seemed easily gripped by the sleek silver hooks that acted as Mandy's hands) and three hours of conversation later, and Mandy and Cathy were in love. Not just 'hey you're sexy let's go to my place', but real, genuine love, with a heavy does of lust on top... They went back to Mandy's place that night, and they slept together, but it was just that - Cathy sleeping with her arm around her abbreviated girlfriend, finding a sensual comfort in the smooth, round stumps that brushed against her naked skin.

Mandy had contracted Meningitis in college, as Cathy had first expected when she saw her - a young twenty-something quad amputee was not a common occurrence, odds were good that it was Meningitis. Cathy also learned soon that Mandy actually hated her high-tech prosthetics, and when they were home together Mandy preferred going without. She had an intensely sexy way of walking on all fours, as her stumps were all of a size and shape to allow for fluid, even graceful locomotion that way. Cathy soon had several sets of custom made leather stump boots delivered - in white and black leather - that Mandy began using daily around the house. Out in public she still wore her prosthetics, but Mandy couldn't wait to get home and get 'naked' - that is, get the bulky prosthetics off and have Cathy put her comfy and sexy stump boots on, usually with a tight pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

Their sex life was amazing, so passionate yet playful and fun. Then one day, Cathy and Mandy were naked in bed, Mandy caressing Cathy all over with her soft, sexy stumps, when Cathy - sucking on Mandy's nipple - felt a little too excited and bit a little too hard. Mandy yelped, but then moaned loudly, her hips bucking involuntarily. Cathy nibbled again, just as hard, and the moans became louder, and Mandy rolled over onto her back, her short arm stumps actually reaching for her pussy as Cathy nibbled and pulled at her sensitive nipples. Mandy came strongly at the intense nipple stimulation, then set to attacking Cathy's wet pussy with such ferocity and passion that Cathy came in minutes, shouting loudly over and over.

That weekend Cathy surprised Mandy with a trip to the body piercers, buying her two pretty gold nipple rings, 14 gauge. Mandy was so excited by the time the rings were in that they skipped their planned lunch and headed right back home for more very hot sex. Any time Cathy tugged on Mandy's nipple rings, Mandy moaned with pleasure and desire. Cathy teased Mandy one her prosthetic arms were off, because her arms stumps could brush against her nipple rings, but she couldn't tug on them by herself - a situation Cathy loved.

Mandy definitely had submissive traits from the beginning, and Cathy started taking advantage of those more and more, to the delight of both women. Cathy bought a variety of strap-on dildoes and other devices and began taking Mandy from behind - the 'ultimate doggy style' as it were, with Mandy's leg stumps splayed wide, allowing total penetration by Cathy. She would then return the favor, usually using her stumps and tongue to pleasure Cathy - Cathy shivered whenever those warm smooth stumps touched her anywhere, and the things that her lover could do with them...

Then, tragedy struck, completely unexpected. A freak accident at work left Cathy completely blind, plunged into a world of unthinkable darkness. Mandy stood by her through it all, naturally, and helped as much as her condition allowed, but Cathy began to despair. She had never experienced a feeling of helplessness like this - like most people, she didn't realize how much she took her eyesight for granted until she had permanently lost it.

The settlement from the accident was enough for Mandy and Cathy to live very comfortably, thankfully, but that was little comfort as Cathy found herself bouncing off walls and tables, her white cane of very little use to her. Mandy began giving her little helpful hints - 'a little left' or 'sofa on your right' as Cathy navigated the house blind, but it was obviously frustrating for both women; their relationship started to strain. Then Mandy had an idea.

It was midmorning and Cathy still wasn't out of bed. It was harder and harder to get up - no sunlight or lights to tell her what was day and what was night, and depression setting in deeper and deeper caused her to stay in bed most of the day sometimes. This morning, though, Mandy had other plans. She shook Cathy and rubbed her stumps all over her lover, and Cathy finally rose, stretching and mumbling. Mandy used her stumps and teeth to drop a set of stump boots on Cathy's lap, and Cathy was able to put the boots on easily by feel - something she had done many times since becoming blind, as Mandy forced her to learn as soon as she returned form the hospital. Then there was something else - something new that Cathy didn't recognize by touch. Mandy guided her verbally, and she put it on Mandy, clipping it and tightening it across her chest and shoulders. Cathy had no idea what it could be, but she realized she hadn't really had this much physical contact with Mandy since her accident, and she was feeling aroused again. She missed how sexy her lover looked walking around in her arm and leg stump boots, and she felt another sudden pang of sadness remembering that never again would she see her lover in any way - her world was now limited to sound and touch - sight had been taken away permanently.

Cathy reached to the dresser where her folding cane was, but her hand met nothing but air. She felt around the whole dresser top, but no cane!

"Your cane isn't there, honey." Cathy heard from beside her.

"So what, is this your way of keeping me in bed? I won't be going far without it, I'm blind, remember?"

"Yes, I remember - but you wont' need your cane today. I have a surprise for you." Said Mandy playfully.

"And what would that be?" asked Cathy, irritated but very curious. She heard Mandy scoot off the bed, her soft stump boots making little muffled noises as she got on all fours - a comforting, familiar sound.

"Stand up." Mandy told Cathy. Cathy did, feeling around to get her bearings and her balance. Without the cane, she felt like there was a sensory input missing.

"OK, now what?" Cathy asked nervously.

"Now, reach straight down with your right hand. Lower, lower." Cathy's hand made contact with Mandy's naked bottom. She heard Mandy let out a soft moan, practically a purr. "OK, now feel up my back a few inches. It should be right near your hand."

"What should?" Cathy said, then felt it. It was part of whatever she dressed Mandy in. It was hard and felt like it was wrapped in leather. She picked it up and realized it was attached to Mandy.

"OK, hold tight and get ready." Mandy said, and Cathy was pulled gently by the handle. She took a few tentative steps and realized what was happening at once.

"Are you... Are you acting as my guide dog?!?" Cathy asked as she was pulled along gently by the harness attached to her lover.

"Dog doesn't sound quite right - how about puppy?" Mandy asked playfully.

"My guide puppy, then.... you, you're OK with this?" Cathy asked, still following alongside her new 'guide puppy'.

"Actually lover..." Mandy said, sounding a little breathless "I'm incredibly turned on by it. I've been fantasizing about this moment since I ordered the custom harness from a leather worker online. Are YOU Ok with it?"

Cathy thought about it, thought about the feelings of helplessness Mandy must have felt since she lost her limbs and how this act must be like a fulfillment of sorts. Then she thought about herself, how being led around blind - she WAS blind now, that was permanent - was something she'd have to accept, and this way, it was not only comfortable, she realized it was also VERY sexy...

"Yes, I'm really OK with it. Being blind is going to be tough, but with your help, I think we can make this work. And I have to say, imagining what you look like down there, my little blindpuppy - it's making me really hot..."

Mandy didn't say a word, she just led Cathy to the couch, where Cathy sat and spread her legs. She felt Mandy's stump boots on her thighs and practically screamed when she felt Mandy's hot, talented tongue going down on her. Since her accident, it was the most amazing thing she had felt yet....

Story - My Accident

My Accident

I awoke to what looked like early morning sun. I wasn't in my own bed - that much was certain. I tried to remember what had happened, where I was. There was a car ride, night time, what the hell had happened? It was all a blur.

the nurse walked in. she was beautiful, total knockout, but she had a look of concern on her face. she sat right next to me and I thought she went to hold my hand, to give me some bad news, but...

"Cathy, do you know where you are? You're in the hospirtal dear. You had an accident."

"How bad?"

"It's bad, dear."

I started taking mental inventory and realized I couldn't feel my legs. I looked at her, frightened. "My legs?"

"Paralyzed Cathy, I'm sorry. From just below your breasts down."

I took a deep breath. Life in a wheelchair - not the end of the world, but I could tell there was more. I realized something else felt.. different.

the nurse listed the blanket and I saw them. My right arm was just a swatch of bandage, it ended inches below my shoulder. My left arm was there, but missing just above my wrist. No arms, no hands, dead legs, paralyzed sex. I was crippled, maimed. I was excited.

The first time my nurse changed my diaper, I moaned as I watched it happen. The first time she fed me, I had a mental orgasm. I was helpless, dead from my tits down, armstumps flopping. and she was into it too. My nurse. She massaged my crippled legs, put my stump socks onto my arms, spent a little extra time 'cleaning' me as she changed my diapers. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was excited anyway.

She brought me my wheelchair. It was mouth-controlled. I asked her why, as I could use most of my left arm, but she just smiled, said it would be easier. I didn't complain. she lifted my crippled body, belted me into my wheelchair, and then almost as an afterthought, kissed my short right armstump. I moaned aloud. That was the reaction she had been hoping for.

I wasn't even sure what was happening, but suddenly my nurse was licking and kissing my stumps, playing with my numb, crippled legs. I tried to touch her with my right arm out of habit and of course nothing happened, just that little stumpy wiggling and reaching. My left stump worked better and I becan to stroke her gently, hearing her moan with pleasure as I stroked her firm breasts through her blouse.

She locked the door and moved me in my wheelchair so I could see her and she stripped naked, a slow sensual tease that made my newly crippled body yearn in ways I had never imagined. She stood before me naked and then reached down and lifted my legs. I saw them lifted, saw her hands on them, but felt nothing. Like they were someone else's legs. I saw how they flopped, how they drooped, how my feet were curled and crippled. I sat there in my wheelchair and watched her caress and kiss my feet, my legs. Again, I felt a heat within me that was burning as I watched her. she was so turned on, playing with my poor crippled feet, and all I could do was sit there, stroking my breasts with my left stump, my right stump simply wiggling useless.

She kissed me all over, told me what a sexy cripple I was, sucking my numb toes as I sat there in my diaper. She came back up, kissing me passionately as she played with my stumps, then laid back on the bed and took my crippled feet, began to rub herself with them. I watched from my wheelchair, unable to do much else, while she rubbed herself into a frenzy and quickly came, yelling loudly in the small white room.

After my nurse dressed me, she took me out to the cafeteria where she fed me a wonderful lunch, including a glass of wine. After lunch she transferred me to the couch and watched a movie with me, playing with my crippled feet the whole time. She put an assistive device on my left stump so I could type a little on the computer, and then we made love againm my beautiful nurse paying special attention to my crippled feet and legs and my pretty new stumps.