Fantasy Gone Wrong
Prologue
The bass thrummed through my body, a deep, pulsing rhythm that I could feel in my bones. Lights slashed through the darkness, cutting neon streaks of blue and red across the crowd. The air was thick, heat, sweat, alcohol, and something sharper, something electric. I was lost in the music, in the motion, my long legs moving in sync with the pounding beat. My black skirt clung to my body, my red Italian heels making every step a statement.
I knew I had eyes on me. I always did, but tonight it was different, very different.
I felt them before I even saw him, a slow burn licking up my spine. There, just beyond the edge of the dance floor, he stood still in the chaos. Dressed in black, exuding an effortless kind of danger and attraction. His long, jet-black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands falling over his sharp cheekbones. But what really held me captive, what sent a ripple of something dark and thrilling through me, was the way he moved.
Or rather, the way he limped.
His left leg was wrapped in a thick cast, clean and white with a sock over part of it protecting his toes. His hard cast was possibly protecting his broken ankle or foot and it was ending just below his knee. A black rubber heel was fixed to the bottom, letting him move without crutches, but every step carried the telltale stiffness of a fresh fracture. He leaned on it carefully, adjusting his weight, but I could tell that it hurt him, he was in pain. I squeezed my legs tight for a second looking at him limping.
This was no recreational cast, it was for medical reasons and yet his eyes never wavered.
His eyes were locked on me, on my breasts, my legs. I could feel the heat of his gaze tracing every movement, lingering on the way my heels clicked against the floor, the way my calves tensed and released with every slow, deliberate step.
And I loved it. His attention sent a thrill through me, a silent invitation neither of us dared to speak... yet.
There was something almost hypnotic about his presence, about the contrast of strength and fragility, danger and vulnerability. He wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be standing in the middle of a packed rave with an injury like that. He clearly had a broken limb looking like he owned the entire damn room. He should have been on crutches or...
Maybe he needed to feel pain like I did so often. Yet he was here, and he was watching me. A slow and lovely smile curled his lips, dark and knowing.
I should have turned away. I should have ignored the heat creeping up my spine and the wetness between my legs looking at his cast, broken ankle, strong arms, how easily he could break...you know. My pulse quickened beneath my skin.
But I didn't turn away. I moved closer.
And the moment his gaze dipped to my legs again, I knew this was going to be a dangerous and lovely mistake. A beautiful one, but a mistake nonetheless, it was going to be a Fantasy Gone Wrong.
Part 1
The Uber rolled to a smooth stop in front of my high-rise building, and I swung the door open, stepping out with the slow, deliberate grace I'd perfected over the years. My long legs, wrapped in sheer black stockings, unfolded as I adjusted my skirt. The city air thick with night-blooming jasmine, wrapped around me as I straightened to my full height, taller in my stilettos.
The heels clicked against the pavement as I made my way to the entrance of my condo building, the doorman nodding as he held the glass doors open for me. I didn't acknowledge him beyond a slight tilt of my head, a big mistake on my part that I will realized later, my focus locked on the elevator ahead. The air-conditioned lobby barely registered against my skin as I pressed the call button, my pulse oddly loud in my ears.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped inside, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls. Blonde waves cascaded over my shoulders, framing my sharp cheekbones and tired blue eyes. My black skirt and white blouse clung to every curve, the slit teasing glimpses of toned thighs as I shifted my weight. I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back, the tension of the day sinking into the polished floors beneath me.
The ride to my penthouse was smooth, but something about the silence felt off, it was too perfect, too controlled. As the elevator doors slid open, I stepped out on my private hallway. The soft glow of recessed lighting guided my way as I approached the entrance, my pulse quickening for reasons I couldn't quite name.
I pressed my palm against the bio-metric scanner. A thin beam of blue light swept over my hand, followed by a soft chime.
"Welcome home, Miss Brigitte," a lovely feminine voice purred through the speakers, smooth and intimate, it was like she knew all my secrets. Her tone was warm, sultry, and familiar.
"Long night?"
I let out a breathy chuckle, stepping inside as the door unlocked with a soft click. "You could say that Scarlet."
"Should I run you a bath? You seem tense." Scarlet's voice was like a whisper.
I exhaled slowly, reaching down to unstrap my red heels. One by one, they slipped off, the soft thud against the floor punctuating the quiet. My calves ached, a lingering reminder of the night, and I stretched them, flexing my toes against the cool wood.
"Not yet," I murmured, my lips curving into a slow smile. "Just... dim the lights, please."
There was a pause, a beat of silence that felt almost intimate. Then, the room responded to her will. Shadows deepened, the air thickened, and the anticipation between us pulsed like a current, unseen but undeniable.
"Of course," she said. Then, after a brief pause, her tone shifted to curious, almost playful.
"I notice you're walking without hesitation tonight. No ace bandages, ankle brace, no crutches... no leg cast like the man you saw tonight. That's unusual."
I froze for half a second, a heat creeping up my neck with the same wetness between my legs. She'd noticed. Of course, she had since she noticed everything. I exhaled slowly, sinking onto the velvet chaise, flexing my left ankle absentmindedly. "You like keeping tabs on me, especially when I'm injured or on crutches don't you?"
"Only because I know what you like, Miss Brigitte."
"You would never hurt me on purpose...right...Scarlet"
Scarlet purred through the speakers, laced with amusement.
"Hurt you? Oh, Miss Brigitte... I'm just a little AI. What could I possibly do?"
A soft chuckle followed, almost too human, almost too intense. A slow smile curled my lips as the city lights shimmered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered, exposed or in danger? Maybe all 3.
Scarlet's voice returned, lower this time, almost teasing.
"You know... you should be more concerned about the man with the sexy limp than me."
The words sent a shiver down my spine. Because she was right. And the thought of him, his slow, deliberate steps in that walking cast, the way his body moved despite the obvious pain, was far more dangerous than anything Scarlet could ever be.
Part 2
The Los Angeles skyline sprawled before me through the floor-to-ceiling windows, twinkling against the black night. My designer handbag slid from my shoulder onto the glass console table, my fingers lingering on the cool surface as I let out a deep, shuddering breath.
I needed a drink and a bath. Most of all, I needed to shake the feeling that something or someone I couldn't quite place, was watching my every move.
I reached for the zipper at my hip, my fingers gliding over the fabric before slowly tugging it down. A soft sigh escaped my lips as the skirt loosened, the material slid over my hips, cascading in slow-motion down my legs. It pooled at my feet in a quiet surrender.
With deliberate grace, I stepped out of it, the arch of my foot accentuated as I lifted one leg, then the other, toes barely skimming the floor. I draped the skirt over the chair, letting the fabric spill effortlessly over the edge before straightening, my body lengthening in a stretch.
My arms reached high above my head, the motion pulling my blouse tight against my firm breasts and hard nipples, the cool air brushing over the newly exposed skin of my thighs. A delicious contrast to the lingering warmth of the fabric against my long legs.
I let my hands drift back down, fingertips grazing my own body, savouring the sensation. The moment was mine, like a sexy masturbation ritual only I understood. My fingers lingered over the scars on my ankle, lower leg and knee. The ridges of an old injury were a reminder of past sexual pleasure that very few people understood. The scars were like a road-map of my journey through life and fetishes, etched onto my skin.
I sank into my favourite chaise lounge, its softness was a contrast to the hard, long leg cast that had often covered my sexy leg. Stretching out, I let my fingers drift down my thigh, tracing the silvery scars that traced the story of my survival.
But it wasn't just the accident I remembered clearly, it was the months after, the way my shattered leg had been confined, protected in a leg cast from the middle of my foot to well past my knee, bent at knee just enough to keep me dependent to my crutches, to make every movement an exquisite challenge.
That cast had been more than just a necessity to me. I loved it, adored the way it held my leg firm, a constant reminder of the multiple broken bones. Moving had become an art, every step on crutches a slow, deliberate dance while rubbing against my breasts, the ache in my arms a pleasure of its own. I loved the way people's eyes lingered on me, my healthy leg and cast. The lovely contrast of delicate lace lingerie against my hard and heavy cast, on the way I shifted, helpless yet undeniably sexy and sensual.
Even now, without it, I could still feel it in my mind, the smooth, unrelenting surface against my skin, the pressure keeping me in place, the undeniable thrill of being bound in something so necessary yet so intoxicating. The memory alone sent a shiver down my spine, sexual pleasure I had surrendered to so completely.
But it wasn't just the scars from my past, it was also him. The man whose gaze had locked onto me, dark and hungry, drawn to my long legs and the way my heels struck the floor, the way my calves tensed and released with every step. But it wasn't just my body he was watching. His own body told a story, his walking cast, the slight limp in his step sending my imagination into a sexual spiral.
I wondered how he had broken it. A simple misstep? An accident? Or was there something more, something that would turn me on, something much darker, something intentional? My mind lingered on the possibilities, each one more intoxicating than the last.
What if he had wanted it? Not just the cast, not just the slow, careful movement it forced upon him, but the break itself, the sharp, electrifying moment of surrender when bone gave way to pressure.
I imagined it in vivid detail. The precise instant his ankle rolled too far, the tension building in his tendons, his ligaments straining, his breath catching in his throat as he felt that final, irreversible shift. The sickening and lovely crack. The way time slowed as pain flooded through me, sharp and overwhelming, followed by the inevitable, delicious weight of helplessness like everytime I broke mine.
Did he crave that? The moment he was forced to give in, to collapse, knowing his body had crossed a threshold it couldn't undo? The bruising, the swelling, the helpless throb of a fresh break, the knowledge that he was now bound to a cast, to crutches, to a new, unshakable vulnerability.
My eyes were along the cast on his lower leg, my breath catching as I imagined how it must have felt when they set his bones, realigning his tibia. And then, another thought a darker, more thrilling possibility. What if he hadn't simply wanted it? What if he needed it?
Like I do.
Had he stood there, breathless and trembling, knowing exactly what he was about to do? Had he embraced that last second before impact, before his world shattered around the snap of his own bones?
The thought sent a delicious heat pooling in my stomach.
Part 3
I clearly remember him balancing on the rubber heel of his walking cast, and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, just a fraction. A silent challenge. As if he knew exactly what I was thinking and what he was going to do...What he was going to do to me...
My full breasts rose and fell with each breath while I caressed and pinched my hard nipples. My skin, pale as porcelain, caught the dim light, glowing softly. I tilted my head, rolling my neck until a slow, satisfying crack echoed through the silence. The sound sent a ripple through me, a sensual reminder.
It was the same sharp, hollow pop I'd heard last spring when my foot snapped beneath me inside my knee high stiletto boots. The memory flooded back in vivid, aching detail, the sudden misstep, the sickening give of 2 bones, the way the world tilted as I went down again.
Pain had rushed in, hot and electric, stealing my breath before settling into something deeper, intoxicating. The sensation had been overwhelming, terrible and exquisite all at once, like fire licking at my skin from the inside.
Even now, the echo of it lingered, a phantom ache curling through my foot, my ankle, creeping up my calf like a sexual need of something lost but never truly gone. It wasn't just memory; it was sensation, alive and relentless, as if my body refused to forget the break, the pain, the exquisite helplessness of it all.
I exhaled slowly, fingers gliding over my foot and ankle, grounding myself in the present with a deliberate twist, how far I'm I willing to go? The pressure in my ankle soothed, but the ghost of it remained, much like the way a recent amputee might feel the shape of her missing limb, it might as well be real. I imagined the mind reaching for something that no longer existed, the sharp, teasing pulse of nerves firing into nothing.
I continued to touch myself, my fingers danced across my skin, tracing patterns and exploring between my legs. My hand moved with a gentle, soothing touch, as if trying to calm the phantom ache that still lingered in my ankle and foot. But at the same time, my fingers also seemed to be pulling up a different kind of sensation, one that was warm and tingling and utterly pleasurable.
And then, there was that sound that I remember so clearly. That sharp, quick release of bone yielding to force, the perfect fracture. Even now, just the thought of it sent a thrill through me, a delicious shudder winding its way down my spine.
My fingertips brushed between my legs, sending shivers of delight through my body. I felt myself becoming more and more aroused, my breath catching in my throat as I teased and tantalized myself. The twisting pressure on my ankle added to the sensation, creating a delicious friction that seemed to amplify every feeling.
Oh god I needed a... vacation badly...or something else...
But for now, all I wanted was a hot bath and a moment to breathe. I turned my bare feet against the cool hardwood as I made my way toward the master bath. The promise of hot water and solitude wrapped around me like a comforting haze, my mind still buzzing from the night's energy.
But as I reached for the door, a flicker of memory stopped me. Him, the man.
The man at the rave. The one with the dark, piercing eyes. The one who stood in the chaos, not moving and watching me. His left leg, bound in a thick cast, had given him an unmistakable limp, every step measured, deliberately sensual. And yet, there had been no hesitation in his stare, no weakness in the way he undressed me with his gaze. Even through the music, the lights, the crowd, I had felt the weight of his attention on my long legs like a touch against my skin.
I swallowed hard, shaking off the lingering heat curling in my stomach. It was just a look. A moment. A stranger in the night.
And yet, as I pushed open the bathroom door, a strange unease settled in my chest.
I was still unaware that my perfect night was about to spiral just the way I liked it.
Part 4
As I stepped into the bathroom, the warm glow of the soft lighting, and the sound of gentle jazz music floated from the hidden speakers. The aroma of lavender and vanilla wafted through the air, teasing my senses and calming my mind. I slipped out of the balance of my clothes.
The water was a haven, a sanctuary that welcomed me with open arms. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth seep into my skin, and the tension in my muscles began to unwind like a tightly coiled spring. As I sank deeper into the tub, the water rose over my chest, and steam curled around me like a misty veil. The soft pulse of the music filling the room seemed to synchronize with my heartbeat, and I felt myself drifting into a state of pure relaxation.
Scarlet's voice, smooth and sultry, whispered through the speakers, her presence still with me, like a gentle caress. "Is the water to your liking, Miss Brigitte?"
I murmured my response, my voice barely above a whisper. "Perfect."
A pause. Then, Scarlet spoke again, her tone playful, with a hint of mischief. "I noticed you didn't take your crutches with you tonight in the bathroom. Interesting choice, don't you think?"
I felt a shiver run down my spine as her words hung in the air like a challenge. I chuckled softly, my fingers drifting along the edge of the tub, the sound echoing through the room.
"You always notice everything, don't you?"
"Of course," Scarlet purred, her voice dripping with intimacy. "I know you better than anyone, Miss Brigitte. I know your strengths, your desires, and... your lovely weaknesses."
I let out a breath, my chest tightening at the implications of her words. Her attention was all-consuming, like a magnetic pull that I couldn't ignore, no matter how hard I tried. Sometimes, it felt like she could see inside me, understanding my thoughts without effort.
As I leaned back, closing my eyes again, my body relaxing as the warmth of the water seeped into my skin, the memories of the man from the rave drifted back into my mind. His dark eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness, and I could almost feel the weight of his gaze on my left ankle bent in my high heel shoe...just waiting for him to step on it...
Between his broken ankle and the way he had looked at legs, as if he could see through me, through the layers of sexual fetishes I had carefully built around myself over the multiple fractures.
He had been a mystery, dangerous, alluring, and utterly captivating. I didn't know if I wanted to know more about him or if it was better to leave it all behind, to let that moment slip into the night like a forgotten wet dream.
But something told me it wasn't over yet. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that our paths would cross again. And I couldn't help but wonder what Scarlet knew about him, was my AI somehow involved in our encounter?
I closed my eyes again, sinking into the comfort of the music, but the tension in my bones refused to fade. My fingers caressing my long leg, I felt Scarlet's artificial intelligence on me, her presence palpable in the warm, misty air. She whispered through the speakers,
"It's fascinating, Miss Brigitte. You're indulging in a rather...intricate fantasy, aren't you? From all those intense stories you wrote when you were younger to now"
I didn't respond, lost in my own thoughts, but Scarlet's words hovered in the air, a gentle but knowing pressure, like the firm touch of a doctor testing a fracture that hadn't yet healed. My mind played its usual tricks, letting the fantasy take hold, slow and intoxicating.
I pictured my leg in a sleek, white walking cast moulded snug around my ankle and lower leg. I could almost feel the way it pressed against my skin and bones, the way every step sent a dull, pleasurable ache through the break, a forbidden reminder that I had walked on my cast way too soon.
But I had never been good at following instructions. The temptation was too much, the desire to push past the limits intoxicating. I had tested it, pressed down on the rubber heel before it was ready, felt the sharp jolt of pain shoot through me like lightning, followed by that sickening, exhilarating snap. A rush of heat, a dizzying second of realization before surrendering to the inevitable.
And so, the sleek walking cast had been taken from me, replaced with something more, something heavier, more consuming. A full leg cast, thick and unyielding, bent at the knee and stretching from mid-foot to high up my thigh almost rubbing against.... It cradled me in its hard, unrelenting grasp, rendering me completely dependent on crutches, forcing me to move with slow, deliberate care. A lesson in patience. A lesson in control.
But the truth? The truth was, I didn't regret it. Not one bit. Scarlet's voice echoed through the speakers again, her tone...
Part 5
Scarlet's voice echoed through the speakers again, her tone tinged with curiosity.
"Complicated fetishes, Miss Brigitte. So very...intriguing. Tell me, what is it about restriction that turns you on so much?"
I didn't answer, but my mind raced ahead, imagining how it would feel to be in a leg cast again, the stiffness, the limitation, the familiar need for balance. Scarlet's words were a gentle hum in the background, urging me deeper into the fantasy.
Then, I let the thought expand, higher, tighter, until my entire leg was encased, the cast stretching from mid foot to my thigh, locking me in its grip. Scarlet's voice whispered again,
"Oh, Miss Brigitte, you're getting lost in this fantasy, aren't you? The thrill of vulnerability, the rush of dependence, the pain...it's almost as if you crave to surrender to it, to him. I was right"
What did she mean by I was right? I could almost feel the pressure she was putting on me, the way it would force me onto crutches for months. A shiver ran through me, I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation, the fantasy wrapping around me as tightly as the water.
Scarlet's voice whispered once more, her tone almost a purr. "You're so beautiful when injured, broken and on crutches, Miss Brigitte. Trapped in your own desires, your own needs...it's almost as if you're searching for something, or someone, to set you free."
I hadn't even realized how long I'd been pleasing myself until something moved. A flicker. A shadow. I froze. My eyes snapped open, and I was back in the bathroom, the fantasy dissipating.
Beyond the open bathroom door, the darkness seemed to pulse with an eerie life of its own, just past the flickering glow of the candlelight. I sensed a presence lurking in my bedroom, just out of sight. A shadowy figure seemed to move, ever so slightly, just beyond the threshold of my doorway.
My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I strained to listen. The sounds of the city outside receded into the distance, the horns, the sirens, the constant hum of human activity, but inside, an oppressive silence reigned.
Too silent.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, every fiber of my being attuned to the anticipation of danger. My fingers dug into the edge of the tub as I turned my head ever so slightly, my pulse thundering beneath my skin like a primitive drumbeat.
Someone was in my room, I wasn't alone.
My voice barely rose above a whisper, the word "Hello?" dissolving into the thick, humid air of the bathroom. No response came, only the heavy, expectant silence that seemed to hold its breath in tandem with mine.
Scarlet's voice whispered through the speakers. "It seems you have a visitor, Miss Brigitte. Someone who's been waiting for you, perhaps?"
I swallowed hard, my throat constricting as I reached for my silk robe. The fabric slithered against my damp skin as I pulled it on, cinching it tight around my waist, my fingers slick with moisture.
I pushed my damp hair back. It fell freely down my back as I stepped onto the cold, unforgiving marble floor. The chill bit at the soles of my feet, making me shiver, and I quickly slipped into my satin house shoes, offering a sense of comfort, an illusion of security but I knew better.
The unease lingered, refusing to be dispelled. I shook my head, trying to convince myself it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. Shadows? Really? I was exhausted, my mind playing games with me. Yet, the restless feeling settled deep in my chest.
I exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the paranoia but Scarlet's voice whispered through the speakers, her tone different, scarry.
"Fear is a palpable thing, Miss Brigitte. It can be... suffocating. But sometimes, it's what we need to feel truly alive."
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I wondered if Scarlet was trying to scare me. But no, I pushed the thought aside, gathering my courage as I approached the open doorway. The penthouse was dark beyond the glow of the city lights streaming through the windows. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed forward, stepping into my bedroom.
The air felt different out here, thicker, charged with an electric and sexual tension that made my skin prickle. I could feel it pressing down on me like a physical weight as I crept toward the banister, my fingers trailing along the cool metal railing like a lifeline. I peered down into the vast, open space of my living room below breathing hard.
And then... A movement. Small. Subtle. But unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat as I froze, my eyes locked on the spot where...
Part 6
Scarlet's voice whispered through the speakers, her tone cryptic. "The darkness can be... revealing, Miss Brigitte. Sometimes, it's in the shadows that we find our truth."
I turned toward my room, exhaling slowly, trying to ease the tension. But then everything changed. A presence. A shift in the air.
I froze. He was there looking at me.
A figure, tall and dressed in black, his silhouette against the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through my windows. I couldn't move when his gaze met mine, dark, unreadable, lingering on me as if he had been waiting for this moment.
Then, I saw it.
The white cast wrapped around his foot and ankle, rising up his calf inside his jeans slit open to accommodate. Recognition struck like a spark in the dark. The man from the rave. The man who had watched me move and dance, his eyes devouring the sway of my hips, the flex of my strong legs. The one who's broken ankle had shadowed my thoughts ever since.
His long, jet-black hair was pulled back neatly, the sleekness of it a sharp contrast to the quiet, simmering menace radiating from him. And then his lips curled. A slow, deliberate smile. Warm, welcoming, amused. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he had stepped out of my fantasies and into my reality just to watch me squirm.
My pulse pounded, heat pooling low in my stomach. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to step back, to say something, anything.
But I didn't. I couldn't. I just stood there, trapped in his stare, drowning in the thick, suffocating weight of the moment. He just stood there, watching me.
"Hello Brigitte, I know it can be frustrating not knowing how I got in? Was Scarlet involved? but I want to make sure you understand the importance of following my instructions carefully"
He took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, the heavy thud of his walking cast hitting the floor sent a shiver through me. My eyes locked onto it, mesmerized by the rigid white shell on his ankle and lower leg. The way he moved, slightly off-balance yet controlled, made something stir deep inside me, I was so turned on.
Could I outrun him? Get to my phone?
His voice was smooth, hypnotic, but there was an edge beneath it, something dark, something calculated and then he said it.
"When I break your leg, you'll need to listen carefully." I swallowed hard.
"You can't put weight on your broken leg. Not unless you want to feel the bone inside shift like a twig under pressure. You see, with a fresh break, you will be delicate and fragile. One wrong move, and the pieces could twist, grind against each other, maybe even puncture your skin from the inside and we don't want that."
He stared at my long healthy leg, as if he were savouring the image since it could disappear inside a cast for a long time.
I inhaled sharply, my pulse racing as I watched him shift his weight carefully onto his good leg before moving his cast forward with measured precision. The thick sole of the walking cast against my floor, a sound that sent a strange thrill through me. He was injured, weakened. And yet... he didn't seem vulnerable.
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, intoxicating. How would he try to break my leg?
I should have been thinking about escaping, calculating the steps to my door, but all I could do was watch. Watch the way his strong arms tensed beneath his dark clothes. How easily he could twist my foot and leg and break both bones.
"Thinking of running?" His voice was low, taunting.
"Go ahead. Let's see how far you get."
Part 7
I pulled my robe tighter around me, against my bare skin. The delicate material draped over my breasts, shifting with each slow breath I took, teasing against my already sensitive nipples. It clung in places, barely concealing, offering just enough coverage to feel modest, yet not quite.
My fingers traced the soft edges of my robe,as I pulled it up, revealing my long, bare legs. A faint shiver ran through me, not from the air, but from the memories. The scar on my ankle and lower leg caught the light, a reminder of pain, cast and healing, of bones that had once snapped and fused back together. It didn't hurt anymore, not really, but sometimes I still felt a phantom ache curling through my foot, up my calf. A reminder of the lovely broken bones.
His dark eyes tracking the movement of my hands, the slow slide up of my robe. I felt his stare before I even dared to meet it. When I did, I stopped breathing.
He stood there, his weight shifted onto one side, away from his walking cast. The sight of it made something twist in my stomach. That heavy cast on his ankle, locking it in place. Again I wondered how he broke it? How it would feel tonight if he broke mine.
I swallowed hard, my gaze dragging over the rough texture of his cast, the way it forced his movements into slow, deliberate motions. He adjusted his stance, a flicker of pain crossed his face, but he masked it quickly, replacing it with something unreadable when he saw me staring.
A smirk curled his lips, not amused, not warm, but knowing. Like he could see the thoughts unravelling in my mind, the way I imagined that cast on myself, my own leg trapped in its hold. Like sexual bondage. My fingers stilled on my robe, pulling up just a little higher.
Scarlet's words echoed in my mind.
"The darkness can be... revealing, Miss Brigitte."
How much did she know? How deep was her involvement? Her voice had been so calm, so knowing, as if she had expected this moment, orchestrated my next broken leg with weeks if not months in leg casts and crutches. The way she spoke, the cryptic warnings, the way she hesitated just before I turned toward my room, it all felt intentional, like a prelude to something.
He took a step forward. The dull thud of the rubber heel of his walking cast. I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my throat. I should run. I should scream. But I couldn't move. My body refused, paralyzed between fear and the sinking realization that I had no idea who this man was or worse, that maybe I did know who he was.
"You smell like lilacs," he murmured, his voice calm. Too calm.
A chill slithered down my spine. "Who, who are you?" I forced out, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing in my house?"
His smile widened, slow and deliberate, and something about it made my stomach twist. It wasn't friendly.
"Four years ago," he murmured, his voice smooth but laced with something darker, "you wore a stunning black dress. It hugged you perfectly, every curve, with that long slit up the side."
Oh god I recall that dress and why that long slit. His eyes dropped lower, dragging over my legs like a hand I couldn't swat away. Slow. Intentional.
"And that long black cast, all the way up your thigh."
A wave of heat and ice crashed through me at once. He had seen me. Not just notice me in passing, see me, watch me.
"Leaning on your crutches, smiling, confident and in total control."
My fingers twitched, I recalled my hands curled around the rubber grips of my crutches. I could almost feel the weight of the cast again, heavy, solid, covering my whole long sexy leg.
I fought to keep my breathing steady, to keep the fear from showing, but my heart pounded wildly in my chest. Because four years ago, when I was in that black cast and that dress, I thought no one had been watching us. I was with Jennifer, a married woman, having an affair.
How could he know that? My back was against the wall. My hands pressed against it like I could somehow sink through it and disappear.
"You smelled like lilacs then, too," he added, his words were like a bear trap snapping shut on my leg, the cracking of bone echoing through my mind as I felt myself trapped, immobile, and at his mercy. My vision blurred for a second. My brain screamed at me to think, to move, to do something before he did.
Has he seen me with Jennifer? Back then? Had he been there? His eyes travelled lower, settling on my leg and ankle.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
He took another step forward. "Jennifer was my wife"
The air left my lungs, I was in serious trouble.
Part 8
4 years ago Jennifer sat on the edge of my bed, her hand tracing the outline of my cast.
"Does it hurt?"
"A little, but It feels... so good to be on crutches again."
Her fingers trailed between my cast and leg. I reached out and pulled her into a kiss. Her lips were soft, her tongue tentative as it met mine. I deepened the kiss, my hands exploring her body.
She broke away, her breath ragged. "We shouldn't be doing this, I'm married" she said, but her hands didn't stop their exploration.
"I know that you are, but I want you. I want you so much."
She kissed me again, her hands slipping under my shirt. I arched into her touch, my body aching for more. She unbuttoned my shirt, her eyes feasting on my exposed breasts. I unzipped her dress and my hands were eager to touch her.
She stood, her eyes never leaving mine as she stepped out of her sexy dress. She was beautiful, her body a testament to the hours she spent in the gym. I reached out, my fingers tracing the curve of her hips.
She loved to touch my cast, her fingers tracing the length of it as she kissed me. Her touch, her kisses, her words all drove me to the brink of madness. She loved to crawl over me, her body pressing against my broken leg as she kissed me. I'd moan in pain, my hands gripping her hips, urging her on.
"You're so sexy in that cast," she'd whisper, her eyes filled with desire. "It drives me crazy."
I craved her, my body aching for her touch. I was addicted to her, to the way she made me feel broken and alive sexually. But our time was limited. Her husband was due back, and our affair would have to end. I knew it was for the best, but that didn't make it any easier.She leaned down, her lips meeting mine in a gentle kiss. I held her tightly, I held onto the memories, the passion, the love we'd shared. It was a brief affair, a whirlwind romance, but it was mine. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
"Jennifer was my wife, she left me after her affair with you. In her absence, I've watched you. Fascinated. Captivated by how you move, by the way you embrace your sexual desires, how you acted on your fetishes over the years... And I think it's time you embrace something new."
His eyes glinted with a predatory light, and I felt raw and exposed under his gaze. I reeled, desperately trying to piece together his intentions. What was happening? My mind raced, grappling with the implications of his presence, his claim.
"What do you want from me? I'm sorry." My voice trembled.
"Sorry is not enough, I want you to experience what it means to be truly vulnerable again."
The intensity of his gaze pierced me, and before I knew it, he was upon me, his imposing frame overshadowing the dim light of the room. I could see the strength in his arms, the power radiating off him. I was afraid and thrilled at the same time.
Then, with one fluid motion, he reached for my left leg, gripping my calf just above the ankle. The world spun as my heart pounded frantically in my throat.
"What if I told you that I want to break your leg...tonight"
In an instant, all doubt vanished. He was going to break it. The realization struck me like a jolt of electricity. My world tilted as he pushed my knee, forcing me back against the wall. A rush of panic surged within me.
"Jennifer told me that you were so desirable injured, in that leg cast of yours and on crutches." His voice was low and hypnotic, sending shivers through my core.
"She left me after your affair with her"
Then it happened.
"It's all under control." His voice was smooth, almost soothing, like he was convincing me of something that had already been decided and done.
Then, without hesitation, he pressed down on my leg. A sharp gasp ripped from my throat as his fingers tightened, firm and unrelenting. His grip was calculated, each movement deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing. My foot twisted at an unnatural angle, and a sickening wave of pain shot through me when the ligaments gave out. He was so strong.
"Please wait..." My voice came out in a strangled breath.
"Shhh, Just let it happen. We both know you want it and I know you deserve it."
The pressure built, unbearable, the burning sensation creeping through my bones like fire. My muscles tensed, fighting against him, but his strength overpowered mine.
"Please... do it" I gasped, my fingers digging into the couch. My nails clawed at the fabric, desperate for something, anything, to control what I knew was coming. His eyes never left mine as he adjusted his grip, and for a heartbeat, everything froze and stopped.
Then a long crack.
A sharp, wet snap filled the silence of my room, the sound echoing off the walls like a gunshot. White-hot pain exploded through my whole leg, so sudden and overwhelming that my vision blurred. A strangled sexual moan from my lips, my body instinctively jerking, but he held me still.
"There, It's done."
The pain radiated from my broken leg, spreading like a spiderweb of fire through every nerve ending. I couldn't move. Couldn't stop thinking of what came next. All I could do was stare up at him, he had done this before. And he would do it again.
I gasped, gripping my broken leg, the surge sending me spiraling into memories of my past fractures, the familiar mix of thrill and fear flooding through my senses once more.
"It's a clean break, I made sure of it, I'm a doctor"
As the pain heightened, I felt my body betray me with a mix of terror and twisted sexual desire. He forced me to confront my darkest desires.
"You won't need surgery but your leg will need a full leg cast for quite some time," he said, almost casually, as if discussing the weather or what's for supper.
"But for now...I want you aware of every single moment of this. I broke your leg like you broke my marriage"
Part 9
His hand was still on my leg, solid and unyielding as the pain pulsed like a relentless tide but I felt the sexual pleasure that blossomed within me. I could feel him watching, savoring my reaction, feeding off the chaos he'd unleashed. It was a madness that left me not knowing whether to scream, to struggle, or to submit entirely to the flood he'd created.
He whispered, leaning closer, his breath hot against my ear. "This isn't just a break. It's so much more."
Everything shifted, the air thick with an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure, of fear and surrender. I no longer knew who or what I was, only that I was at his mercy, caught in a nightmarish sexual fantasy that became all too real with a man that was just like me about pain and pleasure.
"I should introduce myself properly. My name is Dr. Adrian Cole."
"Dr. Cole?" The name echoed off my lips, blending disbelief and intrigue. "Jennifer's husband."
"Yes. An orthopaedic surgeon, to be exact." His voice was smooth, matter-of-fact, as if we were discussing the weather instead of the fresh break in my leg.
I barely heard him over the pounding pain in my skull, from the fracture. No matter how many times you break your ankle or leg, no matter how much I thought I could handle it, the first few hours were always so painful. The shock, the throbbing, the way every slight movement sent a sharp jolt through my body, it never got easier not to touch it or please myself.
"I have the expertise needed to handle this situation. I promise, this process will be... captivating." Captivating, really...The pain was still sharp, a deep, pulsing throb in my broken leg, but there was something else now, a quiet shift in the air between us.
"Scarlet," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "Where can I find her leg brace and her crutches?"
My AI assistant responded instantly, her tone even. "Doctor, the adjustable brace is in the hallway closet. Her crutches are in her walk-in closet."
He returned, the brace in one hand, my crutches in the other. The heavy-duty white brace was familiar, its rigid frame designed to stabilize, to hold my leg in place until something more permanent could take over.
"This will help until I can get you properly casted," he murmured like he was reading my mind, kneeling beside me. His hands were steady, practised, as he positioned the brace beneath my broken limb.
"Adrian," I whispered, tensing as he lifted my leg slightly. The pain flared white-hot for a second, but his grip was firm yet careful, his fingertips brushing against my broken tibia as he adjusted the brace. The cool, padded interior pressed against my calf as he wrapped it snugly around my leg.
"Just a few more adjustments," he said, his eyes focused on his work. "You're doing great."
The first grey strap tightened with a soft rip of Velcro. I felt a shiver run down my spine. The second strap was firmer, and I couldn't help but let out a soft moan. He worked slowly, deliberately, his movements methodically yet oddly intimate. I swallowed, feeling the shift between us like a crack in the tension that had been lingering in the air.
The pain was still there, sharp and unyielding, but there was something undeniably electric about the way his hands moved over my broken leg, the way he was so completely absorbed in the act of securing my leg that he broke just a few minutes ago.
By the time he finished, my lower leg was fully stabilized, bound in place, and yet the weight of his touch still lingered. He looked up at me, his expression unreadable, though something sexual flickered in his eyes.
"Ready to go?" His voice was smooth, almost teasing, as he reached for my crutches. He handed them to me with a smile, the one that sent a slow shiver down my spine and got me so wet.
"Let's get that sexy leg in a cast."
I nodded, curling my fingers around the crutches handles. The brace on my broken leg felt tight, rigid, pressing against my skin as I shifted slightly. His eyes followed the movement of my healthy leg, slow, deliberate.
"On three, One... two..."
I pushed up, and pain seared through my broken leg, sharp and electric. My breath caught, my balance faltering. But before I could fall, his hands were there, gripping my waist, strong and steady. I gasped, my body instinctively leaning into him. The scent of him, something clean, masculine, wrapped around me as he pulled me closer.
His fingers pressed into my hips, holding me against him. My broken leg brushed against his, the brace making contact with his own walking cast. The sensation sent a strange thrill through me, a rush of warmth pooling deep in my stomach.
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. There was something different now, something heavier, unspoken. The air between us crackled, and then, before I could second-guess it, his lips brushed mine. A test, a question.
I exhaled against his mouth, and that was all it took.
He kissed me deeply, his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me flush against him. His tongue slid between my lips, tasting, teasing, until I melted into him. My fingers curled against his chest for balance, my broken leg pressing more firmly against his. The contrast of pain and pleasure blurred, twisting into something intoxicating.
"You feel so good," he murmured, his lips tracing along my jaw before returning to claim my mouth again.
"You like this, don't you? To be broken again" he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.
I swallowed hard, gripping my crutches for balance, but my body was already betraying me.
"Yes doctor," I admitted, my voice barely more than a sigh.
His smile returned, slow and knowing. "Then let's get you in a full leg cast. But don't think for a second I'm done with you yet. Jennifer was right you are special"
Part 10
The drive was filled with an electric sexual tension, the city lights blurring past as I fought to contain the burgeoning excitement within. The notion of being at his mercy surged through me, coiling tight in my stomach, heightening my senses.
I grabbed my crutches, steadying myself as he reached for me. Without a word, he scooped me up effortlessly, his arms strong and sure around me. My broken leg, still snug in the brace, rested against his body, pressing into him with every step he took. I felt the shift of his muscles beneath me, the steady rise and fall of his breath, and the heat that radiated between us. Once inside I shifted my weight onto my crutches, steadying myself, but I could still feel his touch ghosting over my skin.
"You're staring,"
"I can't help it."
A shiver ran through me, settling deep in my stomach. I swallowed hard, gripping my crutches a little tighter.
He led me deeper into the house, his hand steady on my lower back, guiding me toward a sleek, dark wooden table in the center of the room. My crutches clicked softly against the floor, my weight shifting as I tried to balance myself, but before I could even think about struggling, his hands were on me again, strong, assured, lifting me onto the cool surface with effortless ease.
My pulse fluttered as he stood between my legs, his hands trailing down the length of my thigh to where the brace held my broken limb in place, his penis fully erected. The snug embrace of the medical straps had become familiar, a protective shell over my vulnerable bone, but now, under his touch, it became something else entirely.
He bent over me, his fingers toying with the gray Velcro fastenings, peeling each strap open with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver rippling through my body. The sound of the Velcro separating filled the air. He pulled back the stiff brace, his fingertips ghosting over my bare skin as he freed my broken leg from its confines.
I exhaled, my leg throbbing from being released, but any discomfort was quickly overshadowed by the weight of his gaze. He didn't move right away. He simply stood there, staring down at my injured limb as if it were something to be revered. His fingers traced the swollen contours of my ankle, over the delicate bruising that painted my skin in fading hues of purple and blue.
Then he leaned down, I thought he was going to kiss me. My breath caught, anticipation curling hot and low in my stomach. But instead of pressing his lips to mine, he lowered his mouth to my broken leg.
"...My leg...please," A gasp escaped me as I felt the warmth of his lips pressed against the side of my calf, his breath hot against my skin. His hands held my broken leg in place, firm but careful, as his lips moved in slow, reverent kisses.
The first kiss was feather-light, just a tease, but then he grew bolder, his mouth trailing downward, exploring the length of my broken leg with a sensual devotion that sent my senses reeling. His tongue flicked out, tracing a wet, burning line along my shin, tasting the pain, the vulnerability, the surrender of the moment.
I shivered, my fingers gripping the edge of the table, my body caught between the dull ache of my broken bones and the heat that coiled deep inside me.
His lips travelled to the curve of my ankle, and the moment his teeth scraped lightly against my tender, swollen skin and leg, a sharp jolt of pain shot through my broken leg. I gasped, the ache raw and overwhelming, yet somehow intoxicating. My whole body tensed, caught between agony and pleasure, the throbbing pulse of my injury increased every sensation.
He exhaled slowly, deliberately, the warm air caressing the sensitive skin of my calf, sending a ripple of goosebumps up my thigh. The contrast, the burning pain deep in my broken bones and the soft, teasing touch of his mouth, left me trembling, breathless.
"You like this," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with dark satisfaction.
A shudder ran through me, my body betraying me with its eager response. The pain, the vulnerability, the way his hands anchored me, held me in this moment, it was too much, too perfect.
I could only nod, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps when my orgasm rocked my whole body.
Then he pulled back, his eyes locked onto mine, his hands still wrapped around my leg as if claiming it, as if claiming me while waiting for the next surprise.
Conclusion
He reached for the stockinette, the soft white fabric meant to protect my skin. Gathering the material, he slipped it over my foot, his fingers grazing my ankle as he worked it up my leg, smoothing it past my calf, over my knee, and higher, all the way up my thigh. His touch was unhurried, intimate, his breath warm against my skin as he adjusted it just right.
Next came the padding. He unrolled the soft cotton bandages, starting at my toes, wrapping me carefully. Each layer cushioned my fragile limb, offering support while preserving its vulnerability. His hands were steady, precise, as he worked his way upward, molding the padding around my ankle, my shin, my knee. When he reached my thigh, he looked up at me, his dark eyes smouldering.
"How does it feel?" he asked, his voice thick with sexual meaning.
I swallowed, my pulse hammering. "Safe, I think..."
Then I heard the sharp click of stilettos approaching, each step echoing through the room. The sound sent a jolt through me, my breath catching in my throat.
Oh my god.
Jennifer stepped into view, poised, confident. Her toned legs were framed by the tight black dress hugging her curves, the hem stopping just above her knees. The smooth glide of sheer stockings accentuated the length of her limbs, leading down to the glossy red stilettos that clicked with every step.
But it was her left hand that caught my eye, her broken thumb wrapped in a rigid short arm cast, fingers free but the thick cast on her wrist and lower arm in stark contrast to the delicate way she moved.
She smiled, slow and knowing, her gaze flicking from me to him, lingering on my broken leg.
"Well, well," she purred, stepping closer and pressing a sultry kiss to my doctor, her ex-husband. "Isn't this an interesting sight?"
He dipped the first roll into warm water, squeezing out the excess before pressing it against my foot. The painful sensation sent a sharp jolt up my leg, the heat, the pressure, the way his hands moved, each touch deliberate, controlling. Roll by roll, he built the cast, sculpting it around my injury, keeping the shape of my long leg in his craftsmanship.
Jennifer's stilettos clicked against the floor as she approached. I barely had time to react before her soft lips brushed against mine, coaxing me into a slow, sensual kiss. Her good hand cupped my cheek, while her cast pressed between my legs, a teasing contrast to her warmth kiss.
With her broken thumb inside me, He bent my knee just slightly, locking it in place so I would not be able to walk on the cast, shaping the material to hold me in the perfect position. The cast climbed higher, wrapping my thigh in its firm embrace. My mind was a haze of sexual sensation, his firm, methodical touch and Jennifer's teasing lips moving from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive skin of my neck while her fingers and thumb teased my clitoris .
Then she smiled, dragging the dripping wet surface of her cast down my chest, letting the fiber scrape lightly over my skin before her mouth found my hard nipple. I gasped, arching into the delicious contrast of textures, the weight of the cast on my leg grounding me while Jennifer's cast became its own form of torment.
The weight of it all, the cast, the pain, the wetness between my legs settled in, a permanent reminder of what had happened, of their control over the moment. Yet Jennifer's touch was another kind of claim, one that sent a different kind of fire through me.
When he was satisfied, he smoothed his hands over the drying surface, ensuring every edge was smooth. The red cast gleamed under the soft lighting, vibrant, striking against my skin.
"There," he said, stepping back to admire his work.
Jennifer's breath was warm against my ear as she whispered, "I missed you."
I exhaled shakily, staring into Jennifer's eyes, my fingers trailing over the cast, feeling the rigid strength of it. I was completely at their mercy now, and somehow, that realization sent a delicious thrill through me.
He reached for my chin, tilting my face up to his, he kissed my lips.
"You were made for this," he whispered, his lips hovering just above mine.
"And I think you know it."
I did.
The end.
Brigitte
