Monday, January 20, 2025
Steffie... 2.0 Chapter 5
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 5
The red sling cradled my arm, matching the full-length red cast that stretched from my hand to above my elbow. The vibrant color stood out against the black cocktail dress I had chosen for the evening. My high heels clicked softly against the polished floor, their red soles a subtle nod to the bold lipstick that painted my smile. The glasses perched on my nose added a sophisticated edge. Despite the constraint of my broken arm 6 weeks ago, I felt powerful, poised like a vision of a persona from my stories.
Ethan walked beside me, his presence steady and reassuring, yet his eyes constantly flickered toward me as if I were a masterpiece in motion. The local art gallery buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of appreciation for the exhibits.
That's when I saw her, lovely Celeste. She stood near a sculpture, her pink cast catching the light. She leaned on forearm crutches with practised ease. Her bright pink cast, covering her right leg from her toes to mid-thigh, seemed to be more than just a medical necessity; it was a statement.
I approached her. Ethan trailed behind, intrigued but silent. Celeste's smile was warm, her gaze direct.
"You wear it beautifully "I said, nodding toward her cast.
She chuckled, her voice low and smooth, moving closer on her crutches. "And you wear yours just as well. Though I imagine we're drawing different kinds of attention tonight."
I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the murmur of the gallery. "You could say that. Is yours...?" I gestured vaguely, unsure how to frame the question.
"For the sake of my art," she said with a knowing smile. "The exhibition is called Finding Beauty in Limitation and injuries. I've been exploring the tension between vulnerability and strength."
It felt like she had reached into my thoughts and pulled out the essence of what I had been feeling for so long. "A kindred spirit," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
We walked or in her case, crutched through the gallery together. The pieces on display were a mix of the abstract and the tangible. One painting, of deep reds and blacks, weight and restraint system attached to a broken leg in a hospital bed. A nearby sculpture, a delicate and petite college cheerleader leaning on underarm crutches and her right leg in a 70's plaster cast, fragility made beautiful.
Celeste paused beside a large wall size photograph: an image of me, I was 19. In the picture, I was seated in a sleek wheelchair, both legs in pristine white long leg casts, my left arm also in a matching cast. A lovely and soft smile lit up my face, contrasting the seriousness of the casts and injuries, as I posed in a lovely summer dress. Light socks covered the foot portions of my casts, adding a gentle, almost a sensual touch to the scene. The photograph was a curious blend of fragility and resilience, vulnerability and elegance.
"That one's mine," Celeste said softly, her voice tinged with pride. "Captured in a moment that redefines beauty in my mind. She was a muse who shows that limitation is its own kind of freedom."
Ethan froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the image. His gaze darted from the photograph to me, his expression a mix of surprise and something deeper, something he hadn't yet put into words.
"It's... breathtaking," He managed, barely above a whisper.
Celeste turned to me on her crutches, her smile growing. "Yes she was," she said, her eyes dancing with a knowing glimmer as they flicked to the red cast supporting my arm.
Ethan stepped closer, his expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed a torrent of sentimental and sexual thoughts. "That's you," he said softly, his voice laced with awe.
"It is," I confirmed, still captivated by the image, as if seeing myself for the first time through someone else's lens.
Celeste turned her attention to Ethan, her greeting warm but her gaze curious. "She's an extraordinary muse," she said. "Don't you think?"
Ethan nodded, his hand brushing my broken arm in a silent affirmation. For a moment, the three of us stood there, united by an unspoken understanding, a shared recognition of the beauty found in unexpected places, in moments of vulnerability transformed into something undeniably powerful.
Together, we continued to explore the exhibit, my photo lingering in the back of my mind. The journey through the art felt different now, richer, as if the image had opened a door to something new, something unspoken yet profound.
The next morning I was wearing a pair of fitted jeans, a soft white T-shirt, red lipstick and glasses that provided the finishing touch. Ethan insisted on driving me to the hospital, and as we pulled into the parking lot, he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
Inside the hospital, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the low hum of activity greeted us. I checked in at the orthopaedic wing and took a seat in the waiting area, the cast resting awkwardly on my lap. Ethan sat beside me, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest of his chair.
Moments later, a nurse called my name. I stood, adjusting the sling, and flashed Ethan a reassuring smile. "Be right back."
The removal room was bright, clinical, and bustling with activity. The nurse, a friendly woman named Carla with short curls and a warm smile, gestured for me to sit.
"This shouldn't take too long," she said, inspecting the cast. "Looks like it's held up well. Any discomfort I should know about?"
"Just the usual stiffness," I replied.
She nodded, retrieving a small circular saw. "You've done this before, I'm sure, but let me know if anything feels off."
As the blade hummed to life, I watched Carla work with practised precision, carefully cutting along the edges of the cast. The vibration travelled through my arm, a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. Bit by bit, the fiberglass shell that had been a part of me for weeks came away, revealing my arm beneath, pale, slightly stiff, but whole. I flexed my fingers gingerly, wincing slightly at the stiffness.
"Take it slow, and if you feel any pain, stop and rest. You'll be back to normal in no time."
I thanked her and made my way back to Ethan, who stood as soon as he saw me. His gaze fell to my now bare arm, and he grinned.
"Welcome back. Maybe tonight we can celebrate your newfound freedom," he suggested, his tone playful.
I raised an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at my lips. "Celebrate, huh? What exactly did you have in mind?"
He chuckled, opening the car door for me. "You'll see."
As we drove away, I couldn't help but glance down at my arm, already beginning to adjust to its newfound freedom. The weight of the cast was gone, but the memories lingered.
What did he have in mind...
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 6 to come
Sunday, January 19, 2025
Saturday, January 18, 2025
Steffie... 2.0 chapter 4
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 4
"Medical cast? You mean broken bones?"
"Yes" I swung my leg forward, the long black cast gleaming in the soft light. It was bent at the knee, locking me into a state of graceful dependency on my crutches because of the angle at the knee of my cast.
"See how deliberate I have to be with every step?" I said, demonstrating again. "It changes the rhythm of my body, the way I carry myself."
Ethan watched, his eyes tracing the swing of my hips, the curve of the cast, the crutches tucked neatly under my arms. There was a tension in his posture, as though he was grappling with something he didn't quite know how to express.
"It's..." he started, then stopped, searching for the right words.
"Intoxicating?" I offered a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of agreement.
"Yeah," he said finally. "That's one word for it."
I stopped in front of him, my crutches planted firmly on the floor, my leg suspended as I balanced effortlessly. "I know it's a lot to take in," I said softly. "I don't expect you to understand....right away"
Ethan leaned back, running a hand between his legs, he was so hard. "Maybe I understand more than you think," he said, his voice quieter now.
I raised an eyebrow, the words catching me off guard. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, then gestured toward the cast and crutches. "You're not the only one with... unconventional sexual fetish needs, Stephanie."
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. My heart skipped, the room seeming to shrink around us. "Ethan..." I began, but he cut me off with a small shake of his head.
"Let's just say, this isn't as shocking to me as you might think.
Before I knew it, Ethan closed the space between us, his presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. His hands found my shoulders, firm yet gentle, as he pushed me lightly against the cool glass of the bay window in my condo for the international crowd at Mont-Tremblant to see me.
The view of the ski hill's lights sparkled behind me, but all I could focus on was him, his breath warm against my skin, his closeness making the air between us electric.
"Ethan..." I began, but my words were cut short as his lips captured mine in a kiss that was demanding, a perfect balance of control and passion. My crutches, my lifeline in this casted world I'd created for myself, clattered to the floor as he pulled them away with one decisive move.
"You won't need these tonight," he murmured against my lips, his voice low, almost a growl.
I gasped, caught between surprise and arousal, as his hands caressed my breasts and erect nipples. His lips left mine only to trail a line of heated kisses down my jaw and to my neck, where he lingered, tasting and teasing.
"Ethan, what are you..."
"Shh," he whispered, turning me facing the window, exposed while his breath was hot against my ear. One of his hands twisted my arm gently behind my back, just enough to make me feel his strength twisting my wrist. It wasn't rough, it was deliberate, in control but he could break my wrist.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice a rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
"Yes," I breathed, though my heart raced with a mix of anticipation and the unknown.
His other hand skimmed over my hip, grazing the edge of the cast, his touch lingering just long enough to make me shiver. He stepped closer, his body pressing mine gently against the glass. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat radiating between us.
"I've been watching you, Miss Robinson, one would say stalking you," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"I see you, read your stories, watch the way you move, the way you light up when you talk about your... passions, your favourite fetishes."
I couldn't breath as his lips returned to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"And now," he continued, turning me back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with something primal, "it's my turn to show you a side of me you've never seen."
The air between us crackled, the promise of something new, something raw, hanging in the space. Ethan's hands released me, but his eyes held mine, unrelenting, as if daring me to take the next step...without my crutches.
"Come to me Miss Robinson," he commanded, his voice low and firm, a tone I had never heard from him before.
"I... I can't," I whispered, glancing down at my cast, bent and floating off the hardwood floor.
"You can," he insisted, taking a step back to give me room. "Hop to me on your good leg. I want to see you try."
The challenge in his voice made my heart race, I loved this side of him. Balancing carefully, with the smooth fabric of the Catwoman suit clinging as I moved. My left leg in the cast hung awkwardly, its weight throwing off my balance.
"Come on, an ex college gymnast like you..." Ethan urged, his lips curving into a slow smile.
I took one tentative hop forward, my bare toes on my good foot gripping the floor. The cast swung slightly as I moved, its rigidity forcing me to compensate with my hips. The motion was painful and felt awkward yet strangely empowering, my body adapting to its limits.
Another hop, and I stumbled, my arms flailing for balance. Ethan didn't move to catch me; he simply watched, his gaze intense, unwavering. I fell, landing hard on the floor. A sharp jolt of pain shot through my right arm as I instinctively reached out to break my fall. The impact was unforgiving, and I knew instantly that something was right, my arm felt wrong, weak, a dull ache quickly spreading.
I glanced up at Ethan, breathless, my cheeks flushed from both the effort and an undeniable surge of sexual excitement. My chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as I cradled my injured arm against me. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and sexually intense, his jaw tight with an expression I couldn't fully decipher.
"Can you keep going?" he asked, his voice softer now but no less commanding.
I adjusted my movements carefully, mindful of the sharp ache radiating from my broken right arm, which I cradled against my chest. My hips swayed with each pull forward, the weight of the cast on my leg grounding me in every motion. The long cast had become an extension of my body, forcing every effort to be deliberate, every movement imbued with an almost hypnotic sensuality.
The sleek curve of the cast caught the light as I crawled, my poor exposed toes flexing slightly at the end, a subtle reminder of my vulnerability. Each shift of my body sent a ripple of sensation through me, the cast and my broken arm amplifying the raw intensity of the moment. It was a balance of beauty and fragility that left me feeling utterly alive.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice sensual.
I reached him, my chest heaved as I looked up at him, my lips parted, waiting, wanting to be touched.
Ethan crouched down, his hand reaching out to cup my face. "You don't even realize, do you?" he said, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.
"Realize what?" I whispered in pain.
"How breathtaking you are with every struggle, it's mesmerizing."
My pulse quickened, his words sinking deep into my skin. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, and in that moment, the world fell away, leaving only us.
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 5 to come
Friday, January 17, 2025
Thursday, January 16, 2025
Wednesday, January 15, 2025
Steffie... 2.0 Chapter 3
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 3
Nicole resumed her work, her hands moving with renewed purpose as she applied the final layers of fibreglass. When she finished, she sat back, admiring her work. "There you go. One long leg cast, better than any you'd get in a hospital."
I couldn't stop staring at it. The glossy black fibreglass hugged my long and shapely leg perfectly, from the base of my foot to the top of my thigh bent at the knee. It was a perfect representation of the beauty I craved for in a leg cast, even without the pain I often yearned for.
Nicole leaned back on her heels, watching me with a knowing smile. "You look like you're in love with it." She said and before I could respond, her fingers brushed against my exposed toes, trailing gently over them. The sensation sent a shiver up my spine, equal parts tender and electric. Her touch lingered, almost reverent, she was as captivated by the cast as I was.
"You know," she moaned quietly, her gaze flickering up to meet mine, "I understand why this excites you so much. There's something... raw about it. Vulnerable."
Her hand rested lightly on the edge of the cast, her thumb tracing the boundary where fibreglass met my skin. "And these poor toes, completely exposed, so delicate and out in the open. Remember when I broke your ankle...how easy it would be to..."
I felt heat rising to my cheeks, her words and touch stirring something within me. Nicole's fascination mirrored my own, and in that moment, it was as if she could see every hidden desire for more.
I ran my fingers over the smooth, hard surface, feeling a thrill rush through me. She stood, wiping her hands on a towel. "Just take care of it, and let me know if you need any adjustments. Or... if you need anything else. You know I'm here for you"
As I stood, balancing on my crutches, Nicole stepped closer, brushing a kiss against my lips.
My heart pounded, heat that suddenly radiated through my body. Her first kiss was soft and gentle, barely touching lips against lips. But it was enough to ignite a fire within me, and I deepened the kiss, my tongue slipping into Nicole's mouth. Nicole responded eagerly, her hands moving to my back, pulling me closer while I kept my balance on my crutches, my hard cast between her legs.
With my crutches under my arms, my fingers fumbled with the buttons of Nicole's blouse, finally managing to slip it off her shoulders. I ran my hands over her bare skin, feeling the softness and the warmth beneath my fingertips. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, a sound that sent a jolt of desire through me like it did years ago.
She stepped back, her eyes never leaving me. She slowly unbuttoned her own pants, letting them fall to the floor. My eyes widened as I took in the sight of Nicole, her body bare and beautiful.
She gestured to the couch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Sit down and rest your broken leg..."
I complied, my eyes never leaving Nicole. She moved, took away my crutches and stood between my cast and leg, her hands removing my blouse. She leaned in, her lips finding the sensitive neck. She kissed and nibbled, her hands moving to cup my breasts through my bra. I arched into the touch, a soft gasp escaping my lips.
She then climbed over my hard cast, then she unhooked my bra, her fingers teasing my nipples until they were hard and aching. I squirmed beneath her, my breath coming in short gasps. I imagined the pain I would feel if my leg was actually broken. Her hands moved lower, her fingers found the dampness between my legs, her touch sending a shock wave of pleasure through my body.
"You're so wet, Steffie," Nicole murmured, her voice low and husky. "So ready for me."
I nodded, my breath hitching in my throat. "Yes, mistress Nicole. Please..."
Her fingers slipped inside me, her thumb finding the sensitive nub at the top. I cried out, my hips bucking against her hand. She smiled, her eyes dark with desire.
"Not yet," she murmured.
I whimpered, my body aching with need. Her fingers continue their slow exploration. I could feel the pleasure building within me. Her lips found me, her tongue slipping into my mouth. I moaned out of control, my hands going to Nicole's large breasts. My orgasm hit me like a wave, my body convulsing with pleasure. I cried out, my nails digging into her back. She continued to move in and out drawing out my pleasure.
In the back of the Uber, the weight of the cast, the memory of Nicole's touch, and the quiet exhilaration coursing through me were almost too much to bear. For the first time since meeting Ethan, I felt truly alive with my hand on my cast.
I had the house to myself. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. I moved slowly, deliberately, the crutches tucked under my arms, each step a careful balance of grace and weightlessness. The sleek black cast on my leg, contrasting with the high gloss of my sexy, bodysuit, it was my Halloween Catwoman suit.
The suit was a masterpiece. The jet-black material clung to me like a second skin, every curve emphasized by the precision stitching that highlighted my breasts, hips and waist. The open-back design offered a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while the zipper, pulled up just high enough, added a hint of mystery.
On my crutches, I felt powerful, sexy, and so alive.
I had been lost in the sensation, reveling in the faint creak of the crutches and the way the cast felt against my body, when the sound of the front door opening snapped me back to reality.
"Stephanie?" Ethan's voice called out.
My heart stopped, the crutches pausing mid-step. I hadn't expected him until tomorrow. The living room suddenly felt too open, too exposed, but there was no time to retreat. As I turned toward the doorway, Ethan walked in, his smile bright and boyish. But the moment his eyes fell on me, it faltered, replaced by something I couldn't quite decipher. His gaze swept over me, from the Catwoman suit hugging every inch of my body, my very hard nipples, the crutches under my arms and finally, the cast that immobilized my left leg from mid foot all the way up my thigh.
"Oh my god Steffie..." he began. "What happened? How did you break your leg?"
I could see the confusion etched on his face, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer. The warmth in his hazel eyes shifted to concern. I smiled, keeping my tone light.
"It's nothing," I said, the words almost playful. "Just an... experiment?"
"An experiment?" His voice was tinged with disbelief as he stopped a few feet from me.
"How badly are you hurt? When did you break your leg"
"Not in the way you think," I replied, my lips curling into a seducing smile.
He tilted his head, studying me, his confusion evident. I didn't offer any further explanation, leaving the air between us heavy with unanswered questions. I could feel his gaze lingering, tracing the line of the cast, the curve of my hips in the bodysuit, the faint sheen of sweat on my brow from crutching.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it was charged, thick with unspoken thoughts and unacknowledged pure sexual desires. Ethan's lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but no words came. What I didn't know was that he had his own sexual fetish.
I shifted my weight, the crutches creaking softly beneath me. "Surprised?" I asked, breaking the sexual tension with a smile. His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and for the briefest moment, something flickered in them, something I couldn't quite place but that felt familiar, like recognition.
"Yeah," he finally said, his voice low. "Surprised is one way to put it, my sexy Catwoman."
The way he said it, half teasing, half breathless, sent a shiver through me. I smiled, leaning a little more into the crutches, letting the deliberate sway of my hips speak for me. Ethan's gaze followed every movement, equal parts intrigued and captivated.
We moved to the couch, though I didn't sit right away. Instead, I crutched slowly back and forth in front of him, demonstrating how the cast and crutches demanded precision. The soft click of the rubber tips against the hardwood floor filled the room, mingling with the gentle hum of his breath.
"This..." I began, pausing mid-step and letting the weight of my words settle. "This is something I've needed and done for a long time. Sometime recreational like this cast but often I needed a medical cast to calm my sexual fetish needs"
Ethan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his expression open but cautious.
"Recreational and medical casts. It's not only about pain. It's about... vulnerability. Control. The way it forces me to move and dress differently and still be sexy and attractive. The cast, the crutches, it's all part of it.
"Medical cast? You mean broken bones?"
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 4 to come
Tuesday, January 14, 2025
Steffie... 2.0 chapter 2
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 2
When Ethan came home later, he found me on the couch, wrapped in a soft cashmere throw, the crutches hidden away again. I had poured myself a glass of red wine, its deep crimson reflecting the low, flickering candlelight. My hair was loose, falling in soft waves around my shoulders, and I had changed into a simple black slip dress.
I smiled at him, playing the role of the perfect, older girlfriend, leaning in just enough to seem engaged in the moment. But my mind was elsewhere, spinning like a carousel of forbidden fantasies.
My fingers rubbing my left leg, slow and deliberate, as if savouring the feel of it in a hard cast again. A soft warmth spread between my legs, my pulse quickening with each memory replayed from earlier that evening, the rhythm of me on my crutches, the subtle sway of my lean body as I balanced, the gentle thud of rubber tips against the floor.
I imagined the weight of the cast, its firm, inescapable embrace around my broken leg, and the vulnerability that came with it. I felt a flush creep over me as the thought of my own future broken bones and the accompanying sensations danced through my mind. The muted ache, the stillness, the undeniable restriction... yes...it was intoxicating.
Each detail sent a thrill down my spine, making my breathing shallow, my chest rising and falling just enough to catch Ethan's fleeting glance. He wouldn't understand, not fully. But that only made the secret sweeter, like a flame I was desperate to keep alive.
The whisper had become a voice, and I knew it wouldn't be silenced.
The following night, Ethan, noticed the change in me almost immediately. He's always been attentive, sometimes too much so, as though problems were puzzles he was eager to solve instead of allowing them the space to breathe.
I sat on the couch again, my left leg stretched out in front of me, stiff and unmoving, as though in a long pink cast this time. The pose felt natural, comforting in a way I couldn't yet explain to him, but my heart beat a little faster when Ethan walked into the room.
"What's going on, Steffie? Are you okay?" he asked, his tone curious but tinged with concern. His eyes scanned me, looking at my leg, looking for some visible injury, his instinct to fix things already kicking in.
I hesitated, my fingers grazing the seam of my yoga pants, imagining the thick, unyielding texture of a cast beneath them. How could I even begin to explain this pull, this sexual desire that had taken root again, yet felt like it had always been there.
I shrugged, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking about how fragile we are."
Ethan sat down next to me, his presence warm and steady, his brows drawing together in that way they always did when something didn't add up. I could feel his attention zero in on me, but I wasn't ready to look at him while his long fingers caressed my pretended broken leg.
I kept my gaze fixed on the faint pattern of one of my crutches on the area rug as I said, almost too casually, "One of my employees, Amelia, came into work with a broken leg. Tore her Achilles too. She has this full leg cast, black, all the way up her leg and she will be using crutches to get around for 12 weeks possibly."
Ethan's brow furrowed, and I could sense the gears turning in his mind. He leaned back slightly, giving me space to continue.
"The poor thing looked so vulnerable," I added softly like any normal person would, my voice trailing off as the image of Amelia replayed in my mind, naked on my bed wearing only her black cast in my dreams.
"But also... strong. Graceful, even, despite the ugly cast on her leg." Almost testing the water.
He studied me for a moment, his head tilting from my leg, just enough to show he wasn't entirely sure where this was going. "That must be rough for her," he said finally, his tone cautious, careful not to say the wrong thing.
I nodded, my heart pounding, though I wasn't sure if it was from relief that he didn't press further or disappointment. There was a strange comfort in the idea of sharing this part of myself, but I wasn't ready. Not yet.
Ethan let the conversation drop, reaching for the remote to turn on the TV. I exhaled slowly, grateful for the reprieve but still lost in the quiet storm of my thoughts related to my future broken leg.
Ethan had been gone for only two days, and already, the quiet of the house seemed to amplify the restless energy inside me. A week alone, the perfect opportunity to indulge in the urge I had buried for so long. I couldn't resist any longer, even if it meant starting with a recreational cast.
I reached out to Nicole Boudreaux, a nurse I knew all too well, not just as a former client, but as an ex-girlfriend. We had shared a brief, intense relationship years ago, one filled with moments of tenderness, passion and pain, though it had ended amicably. Nicole was a petite blond hair woman with a lovely smile that had always drawn me to her.
When I explained what I needed, her response was immediate and without judgment. "Come by my place tomorrow. I'll take care of it," she said, her tone warm but laced with curiosity.
The next afternoon, I found myself in Nicole's cozy home. The air smelled faintly of lavender, and her living room was just as I remembered, simple, with a soft beige couch and framed family photos on the walls. A portable medical kit was already set up on the coffee table, next to a roll of black fibreglass casting tape.
"You haven't changed much," Nicole said, giving me a small smile as she set up her materials.
I laughed softly, settling into the couch. "Neither have you. Still as confident and beautiful as ever."
Her smile deepened and she leaned over kissing me. She gestured for me to stretch out my left leg on the ottoman. She knelt beside me, her hands brushing against my skin as she positioned my leg. The contact sent a familiar warmth coursing through me, and for a moment, the years melted away.
She began wrapping my leg in soft cotton padding, starting at my toes and working her way up to my thigh. Her hands were steady and deliberate, her touch both professional and intimate.
"You're still so good at this."
Nicole glanced up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. "I've had a lot of practice. But I have to admit, it's been a while since I've done one for fun. You were my last one"
When she picked up the roll of black fibreglass, she hesitated for a moment, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Are you sure about this, Steffie?"
"Absolutely," I said, my voice firm but breathless.
She dipped the roll into a bowl of water, and the sound of the fibreglass activating sent a shiver down my spine. As she began wrapping the material over the padding, smoothing it with her gloved hands, I felt an intoxicating mix of exhilaration and sexual tension.
"You're staring," Nicole teased, her voice tinged with amusement.
I smiled, unable to look away. "I can't help it, I remember when those same hands broke my ankle."
Her hands paused for a moment, and she looked up at me, her face inches from mine. There was sexual tension in the air, thick and electric, and before I could think twice, I leaned forward. Our lips met, soft and tentative at first, then deepening into something more as the familiarity of her taste and touch washed over me.
When we finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling. "Some good things never change, I remember so clearly the sound your broken ankle made my love" she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly against my cheek.
I licked my lips softly, my pulse racing.
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 3 to come
Monday, January 13, 2025
Sunday, January 12, 2025
Steffie... 2.0
Steffie...2.0
Chapter 1
Hello, my name is Stephanie, though most people call me Steffie. It feels softer, less formal, almost intimate like if you knew me from my writing and blog posts. In a way it's a perfect fit for someone like me, who's spent most of her life hiding something so deeply personal.
My need for physical pain, casts and crutches, has always been my quiet companion, a whisper that lingered in the back of my mind since I was a teenager.
Over the years, I threw myself into gymnastics, a sport that seemed to embody the perfect balance between strength and vulnerability. Even if I was quickly too tall to be a great gymnast, I loved the adrenaline, the precision, and the inevitable risks. The injuries became a natural part of that world, and with each accident, each injury, each broken bone, a secret part of me felt... satisfied mentally, physically and sexually.
The first time I broke my ankle in a routine gone wrong, I remember first staring my broken ankle in disbelief and later at the cast with a mix of fascination and something I didn't yet have a name for at the time.
There were many other breaks, too, my arm, my leg, and once, a terrible motorcycle accident fractured my leg in 3 places that required months of crutches and various leg casts. Each time, I told myself it was just part of being an athlete, but deep down, I knew it was more than that since I was just too happy to be broken. Those moments of physical vulnerability gave me something I couldn't find anywhere else: a connection to a part of myself I couldn't ignore. Often more satisfying sexually than my boyfriends or girlfriends at the time.
Even after I left gymnastics, the need lingered, growing louder over time. Occasionally, when in a relationship, I tried to suppress it, folding it neatly into the fabric of my daily life, but it refused to stay hidden, not even from my ex-husband or my ex-wife. My love for sexy stiletto heels, the way they made me feel both beautiful and vulnerable, only added to my look.
A wrong step, a misplaced move in those delicate heels, and my ankle would roll, snapping under the weight of my own desires. The consequence? Six more weeks in a cast and crutches and an unspoken, undeniable pleasure that coursed through me with every moment of restriction.
And then we get to Ethan. Handsome, charming, beautiful young man, way too young and utterly conventional. We've been on and off for nearly a year, and on the surface, it's everything I should want. But lately, that quiet whisper inside me has turned into a roar, clawing at the edges.
The moment I knew I couldn't ignore it anymore came on an otherwise mundane Tuesday. Tuesday January 7, 2025 to be exact. I was in my office, perched on the edge of my sleek glass desk, wearing a black pencil skirt that hugged my hips and thighs, paired with a silk ivory blouse tucked in just so. My heels, an Italian four-inch stilettos in black completed the look, clicking softly as I paced between meetings with my employees.
And then she walked in.
It was Amelia, one of my junior employees about the age of my boyfriend. She moved slowly, deliberately, leaning heavily on a new pair of crutches. Her right leg was in a black cast that reached from thigh to toes, her foot resting slightly pointed down (I knew her Achilles was involved), her toes protected by a pink sock.
She was dressed simply in an oversized knit sweater in deep forest green and fitted black leggings that highlighted her toned frame, but it was her long leg cast, the elegance of her restriction, that caught me off guard.
Something inside me stirred, a deep, unrelenting pull. It wasn't just sexual attraction; it was recognition, a sharp reminder of the thing I had tried so hard to bury. I smiled warmly, exchanging a few words with her, but my pulse was racing. The black cast, her graceful yet restrained movements, it was as though she had stepped out of a long-forgotten dream.
"Hell Miss Robinson," she said with a soft smile, adjusting on her crutches slightly. "Sorry to interrupt, but I needed to drop off these insurance forms."
I smiled warmly, hoping she wouldn't notice the faint tremor in my hands as I accepted the documents. "No problem, Amelia. How are you managing with... everything?" My voice was steady, but inside, my pulse raced.
She glanced at her broken leg and gave a light laugh. "Oh, you know, one day at a time. The hardest part is carrying anything and getting up the stairs." She gestured to the crutches.
"These make you appreciate every little thing."
I nodded, my gaze flicking briefly to her beautiful cast before returning to her face. "I can imagine. It looks like you're handling it great."
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she shrugged. "Thanks, but it's not always pretty. I'm just doing my best."
I offered a reassuring smile, but my thoughts were elsewhere, spiralling into a mix of fascination and longing. The cast, her crutches, the restrained movements, her nonchalant acceptance, it was as though she had stepped out of the sexual desires I had buried deep within.
As she turned to leave, I caught myself wishing, just for a moment, that my ex-wife had worn a cast like hers, that she could have shared this secret part of me. The thought was intoxicating, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to refocus while crossing my long legs tight.
Even after she left the office, I couldn't stop thinking about her, about her cast and crutches.
When I finally got home, I slipped out of my work clothes without ceremony, leaving a trail from the doorway to the bedroom (I don't normally do that). The soft black camisole I changed into clung to my bare breasts with its delicate, almost sheer fabric against my nipples.
Paired with it, my yoga pants hugged my hips, thighs, their snug fit accentuating every line of my body. Barefoot, I moved across the cool hardwood floors, the sensation grounding me as the quiet of the empty house settled around me. Ethan wasn't home yet, and I took a deep breath, savoring the comfort of my body's freedom in the soft, form-fitting fabric.
In the back of the closet, behind a row of carefully hung dresses, I reached for my crutches. They felt cold against my palms as I adjusted their height since I wasn't wearing high heels at the moment, the rubber pads a reassuring firmness. I closed my eyes, imagining the weight of a cast on my leg, the restriction of movement, the balancing act between beauty and vulnerability.
I moved hesitant at first like Amelia did, wobbling slightly as she got used to the rhythm. Step, swing. Step, swing. The faint creak of the crutches filled the room as I practiced, my movements becoming smoother with each pass. My heart raced, not from exertion, but from the pure exhilaration of embracing something I had denied myself for too long.
When Ethan came home later, he...
Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 2 to come
Steffie
Saturday, January 11, 2025
Friday, January 10, 2025
Thursday, January 9, 2025
Say it isn't so chapter 5
Say it isn't so
Chapter 5
After last night, something shifted. I wasn't going to let the cast define me as awkward. Instead, I adjusted my wardrobe to highlight what I still had: my elegance, my confidence, my allure. My style was my armor, and if the cast was going to stay, it would fit into my world, not the other way around.
The next morning, I stood in front of my closet, determined to look as polished and captivating as ever. I chose a fitted navy-blue dress with a daring side slit that allowed my cast room to breathe without sacrificing style. Its tailored lines hugged my figure perfectly, emphasizing my feminine shapes. I paired it with a crisp white blouse underneath, the sharp collar peeking out from the neckline, giving a sophisticated edge.
For my shoe, I slipped on a sleek black stiletto with a pointed toe, its height giving me a sense of balance against the overwhelming weight of the cast on my left leg. My crutches were no longer just tools of necessity; I saw them as part of my look. Their metallic sheen caught the light, harmonizing with the subtle shimmer of my silver jewelry, small hoop earrings and a delicate bracelet on my wrist.
As I styled my hair into a loose, elegant chignon, I couldn't help but think about Vanessa. Her confidence, her charm, and the way she had looked at me last night, those lingering glances that seemed to see beyond my injury. My cheeks flushed at the memory of her playfully striding on my crutches, her red sole flashing with every step.
I finished with a touch of makeup including red lipstick, I took a deep breath, ready to face the office and, perhaps, Vanessa's gaze once more.
The AI project consumed every waking hour, demanding the sharpest focus and quickest moves, even with my injury. Crutching between meetings became a rhythm I embraced, each step purposeful despite the ache in my arms and the weight of the long cast. I wouldn't let it slow me down; exhaustion became a price I paid gladly for fulfillment of my dream.
As I prepared for my next meeting, I stood at the edge of the hallway, adjusting my crutches. The rubber pads were firm under my palms, and I moved them slightly forward before planting them on the polished marble floor. The sound of the rubber tips meeting the smooth surface echoed softly. I shifted my weight, balancing on my good one. My dress moved with me, the slit swaying gently to reveal the bold contrast of my sleek black pump and the bright red cast that stretched from mid-thigh to toe.
The hallway felt longer than usual as I made my way toward the elevator. Each movement of the crutches had to be deliberate, a step forward, a pause to shift balance, then the next. The rhythmic clink of my crutches against the floor followed me, a quiet reminder of the new cadence my life had taken.
Reaching the elevator, I pressed the button with the end of one crutch, a skill I'd perfected over the past weeks. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I crutched inside, grateful for a moment to catch my breath. Alone in the mirrored enclosure, I turned slightly, catching my reflection from every angle.
The woman staring back at me was fierce and unyielding. My cast was a glaring red slash against the neutral elegance of my navy-blue dress, but instead of looking out of place, it commanded attention. My hair, neatly pinned into a chignon, framed my face, and my bold red lipstick mirrored the fiery hue of the cast. The silver accents of my jewelry and crutches glinted under the elevator lights, completing a picture of resilience and poise.
For a moment, I let myself pause. The mirrors didn't just reflect the physical, they mirrored the determination that carried me through every hallway, every step, every moment. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Yes, the pressure was immense, but so was my resolve.
The chime signalled my floor, and the elevator doors slid open. I adjusted my grip on the crutches, steadying myself as I stepped into the bustling corridor. Work waited ahead, but the thoughts circling my mind weren't about deadlines or presentations, they were about the two people who had become central to my life in vastly different ways.
Julian's presence lingered like a shadow. He had grown distant, his discomfort with my "situation" well my broken leg was more apparent every day. "I just hate seeing you struggle," he had said once, his voice heavy with sympathy that felt more like a burden than support. I nodded, not knowing how to respond to something so well-meaning yet so dismissive of my strength. His glances toward my cast seemed to carry a weight of pity, and while I appreciated his concern, it made me feel small, like my injury had stolen a part of me he couldn't reconcile.
Vanessa, however, was a completely different story. She was vibrant, magnetic, and completely at ease with my situation. She had a way of making my crutches feel like accessories, not limitations. One day, over coffee, she leaned in close, kissing my cheek, her lips into a playful smile.
"We should bedazzle those crutches of yours," she joked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking through the tension I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"I'm not 16 years old..."
While Julian's discomfort created a distance I didn't know how to bridge, Vanessa's lightheartedness brought us closer. She wasn't afraid to touch the cast, to acknowledge it without making it awkward. Once, she traced her finger along the edge, her touch soft but deliberate, as if she saw the cast as a part of me rather than an obstruction.
During lunch in the office cafeteria, Julian had sat across from me, his eyes darting between my face and my crutches propped against the chair. "Are you sure you should be pushing yourself so hard?" he asked, concerned.
Before I could answer, Vanessa approached us, her bold red dress flowing effortlessly as usual, but this time, she was limping noticeably. Her right foot was secured in a sleek black medical boot, and she moved carefully, wincing slightly with each step. Despite her obvious discomfort, she carried herself with the same confident allure, her stride somehow magnetic even with the limp.
Sliding into the seat next to me, she let out a soft breath, adjusting her boot beneath the table.
"She's doing just fine," Vanessa said with a wink in my direction, completely brushing off Julian's sombre tone. Her eyes flicked to my crutches, a playful grin tugging at her lips as she reached for them. Turning one over in her hands, she smirked.
"These babies have character. They just need a little sparkle to match their owner. Maybe I'll borrow them for my next meeting," she teased, gesturing toward her boot.
The humour in her voice was infectious, and I couldn't help but laugh. Even Julian's lips twitched at her boldness, though his gaze lingered on her lovely legs with a mix of concern and confusion. Vanessa, however, didn't seem to notice, or care. Instead, she tilted her head toward me, her boot resting lightly against my cast beneath the table, as if it was a silent show of camaraderie.
I laughed, Julian, however, seemed even more withdrawn, his brows furrowing as he watched her.
The contrast between them couldn't have been starker. Julian's protectiveness felt suffocating, while Vanessa's support was uplifting. One made me feel fragile; the other made me feel powerful.
As the day stretched on, I couldn't stop thinking about the dynamic between the three of us. Julian, with his quiet discomfort and unspoken longing, and Vanessa, with her unapologetic confidence and effortless charm. Both of them cared in their own ways, but only one made me feel like myself.
The challenge ahead wasn't just about work or navigating life on crutches, it was about figuring out who I wanted by my side as I did it.
Say it isn't so
Chapter 6 to come
Beca
Wednesday, January 8, 2025
Tuesday, January 7, 2025
Say it isn't so chapter 4
Say it isn't so
Chapter 4
She caught my eye and smiled...
Her full lips painted the same striking shade as her dress. Her dark hair was swept to one side in loose, effortless waves, and her makeup was understated but impeccable. There was something mesmerizing about her; she exuded confidence in a way that seemed to pull everyone in the room toward her orbit including me, a very straight woman.
But it was Vanessa that walked toward me, her gaze lingering on my red cast. As I balanced on my crutches, I noticed her eyes staring at me, not with pity but with genuine curiosity and something else I couldn't quite name yet.
She sat beside me, her voice soft but self-assured. "You're handling this broken leg so gracefully," she said, her smile warm and genuine.
"Thank you"
I could feel my cheeks flush as her words settled over me. She looked at me again, and this time, I saw myself through her eyes. My sharp black dress hugged my whole body, accentuating my breasts, caressing my hips. The smooth, unyielding line of my cast while bent at the knee added a striking contrast, yet oddly alluring.
But in a way it was the single black high heel pump on my good foot, sleek and commanding, that anchored the look, turning me into a vision of sensuality. I wasn't just surviving; I was captivating, sexy... NO I was daydreaming.
Unlike Julian, Vanessa didn't seem awkward or uncomfortable. She seemed... intrigued. Even attracted.
"How are you managing?" she asked, leaning in slightly.
I smiled, for the first time in what felt like days. "Better than I first expected, honestly. I'm getting the hang of these," I said, gesturing to my crutches.
Her gaze softened, and she chuckled. "You know, I badly broke my ankle in college. A clumsy trip down some stairs in 5 inch heels, almost drunk," she admitted, rolling her eyes at her younger self.
"I still limp a little when I'm tired, but it's a part of me now." She said lifting her right leg and that's when I noticed a very long scar along her ankle. I was intrigued and for a brief second I wanted to touch it, feel it.
I laughed with her, the sound light and unguarded. In that moment, Vanessa didn't just make me feel seen; she made me feel understood. And for the first time since the accident, I felt a spark of something I hadn't felt in a long time...Sexiness and attractions.
Back at home on the couch, my cast resting on a tower of pillows, I couldn't stop thinking about Vanessa. The memory of her grabbing my crutches played over and over in my mind. She hadn't just held them, she owned them. With an effortless grace, she slipped them under her arms and took a few playful steps, her right leg bent at the knee as if mimicking my non-weight-bearing stance.
Her red dress clung to her figure as she moved, and the flash of the crimson sole of her high heel as it hovered above the ground was breathtakingly perfect. Every step she took on my crutches seemed deliberate, as though she knew exactly how captivating she looked. Her confidence was magnetic, her laughter light and teasing, but there was something else in her gaze when she looked at me, a spark that felt charged with meaning.
I sat there, watching her, spellbound and unsure what to make of the moment. Back at home now, her attention left me both flattered and confused. Was she just being playful? Or was there something more in the way her eyes lingered on me and my broken leg, her lips curving into a knowing smile as she returned the crutches to me?
I was resting on the couch, my long cast from almost my hip to my midfoot was on pillows. The dull ache was a constant reminder of my immobility, but it was the itching that drove me mad. She had been checking in on me for the last few nights, her calls changing, getting more and more personal in nature.
"You know, I've always had a thing for ladies in leg cast," she casually mentioned one evening, her voice low.
"There's something about vulnerability, helplessness..."
"Really?" I replied,. "And what do you do with that vulnerability?"
She laughed that sent shivers down my spine. "Well, I'd start by running my fingers over your long red cast, feeling the contours of your shapely leg miss vice president. Then, I'd move my hands up your thigh..."
I was excited, my breath coming in short gasps even if I had never done anything like that on the phone before. "And then?" I managed to ask while caressing my breasts, my hard nipples.
"Then, I'd move my hands between your cast and healthy leg," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'd tease you, until you're begging me to slide my fingers inside you."
I could barely think straight. "And what would you do then?"
"Then, I'd kiss you," she said, her voice dripping with desire. "I'd suck your clitoris until you come, until you're screaming my name."
I couldn't take it anymore. "Vanessa, come over," I moaned. "Please."
She arrived an hour later, her eyes dark with desire and to tease me she was leaning on crutches, her knee bent and medical boot on her foot and lower leg. She dropped her crutches and knelt beside me, her fingers tracing the cast on my leg. "It's so long and slim," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.
I smiled. "It's just a cast, Vanessa."
She looked up at me, her eyes filled with mischief. "Just a cast, huh? Let me show you how much fun a cast can be while we have sex."
She began at my exposed toes, kissing and licking them. Then her long fingers were tracing the cast, moving slowly upwards. I watched her, my heart pounding in my chest. When she reached my thigh, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with desire. I swear she wanted a cast again.
"Can I touch you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I nodded totally out of control. She moved her hand between my legs, her fingers sliding in. I groaned, my hips bucking upwards.
"Yes," I hissed.
She pleased me, her fingers moving in and out. I watched her, "Vanessa," I groaned. "Please." She smiled, her eyes filled with mischief. I hissed in a breath.
"Vanessa.."
She smiled, her eyes filled with desire. "Oh, yes," she said. She stood up on her medical boot, her hands going to her shirt. She pulled it off, revealing her bare breasts. She unbuttoned her jeans skirt, her hips swaying as she shimmied out of it. She was bare underneath.
Say it isn't so
Chapter 5 to come
Beca
Monday, January 6, 2025
Sunday, January 5, 2025
Say it isn't so. Chapter 3
Say it isn't so
Chapter 3
As I settled into my chair, with my broken leg elevated my mind wandered back to something I'd stumbled upon online the night before that surprised me. Out of sheer curiosity, okay, maybe boredom since with my broken leg I couldn't go running my 5km. I had typed "life with a leg cast" into the search bar, hoping to find tips or stories from people who'd gone through this. What I found instead was... surprising. Forums, articles, even entire websites dedicated to people who found leg casts sexually attractive.
It wasn't just casual admiration either. Some of the erotic stories were passionate, even obsessive, mostly for men. A few women chimed in, but it was mostly men marveling at the shape of a cast, the way it immobilized a limb, the vulnerability it symbolized. Vulnerability, that word stuck with me. Was that the appeal?
At first, I laughed, thinking it was absurd. How could anyone look at this hot, itchy, fiber prison on my leg and feel anything other than discomfort? My cast was cumbersome and annoying; it made my life harder, not sexier. I thought about the forum posts again and shuddered. It felt invasive, like people were romanticizing something that, for me, was nothing more than a hindrance.
But as the initial wave of disbelief passed, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered something I wasn't ready to admit, could there be something empowering about this? Could the same thing that made me feel vulnerable also be a symbol of strength? I dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all.
For now, I couldn't fathom seeing my cast as anything other than an inconvenience. Life had a funny way of changing perspectives when you least expected it.
Julian caught up to me as I made my way down the hallway after the meeting. My crutches tapped against the tiled floor in a rhythmic cadence, and I could feel the sweat starting to form on my palms from gripping them tightly.
"Here, let me help," he said, stepping forward and reaching for my laptop bag. His smile was warm but awkward, like he wasn't sure if his offer would offend me.
I hesitated, my pride warring with practicality. My bag wasn't heavy, but the thought of juggling it while on crutches had already made my shoulders ache in anticipation. "Thanks," I said finally, handing it over. He slung the bag over his shoulder easily, walking beside me as I adjusted my pace to keep up.
"It's tough seeing you like this," he admitted after a pause, clearly no sexual attraction for him.
His words caught me off guard, and I stopped mid-step, the crutches halting my movement.
"Like what?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "You know... not at full strength. You're always so... in control. It's just weird seeing you in this long and ugly cast"
" and on crutches?" I finished for him, my voice calm but firm.
His face turned a light shade of pink. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just, this isn't you. You're the one who always has it together, 4 inch stilettos, short leather skirt." I sighed, softening a little. Julian wasn't trying to be cruel. He just didn't know how to handle the situation, and to be honest, neither did I.
"This is me, Julian," I said, gesturing to the red cast on my leg. "For now, for the next 3 months, anyway. And I'm still the same person, just moving a bit slower."
He nodded, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting my eyes. "I didn't mean to sound... you know, insensitive. I just hate seeing you struggle. I'm so sorry"
"I appreciate that," I said, starting to move again. "But don't feel sorry for me. I'm managing."
The walk to my office felt longer than usual, each step a reminder of how much effort this took. Julian held the door open for me, his earlier discomfort giving way to a more natural kindness. He set my laptop on my desk and turned to leave, hesitating for a moment.
"If you ever need anything, Beca... I'm here. Really."
I smiled, this time a genuine one. "Thanks, Julian. I'll keep that in mind."
As he walked out, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. His words had stung, yes, but they also made me think. Maybe I wasn't as invincible as I liked to believe, but I wasn't about to let anyone, including myself, write me off because of a damn broken leg.
Adjusting my crutches, I sat down at my desk, ready to tackle the stack of emails waiting for me. The day wasn't going to stop for my injury, and neither was I.
I hobbled into my house, the crutches digging into my armpits as I made it through the door. Facing a long mirror, the red cast on my left leg was a stark contrast to my sleek black pencil skirt, which had a slit to accommodate the long cast. After tossing my purse onto the couch, I made my way to the bedroom. The day had been long and stressful, and I needed a release.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar my broken leg too much as I stared at my left leg in my full long cast. The doctor had said it would be on for 8 weeks. My fingers traced the shapes of the cast, and I let out a sigh. I needed more than this. I reached for the hem of my blouse and pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor. My bra soon followed, leaving me in just my skirt and panties.
I slid my hand between my legs, feeling the dampness already there. My clitoris was throbbing, and I knew I wouldn't be able to wait much longer. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in just my panties. I slipped a finger inside, feeling my wetness, and let out a soft moan.
"God," I whispered to myself.
I slipped my panties off and waited, my heart pounding in my chest. I slipped a finger inside me, my thumb rubbing against my clitoris. I could feel my orgasm building, my body tensing.
Then I slipped another finger inside, my thrusts becoming harder, faster. I could feel my orgasm growing, my body tensing with pleasure.
I came, my body shaking, my breath coming in short gasps. I could feel my juices dripping down my leg. It felt so good.
The next morning the light streamed through my window, and for the first time since my injury, I felt a sense of calm. Yesterday and last night had been magical, despite the cast weighing me down. I couldn't pinpoint exactly why, maybe it was the way I had finally embraced the rhythm of my crutches or how I'd caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that I hadn't lost myself completely or maybe it was my 2 orgasms.
Getting dressed, I felt like me again. I pulled on a fitted black dress with a hem that stopped just above the knee, letting my cast peek out. I added a pair of silver earrings and smoothed my hair back into a polished bun. For my good foot, I chose a classic black pump with a pointed toe, sharp, stylish, and perfectly balanced. It wasn't just an outfit; it was armor for the day ahead and I wasn't sure what to expect.
To my surprise at lunch, I noticed Vanessa before she noticed me. Her bold red dress hugged her perfect figure, the fabric flowing just enough to reveal her shapely legs and the faintest hint of a limp when she walked. Her black heels clicked against the floor, but the subtle unevenness in her stride made her even more attractive. Somehow it was a touch of imperfection in an otherwise flawless and sexy woman.
She caught my eye and smiled...
Say it isn't so
Chapter 4 to come
Beca