Wednesday, January 15, 2025
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