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