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