Steffie... 2.0 conclusion

 Steffie... 2.0

Conclusion

The day of the photo-shoot arrived with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Dominique and I arrived at Celeste's studio, both dressed to impress. I had chosen a fitted black off-the-shoulder top, paired with sleek dark jeans tailored to accommodate my full-leg cast. The vivid cast added a striking contrast, and I completed the look with a single red stiletto on my uninjured foot. Yes I know it's dangerous but oh so sexy.

Dominique, always effortlessly chic, wore a scarlet wrap blouse with a deep neckline and high-waisted black leather pants. Her sporty black leather gloves added an edgy flair, and she chose elegant strappy heels, her crippled legs crossed gracefully in her wheelchair.

Celeste greeted us at the door, her energy electric. She wore a tailored emerald-green dress with a dramatic slit that revealed her long legs and her sleek black ankle brace, a subtle nod to her recent recovery. She limped in her stilettos as she walked. Her bold red lipstick matched her confident smile, and her hair was swept into a sophisticated updo, giving her a commanding presence, she was leading the photo-shoot, for now anyway...

"I'm back on my own two feet," she announced, striking a playful pose and gesturing dramatically to her legs. "And I'm ready to make magic happen."

"You look amazing, Celeste," Dominique said with genuine admiration.

Emma was standing confidently against a backdrop. She wore a curve-hugging black dress with a daring neckline and a hemline that stopped just above her knees, showing off her toned legs. Her broken arm was in a black cast now, still extending elegantly from her hand to her upper arm, was a striking contrast against her smooth, tan skin. She had accessorized with silver drop earrings and strappy black stilettos.

"You all look absolutely stunning," Emma said warmly, her green eyes sparkling as she smoothed the hem of her sleek dress. Her gaze lingered, unapologetically admiring the unique beauty each of us brought to the room. She didn't hide her fascination as her eyes drifted to Dominique's legs, their delicate tone reflecting her time spent in her wheelchair. There was no judgment, only admiration, a quiet acknowledged.

"Every detail," Emma continued, her voice filled with sincerity, "from the casts to the crutches to the way each of you carries yourself, it's all so sexy. There's nothing more beautiful than owning who you are, unapologetically and completely."

Dominique caught Emma's gaze and smiled, a mixture of pride and understanding lighting her expression. "I guess it's about finding power in what makes you different," she said softly, her fingers grazing the rim of her wheelchair. "And letting the world see it as art."

Emma nodded, her expression warm. "Exactly. There's nothing more captivating than someone who embraces what others might shy away from. You're all proof that there's beauty in every choice, in every detail, in every part of who you are. It's not just okay. it's extraordinary."

Dominique was the first to step into the frame. My daughter in her wheelchair, black leather pants, strappy heels and gloves was a transformed woman in front of Celeste Camera. She rolled her wheelchair closer to Emma, her hand reaching out to caress her black cast.

Emma leaned into her touch, my heart was pounding looking at them. She reached out, her long cast resting lightly on her crippled legs. She said something to Dominique and my daughter smiled, licking her lips...

Dominique rolled even closer, between Emma's strong legs, her gloved fingers tracing the broken arm and thumb, her touch sending shivers down my spine just looking. Celeste, meanwhile, had moved to stand behind me, her hands sliding up my back, her lips pressing against my neck, I squeezed my crutches.

Emma, with a sultry smile, knelt in front of Dominique, her broken arm between her legs.

The foreplay was slow, deliberate. Each touch, each kiss, was an exploration, a discovery. Dominique's fingers traced the line of her jaw, her lips capturing Emma's in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Celeste's hands slid down my back, her lips trailing kisses along my neck..

Celeste moved away from me like a maestro. "Show me that strength, Dominique," she said, adjusting the lighting to frame her subject. "Let the world see how unstoppable you are in your wheelchair."

The camera captured the interplay; she was poised with her striking arm cast and her heels gave her an air of dominance, while her playful smile softened the effect. Celeste limped, her stilettos clicking against the polished floor.

"It's your turn..., let's have you standing, leaning against the wall without your crutches"

I leaned against the wall, creating a dramatic silhouette with my broken leg off the floor. I caught her eye staring at my long cast but also my firm breasts and lips...I smiled.

"Like what you see?" I asked.

She limped closer, her hand reaching out to touch my face. Her lips brushed against mine, soft and tentative. I responded instantly, my hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. She deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against mine, my cast sliding between her leg. She squeezed her legs tight against my broken leg, I was trapped. Her hands move down caressing my breasts.

"You're so beautiful, broken," she murmured, her lips trailing down my neck.

I moaned, my head falling back. "Celeste..."

Her lips found my nipple through the fabric of my bra, her teeth grazing against it. I arched into her touch, my breath coming in short gasps.

"You like that?" she asked, her voice a low growl.

I nodded, my fingers tangling in her hair. "Yes."

Emma and Dominique noticed that the moment was charged with a palpable sexual energy as I leaned against the wall. My broken leg extended, my cast between her legs. My crutches rested nearby, propped against a chair, leaving me to balance carefully with my weight on one foot. They could see I felt vulnerable, and powerful all at once.

"This pose of ours is breathtaking," she moaned, her voice low.

Being so turned on sexually by the moment, I reached out, gently turning her to face the wall. "Let's try something," I said, leaning into her for support as I shifted my stance pushing her against the wall. My hands found her waist, steadying myself against her. The scent of her perfume, warm, spicy, and intoxicating, filled the air between us.

She didn't resist, tilting her head slightly as I leaned closer biting her long neck. With a teasing grin, I slid my hand down to her left arm and gently twisted it behind her back.

"You trust me, right?" I whispered into her ear, feeling her body tense slightly against mine.

"Always," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in her tone.

The moment was charged with pure sexual tension as I pushed her harder against the wall, lifting her arm higher. My crutches rested nearby, propped against a chair, leaving me to balance carefully with my weight on one foot. The pose felt bold, vulnerable, and powerful all at once.

I was leaning further into her for balance, I wish I could tell you that something went wrong but ...I would be lying. I twisted her arm slightly more than intended, and a startled gasp escaped her lips.

"Careful!" she exclaimed.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, you just have a little too much passion."

"I guess I got a bit carried away,"

Dominique rolled closer to us, "Mom, I'm sure you can do better"

I smiled at my daughter, I adjusted my position, a sudden shift in my footing, perhaps too much weight on my good leg, threw me off balance. I twisted her arm slightly more than intended, and a sharp snap sounded.

Her body stiffened against mine, and she moaned, cradling her wrist as I immediately pulled back, leaning for my crutches. "Celeste! Oh my god, I didn't mean...are you okay?"

She turned slowly, her expression a mix of pain and shock, her left hand trembling slightly as she held it close to her chest. "I think... I think you just twisted it a bit too much," she said, her voice strained.

I reached out instinctively to kiss it, but she held up her good hand to stop me. "I felt something snap," she admitted with a weak laugh. "It's not your fault, I didn't expect you to have perfect balance on one leg with the other in your heavy cast."

"Celeste, I'm so sorry," I steadied myself on my crutches.

Emma stepped in, her practiced hands carefully examining Celeste's wrist. "It's definitely broken," Emma confirmed. "But nothing too severe. 6 weeks in a cast baby."

"This is live art and sometimes it requires a little sacrifice."

"I promise I'll make it up to you," I said, my voice earnest.

"You will, trust me," Celeste replied with a playful glint in her eye, even as she cradled her broken arm she looked so sexy staring at my uninjured leg.

By the time the final shot was taken, the studio buzzed with a quiet triumph. Celeste glanced at her broken arm, then back at me, a mischievous smirk tugging at her red lips. "Six weeks, huh?" she said, her voice teasing but warm. "Plenty of time for you to make good on your promise."

"I will," I replied, matching her playful tone. "Just don't forget who inspired this masterpiece."

Celeste caught my gaze again, her eyes lingering not on my broken leg in its cast but on my uninjured leg, as though she saw more in me than I'd ever allowed myself to admit. Her smile deepened, a quiet moment of understanding passing between us.

Art had brought us together, but it was the shared vulnerability, the willingness to embrace imperfection, that had created something truly unforgettable. As we parted ways that day, the faint scent of Celeste's perfume still lingering in the air, I realized this wasn't just an ending, it was the beginning of something far greater than any of us could have imagined.

The end
K

Steffie... 2.0 chapter 10

 Steffie... 2.0

Chapter 10

The following evening, Dominique and I headed to Celeste's condo. I wore a pair of soft, well-worn jeans with one leg cut off neatly to accommodate my long cast, the fabric ending just above the top of it. My sweatshirt, a deep charcoal gray, hung loosely offering warmth against the cool evening air. Dominique matched the laid-back vibe in a pair of dark skinny jeans that highlighted her long legs, her navy sweatshirt slightly oversized and falling just past her hips sitting in her wheelchair.

Celeste greeted us at the door with her usual radiant warmth, her cane in one hand. She was wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a burgundy turtleneck. Her short leg cast, peeked out from beneath her jeans.

"Welcome, come in!" she said, her smile wide. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

We followed her into the spacious living area, where the warm glow of floor lamps that illuminate a room filled with bookshelves and abstract art. By the window stood a woman who, at first glance, seemed as striking as one of Celeste's paintings come to life. Emma, Celeste's wife, turned to greet us, her reserved yet friendly expression radiating quiet confidence.

"This is Emma," Celeste said, gesturing toward her with pride. "My better half."

Emma was shorter but very athletic looking despite the green cast on her whole arm and thumb. Her athletic build hinted at years of physical activity, and her piercing blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. She wore dark gray leggings and a forest-green pullover that coordinated with her broken arm, the soft material emphasizing her natural elegance. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and a faint scar along her cheekbone hinted at the adventurous life she'd led.

"It's wonderful to meet you both," Emma said, her voice calm and steady. She extended her uninjured hand toward me first, then Dominique. "Celeste has told me so much about you."

We exchanged pleasantries before settling down. As we talked, Emma's demeanour softened, and she began to share her story.

"I was a professional downhill skier for over a decade," she explained, her gaze distant as if recalling the rush of snow-covered slopes. "But with that came its share of risks. Multiple accidents over the years left me with more casts and crutches than I can count. At first, I saw them as symbols of failure, of limits. But over time, I began to see the beauty and necessity in them. They're a testament to what we endure, what we overcome."

Her words resonated deeply, and I nodded in understanding. "I've felt that too being a gymnast," I said.

Emma's gaze shifted to Dominique, her expression curious and thoughtful. "And you?" she asked gently. "Celeste mentioned your... unique approach to your wheelchair. You've truly made it your own. You look amazing in your chair" She said while her green cast touched Dominique's legs.

Dominique's cheeks flushed slightly, but she met Emma's gaze with a small smile. "I've always been fascinated by mobility devices. At first, it was just curiosity, but now it's become something more. I love exploring what it feels like, what it represents." she added.

"It's refreshing to meet someone so open about embracing what others might see as a dirty fetish with limitations. It's inspiring."

The conversation flowed easily after that, a shared connection growing between us as we discussed everything from art and design to personal journeys. By the time the evening ended, I felt a sense of kinship with both Celeste and Emma, their openness and creativity leaving a lasting impression.

As Dominique and I prepared to leave, Celeste placed a hand on my shoulder. "I have an idea I'd like to discuss with you both before you go."

"I have a proposal. What if we create something together? A collaborative art piece, a photo-shoot, that explores the intersection of pain, beauty, and connection. It could be raw, intimate, and powerful. The four of us, each bringing our stories and presence into the frame."

Dominique, seated beside me in her sporty wheelchair, looked taken aback. She adjusted the cuffs of her sweatshirt, her gaze darting between Celeste and me. "A photo-shoot?" she echoed, skepticism lacing her tone. "What kind of photo-shoot?"

Celeste clarified, leaning forward slightly taking my broken leg in her hand, caressing my cast. "I want to capture the essence of each of you,your emotions, your vulnerabilities, and your strength. You, Dominique, in your wheelchair, embodying the freedom of choice and the beauty of movement. Emma and her history, marked by multiple crashes and broken bones, a testament to resilience and adaptation. And you..." she turned to me with a smile, "graceful and bold on your crutches, with your cast as a symbol of your journey. Together, it's a narrative about embracing who we are, scars and all."

I felt a ripple of excitement but glanced at Dominique, unsure of her reaction. Her brow furrowed as she fiddled with the rim of her wheelchair. "I don't know, "I've never done anything like that. And... putting myself out there like that? It feels... vulnerable."

Emma, sitting beside Celeste with her broken arm in a sling, spoke up for the first time since the proposal. "Vulnerability is where the magic happens," she said, her voice soft but firm. She stood, walked over to Dominique, leaned over and kissed her softly.

"I've done some media in my skiing days, but nothing like this. What Celeste is describing, it's not about posing. It's about being. Showing who you are at that moment. It's scary, but it's also freeing."

I reached over and placed a hand on Dominique's knee, squeezing gently. "You don't have to decide right now," I said. "But I think this could be something special. Something we'll remember forever."

Dominique met my gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll think about it," she murmured, her tone thoughtful.

Celeste smiled, her enthusiasm undeterred. "That's all I ask. And if we do this, I'll make sure it's a comfortable and collaborative process. You'll have input on everything from the setting to the final images. It's about all of us, together."

The room fell into a contemplative silence. I could see the gears turning in Dominique's mind as she considered Celeste's vision.

Later that evening, as we drove home, Dominique finally broke the silence. "It's not that I don't want to do it, I'm just not used to being... seen like that. But maybe that's the point, right? To step out of the box and show people what they wouldn't expect?"

I smiled, pride swelling in my chest. "Exactly. And no matter what you decide, I'll be right there with you. But I bet Celeste could make this session very beautiful and sensual"

Dominique nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Alright. Let's do it."

Steffie... 2.0
Conclusion to come

Steffie... 2.0 chapter 9

 Steffie... 2.0

Chapter 9

"it wasn't... entirely accidental."

"What?"

Her brows shot up, but she remained silent, giving me the space to explain.

"I never intended for things to go this far," I continued, choosing my words thoughtfully. "But the truth is... I've always loved the feeling of being in a cast. The weight of it, the way it immobilizes me, the sensation of relying on crutches, it's comforting, grounding in a way I can't fully explain. It's not just about the cast itself; it's about how it makes me feel... centred, aware of every step, every move, every look."

Her surprise softened into understanding, her lips parting slightly as she absorbed my words. "So, you're saying... you wanted this medical cast, not just a recreational one?"

"In a way, yes, I didn't plan for the fall to happen like it did, but... I don't regret it. Not when I feel this." I gestured to the cast that enveloped my leg, then to the crutches leaning nearby. "It brings me a sense of peace, beauty, joy and yes, even a bit of sexiness."

Dominique's expression shifted again, her lips pressing into a contemplative line. After a long pause, she nodded slowly. "I don't completely get it, the need for pain, and I'm not sure I ever will. But... if it makes you happy, then that's what matters."

Her words lifted a weight from my chest, and I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "Thank you, Dominique. That means more than you know." Her answering smile was small but genuine, and as we sat there in companionable silence, the moment felt like a bridge, one built on honesty, understanding, and mutual acceptance.

The following day, Dominique and I visited Celeste's studio. I wore a flowing navy-blue that partially draped elegantly over my white cast, paired with a low heel pump for practicality while managing my crutches. My white long leg cast peeked through the side slit of the dress, the contrast drawing attention to it with every step I took.

Dominique was bold and elegant as she wheeled herself alongside me. She had traded the understated loafers for a striking pair of 4-inch stiletto heels. The heels were unapologetically daring, ladies looked at their sharp design with every subtle shift of her position in the wheelchair. They drew the eye immediately, accentuating her long legs that were in black pantyhose.

Her tight fitting blouse remained the focal point of her outfit with her crippled legs, hugging her slender frame but firm round breasts. She'd paired it with a black leather pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees, complementing her striking heels. A delicate silver anklet adorned her right foot, peeking out of the curve of her shoes, while her sporty red leather gloves added a modern, edgy flair. The gloves were sleek and snug.

She wore a daring shade of red lipstick that bordered on a vampire look, the color perfect with her hair. Her hair was in a ponytail, with a few strands artfully framing her face, softening the overall look. The contrast between her edgy accessories and paralyzed legs made her presence magnetic.

As Dominique rolled into Celeste's studio, the wheels of her sporty wheelchair moved soundlessly over the polished wooden floor. The air buzzed with creativity, and Dominique's confidence seemed to amplify it. She adjusted her gloves slightly, a practised motion.

Celeste greeted us warmly, her cane tapping rhythmically as she walked. She wore a flowing black wrap dress, her red walking cast peeking from beneath the hem. The cast featured a sleek black rubber heel, allowing her to move with ease.

Celeste's eyes met Dominique's long legs, a subtle smile tugging at her lips as she took in the surroundings. Her wheelchair didn't diminish her presence, it amplified it. Each motion, from the way her hands gripped the polished rims of the chair to the slight tilt of her head as she surveyed the studio, exuded self-assured elegance.

The boldness of Dominique's lipstick, the striking heels, and the sporty gloves seemed to echo her unspoken philosophy: vulnerability didn't mean invisibility. Instead, it was a choice to stand out, to own the moment, to be in your face.

"Welcome, both of you!" Celeste's voice was warm and inviting. She gestured toward the studio, her short leg cast peeking out. "So sorry about your accident Dominique but you look amazing in your wheelchair. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable. I can't wait to show you my latest work."

As I moved further into the studio on my crutches, the rhythmic click of their tips on the polished wooden floor mingled with the soft noise of Dominique's wheelchair. The gentle sway of my broken leg caught the light, the white surface in contrast to the dark fabric of my dress was perfect. Each deliberate step excited me sexually, while the weight of the cast ground me in the moment.

I couldn't help but steal glances at her, mesmerized by how effortlessly she carried herself inside her fetish. The interplay of light on her heels and gloves gave her an almost statuesque quality, a living piece of art in motion. She caught me looking and tilted her head, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

A playful smirk curved her plum lips looking at my long cast and Celeste walking cast, with an expression of amused confidence.

"Admiring my style, or my wheels mom?" she teased, her voice low and full of humor.

"Both and your sexy long crippled legs," I replied, adjusting my grip on my crutches and letting out a soft laugh. "You've turned heads before, like when you were 17, wore your cheerleading uniform while in a leg cast and on crutches, but tonight... you're definitely stealing the spotlight."

Dominique's smirk widened as she tapped one gloved finger against her wheel. "I wanted to make an impression," she said softly, her gloved fingers brushing my broken leg.

"You've certainly done that," I replied, matching her smile as we settled in to view Celeste's latest presentation.

The studio walls were full of paintings that celebrated the human fragile form: vibrant depictions of fractured limbs, casts transformed into intricate works of art, and women and men in movement leaning on crutches, their expressions captured with stunning emotional depth. Dominique's eyes wandered, drawn to the pieces depicting ladies in wheelchairs with a quiet intensity.

"This is my latest presentation, it's about embracing the parts of ourselves we often hide, the fractures, the scars, the vulnerabilities, and finding the strength within them to the point of sexual pleasures."

As Celeste spoke, Dominique leaned forward slightly in her wheelchair, her fingers lightly resting on the armrests. Her eyes flicked between Celeste, the artwork and her walking cast, her expression contemplative. I could see how deeply the message resonated with her.

Celeste moved with purpose, her cane and cast a visible extension of her identity, reinforcing the narrative of her art. Dominique nodded occasionally, but she remained silent, absorbing every word.

Later that evening, as we settled back into the living room, Dominique finally broke her silence. She wheeled herself closer to me, adjusting her position as she crossed her legs carefully, maintaining the illusion of her "condition." Her tone was thoughtful as she asked,

"Do you feel vulnerable when you're on crutches, or powerful?"

I considered her question for a moment before replying. "Both," I said, meeting her gaze.

"As I get older, there's a vulnerability in needing support, in being physically limited. But there's also a kind of power in it, the way it changes your perspective, forces you to move differently. It also draws attention, yes, but it also demands that you slow down and savour every moment."

I gestured to my cast and crutches resting beside me. "It's the balance that excites me. Vulnerability and strength aren't opposites; they're two sides of the same coin. Embracing both can be incredibly liberating. To me anyway"

Dominique's gaze lingered on me, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of her skirt.

In that moment, I felt a connection spark between us, a shared understanding of what it meant to not only face the challenges of our realities but to embrace the beauty within them as well recreational or medical.

My phone rang and I was surprised to see who was calling.

Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 10 to come

Steffie...2.0 chapter 8

 Steffie...2.0

Chapter 8

The first thing I noticed as I stirred awake was the familiar antiseptic scent of the hospital room, a smell I had come to associate with care and recovery. The soft hum of activity outside my door and the rhythmic beeping of monitors grounded me, but it was the sunlight streaming through the partially drawn curtain that drew my attention. It cast a warm glow across the pale blue walls, and for a moment, I simply lay there, relishing the peace of the morning.

My gaze drifted down to my right leg, finally it was now encased in a full leg cast that stretched from almost my toes to just below my hip. The sight filled me with pure pleasure. It was white, long and bent at the knee, a very hard reminder of the night that had changed everything. The fall. I thought of it again, not with regret, but with a strange fondness. The deliberate push, the rush of air, the jarring impact... and then the sharp pain that had solidified the moment. It was all part of the experience, a story etched not just in memory but now visibly on my right leg.

The cast was following the shape of my leg in a snug embrace. My toes peeked out from the bottom, slightly swollen and I wiggled them gently, enjoying the slight movement. The sensation reminded me of the care and precision that had gone into setting the fractures, three breaks, Ethan had said, his voice shaky with concern but his touch steady. Now, those breaks were wrapped in this beautiful, protective shell, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

It's my leg...

My uninjured leg lay covered by the blanket, but it was the cast that held my attention. I ran my fingers along its surface, savouring the cool texture beneath my fingers. It was perfect, from the way it conformed to my knee's slight bend to the way it immobilized my entire leg. I imagined the weeks ahead, navigating on crutches, feeling the weight of the cast as I moved. Dressing to show off my new accessory. The thought brought a small, genuine smile to my lips.

To my left, the bedside tray held the usual assortment of items, a glass of water, my phone, and a small Chromebook, the same one I use to update my site, write my stories. A bouquet of flowers sat on the table, their vibrant petals a cheerful contrast to the room's clinical surroundings. My gaze lingered on them for a moment before returning to the cast. This was my tenth day here, and this afternoon, I'd finally be leaving the hospital.

A nurse entered quietly, her smile warm and familiar. "Good morning Stephanie," she said, checking the chart at the foot of my bed. "How are we feeling today? Ready to head home?"

"More than ready, but I'm going to miss this place...well, a little."

She chuckled as she adjusted the blankets. "I'll take that as a compliment. And don't worry, you'll be back for check-ups and cast change soon enough."

As she left, I let my head rest against the pillow, my thoughts returning to the fall. The thrill, the pure sexual tension, the moment of impact, it had all been worth it. Now, with this cast as a constant reminder, I felt a strange, undeniable joy. It wasn't just about the injury; it was about embracing this unique chapter of my life, one step at a time.

The midday sun bathed the hospital parking lot as I sat in the wheelchair, waiting for Dominique to arrive. My right leg is in a long white cast supported by the wheelchair's elevated leg rest. The cast was striking, covering my entire leg, its surface unblemished except for the faint creases where it conformed perfectly to my knee and ankle. I was holding on to my crutches, a promise of mobility and independence I couldn't wait to reclaim.

The automatic doors behind me slid open with a soft hiss, and I spotted Dominique stepping out, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. She walked toward me with a purposeful stride, her eyes immediately darting to my cast again. A mix of concern and curiosity played across her face as she reached me, her lips curving into a tentative smile.

"Hi, Mom," she said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. Her gaze lingered on my leg, her tone light but with an edge of tension. "Ready to bust out of here?"

"More than ready," I replied, returning her smile. "Let's get this show on the road."

She pushed the wheelchair toward her car, navigating the path with ease. When we reached the backseat door, Dominique set the brakes and opened it wide, ensuring plenty of space for the transfer. I shifted slightly in the wheelchair, reaching for the crutches to balance myself.

"Take your time," she said, watching intently as I positioned the crutches and used them to pivot out of the chair. My broken leg stretched stiffly behind me, its weight requiring a little more effort as I carefully transferred into the seat. Dominique reached out to steady me, her hands gentle but firm.

Once I was seated, I adjusted the position of my leg and Dominique returned the wheelchair and then returned to secure the crutches in the backseat. As she slid into the driver's seat and started the car, the tension in the air grew palpable. I could feel her glances, her unspoken question hanging heavy between us. Finally, as we turned onto the main road, she broke the silence.

"Mom," Dominique began, her voice careful but insistent, "tell me... please. It was an accident, wasn't it? Not... intentional?"

Her words hung in the air, laden with worry and something deeper, an understanding, perhaps, of my fascination with the situation. I looked at her, seeing the conflict in her eyes as she waited for an answer.

In the afternoon Dominique helped me into the living room, her arm wrapped around my waist for support. My crutches were tucked under her other arm, temporarily out of reach as I balanced on my good leg, my broken leg making every movement painful. She guided me to the couch, her touch gentle but firm, and I sank down with a soft sigh of relief.

My cast stretched out across the cushions, its rigid presence a constant reminder of the events that led to this moment. Dominique placed the crutches against the wall and then adjusted a pillow under my broken leg, ensuring it was supported and comfortable.

"There," she said softly, stepping back to survey her work. "Anything else you need?"

I shook my head, offering a small smile. "No, sweetheart. This is perfect. Don't worry you know it's not my first broken leg"

Later on Dominique rolled into the living room in a sporty, lightweight wheelchair, the metallic frame gleaming under the afternoon sunlight. The streamlined design matched her playful personality, sleek, vibrant, and a little daring. Her legs rested casually on the footplate, her posture relaxed yet poised. She moved with ease, spinning the wheels with practised hands, the subtle sound of the rubber against the floor adding to the quiet ambience. She had a natural grace in the chair, a sense of ownership, as if she were one with it.

Her choice of outfit further highlighted her comfort in the moment: a fitted tank top in deep burgundy paired with stylish black leggings and black heels. A delicate gold necklace glinted at her throat, catching the light as she wheeled herself into position near the armchair. It was clear she wasn't just pretending for fun, she was exploring something deeper, her own fascination with mobility and its nuances.

But even as Dominique sat in her wheelchair, I could see it in her eyes, she wasn't done. That lingering question hung on the tip of her tongue, she chose to sit directly across from me in her wheelchair, her hands resting lightly on the wheels, her expression thoughtful. She hesitated, her gaze flickering to my cast and crutches before finally meeting my eyes.

"Mom, I have to ask you again... was it intentional?"

I couldn't brush it off this time, not when she needed an honest answer. I sighed, leaning back into the cushions, my fingers absently tracing the surface of my cast. The weight of her question was heavy, but I knew it was time to speak. I began carefully, my voice low but steady, "it wasn't... entirely accidental."

"What?"

Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 9 to come

Steffie...2.0 chapter 7

 Steffie...2.0

Chapter 7

He stepped closer, his gloved hand reached out, lightly tracing the curve of my neck. The glove was unusual, made of a soft, velvety material that seemed to hum with a gentle vibration. I gasped as his fingers moved lower, grazing the edge of my dress, between my legs. The sensation was intense, the glove designed to stimulate the clitoris and that it did trust me.

"And nothing underneath..." he said, his eyes darkening. "How daring Miss."

I felt a rush of heat between my legs, my breath coming in short gasps. "I-I didn't expect to meet someone like you tonight," playing the game but not sure anymore if it was a game and what was the end game.

A soft moan escaped my lips as I felt his touch again, my body already responding to his words and the gentle caress of his fingers. "You're driving me crazy, Ethan," I admitted, my voice thick with desire.

His other hand moved to my waist, pushing me harder against the railing. I could feel his hard penis, the heat of his desire pressing against my ass. "Who is Ethan?" he murmured, his mouth brushing against my ear, kissing.

"I want you to feel EVERYTHING tonight." I knew exactly what he was saying and that's when I realized that it was out of control.

His hands trailed down to my hips, his fingers gripping tightly as he leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear. I gasped, feeling the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips.

"Ethan, I..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He chuckled softly, his hands moving to lift the hem of my dress, "I want you."

His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the fabric of my dress higher. I felt a rush of cool air against my skin as he exposed me, all shaven, my breath hitching in anticipation. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my pantyhose, and with a swift motion, he ripped them off.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing. I could feel the moisture gathering between my legs, my body aching for his touch, I lifted my left leg. I felt his hands on my hips, guiding me to bend over the railing, looking down 20 feet at least where the inflated mattress was.

The cold railing against my breasts, the position making me feel very exposed. I looked down again, my heart pounding in my chest as I felt Ethan's hands on my ass. What would I break if I fell down without the mattress?

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this," he said, his voice a low growl. I felt his fingers along my ass, my legs, I gasped as I felt his tongue, hot and wet, while he slowly pushed me higher against the railing.

"Ethan, be careful..." I breathed, my hands gripping the railing tightly.

"Shh," he murmured, his gloved finger was finding my clit, circling it slowly. I moaned softly, my body arching against the vibration that was slowly lifting me up. He was driving me to the edge of ecstasy. I could feel my pleasure building, my body tensing as I neared the edge of my orgasm and the small railing.

"Oh God," I moaned, my hands letting go of the railing. " Please do it."

He chuckled, "Please do what Miss Robinson?"

"I need to cum and I need to feel a break again," I begged, my body aching for him, for a cast and crutches.

He stood up, his hands on my hips, his penis hard and ready against my ass. I could feel the heat of him, the hardness pressing against me.

"Is this what you really want? To cum and fall?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Yessss," I gasped, my body pushing back against him feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The buildup was so sensual, "You're perfect for this," he murmured, his hands all over my breasts, twisting my fully erected nipples slowly sending a shiver down my spine.I was moaning and pleading when the push came.

I was halfway over the railing already when the push and my orgasm from the sexual excitement of falling came. The push was not forceful, but intentional enough to guide me over the railing. I twisted to land backward, trusting the plan, the air mattress below waiting to cushion my fall.

But...

But in the chaos of the moment, my right heel caught the edge of the railing, the small space between the floor and the bottom of the railing. It quickly twisted my beautiful long leg unnaturally as I fell. Time slowed...

I hit the air mattress, the initial relief quickly replaced by a sharp, searing jolt of pain in my right leg. The impact reverberated up my body, the unmistakable snap and crack echoing in my mind.

I gasped, clutching at my leg instinctively, the pain both terrifying and strangely electrifying, an intensity that blurred the edges of reality. Ethan was at my side in seconds, his face pale and his hands trembling as he knelt beside me.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" His voice cracked with panic as his eyes darted to the unnatural angle of my leg. At that exact moment, I kissed him and saw in his eyes that he wasn't ready for this, he wasn't the one.

I managed a shaky smile through the pain. "I think I'm ok... But my leg is broken," I whispered, my voice tight with the effort to stay calm. Ethan's fingers hovered near the injury, his touch gentle yet unsure.

"Three places, maybe," he muttered looking at the S shape of my broken leg, his tone grim but steady as he assessed the situation.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," I interrupted, surprising even myself with the calm in my voice. The mix of pain and adrenaline had my heart racing, my mind reeling at the reality of what had just happened. I leaned up moaning, my lips capturing his in a soft, gentle kiss.

"I don't think I want to do this again Ethan," I said, my voice filled with a desire that I knew would never fade.

Ethan's face was etched with guilt as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his hands trembling. I leaned back against the soft padding of the air mattress, my right leg bent awkwardly, already swelling beneath the sheer material of my pantyhose.

"I never should've gone through with this," Ethan said, his voice cracking as he knelt beside me. His hands hovered over my injured leg, hesitant to touch it, as though fearing he'd make things worse.

I drew in a shaky breath. "It's okay," I said, surprising both of us with the steadiness in my voice. The sharp, relentless pain radiating from my leg was a constant reminder of the consequences, but something deeper coursed through me, possibly 12 weeks in various casts and on crutches.

When I pulled back, I looked him square in the eye. "Ethan," I said, my voice firm but tinged with exhaustion, "It's over between us."

His brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to protest, but I placed a finger against them, silencing my young lover.

Steffie...2.0
Chapter 8 to come

Steffie 2.0 chapter 6

 Steffie... 2.0

Chapter 6

Later that day Ethan and I were lounging on the couch, a pizza box open between us. The soft, smoky tones of Diana Krall's voice drifted through the room, the gentle rhythm of the piano around me. I closed my eyes and in my mind's eye, I saw her again like I did in Montreal years ago at the Jazz Festival: poised at the piano, her sexy legs, her high heels catching the stage lights. Her presence was magnetic, each note underscored by the quiet strength in her posture. The way her foot might press against the pedal, the curve of her shapely calf and leg.

Ethan leaned back, a slice of pizza in his hand, his expression thoughtful but charged with something unspoken. "You know, there's something I've been wanting to share with you," he began, his tone casual but deliberate.

I arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of my beer. "Oh? Do tell."

He hesitated for a beat, then said, "I have this... fascination, a sort of fetish, I guess. It's about stalking, well, not in a dangerous or creepy way," he quickly clarified. "It's more like the thrill of the chase, the buildup of tension, and how it all culminates in something very dramatic and sensual."

I blinked, slightly surprised, but intrigued. "Like, role-playing scenarios?"

"Exactly but on a much deeper level. It's all about creating a story, stepping into the roles, and making it as realistic as possible. That's what I was thinking while looking at Celeste's broken leg, I was thinking of the movie Mad Mom earlier. There's this one scene that's always stuck with me."

"Go on," I murmured, my voice low and laced with curiosity as I leaned forward, my eyes locking with his and I kissed him. I knew exactly which movie he was referring to, and the intrigue in his expression mirrored my own. Slowly, deliberately, I shifted in my seat, the soft rustle of fabric accompanying the movement as I stretched my long legs out toward him.

With a subtle, teasing motion, I rested my right leg across his lap, the arch of my foot brushing against his thigh. My yoga pants caught the light, accentuating the curve of my calf as it draped over him. My left leg followed, crossing gracefully over the first, my pointed toe extending slightly as if to draw his attention. The slight pressure of my heels against his leg teased his penis, grounding the moment with an intimate weight and hardness.

Ethan's gaze flicked down, his hands instinctively settling on my ankles, the warmth of his touch a contrast to the cool air. His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the edge of my toes and foot slightly bending my ankle, as if silently appreciating the picture I'd created.

He let go of my ankle and foot for now, "Okay, imagine this. In our version of the movie, you'd play Emma Stone, you know, sexy red hair, confident, with those irresistible legs. You'd wear a red wig, a very short cocktail dress. You come home, walk up the stairs, heels clicking on the wood. The tension builds as you sense something isn't right."

I smiled and licked my lips. "And then?"

"And then," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "you're pushed over the balcony. But, of course, safely, totally safe," he added quickly, his hands gesturing for emphasis.

"We'd choreograph it perfectly so it looks dramatic but doesn't actually hurt you in soft inflated landing. The idea is that it results in a realistic leg break, and you'd spend six weeks in a term rec cast and on crutches. It'd be like stepping into a movie scene, immersive and unforgettable."

There was something undeniably compelling about it. "So, let me get this straight. You want to recreate a scene where I'm your favorite actress, Emma Stone, only to end up with a broken leg, full leg cast and you take care of me for 6 weeks or do you do like that crazy nurse in the movie?"

"It's a surprise"

I shook my head in amusement, setting my beer down, I rubbed his fully erected penis with my left foot feeling some pre-cum.

"You're something else, Ethan. But you have my attention." The room buzzed with a strange, very sexual electric energy as we both contemplated what this newfound game could mean. Neither of us fully realized how far this idea might take us or how much it might reveal about the hidden corners of his sexual desires and fetishes.

The night air clung with a hint of warmth as I brought my Porsche 911 to a smooth stop under the soft glow of a streetlamp. I sat for a moment, my hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, letting the silence envelop me. The low hum of the engine faded as I turned it off, leaving only the faint sound of the world outside. My thoughts lingered on the night ahead, anticipation mixing with a touch of nerves.

With a steady breath, I reached for the door handle and opened it just enough to hear the faint click of the latch. Slowly, deliberately, I shifted in my seat. My hand brushed the hem of my short black cocktail dress, smoothing it over my thighs as I prepared to make my exit. The silky fabric clung to my frame, accentuating every curve in the dim light.

Sliding one leg out first, I let the long line of my calf stretch into view. The sheen of my black pantyhose caught the streetlamp's glow, highlighting the graceful arch of my foot as it emerged, in a sleek 5 inch stiletto high heel. The pointed toe and delicate strap framed my foot like a piece of art, the stiletto tip pressing against the pavement with a quiet click.

I paused, savouring the moment before extending my other leg with the same slow, deliberate motion. The second heel touched down beside the first, a soft click of elegance against the asphalt. My dress shifted slightly, its fabric moving in rhythm with my body as I straightened and stepped out of the car, the door closing behind me with a soft thud.

The night air kissed my skin, the warmth mingling with the cool confidence I felt as I stood tall. My high heels added an elegant edge to my stride and power. Each step toward the house was deliberate, the soft sway of my hips and the shimmer of my dress creating a performance that I knew Ethan wouldn't miss. He was filming everything I was sure of.

His house loomed ahead, the lights from inside casting a warm glow. I moved with purpose, the rhythmic click of my heels on the driveway punctuating each step. My hips swayed naturally, the dress shifting with the motion, hinting at the allure beneath.

Inside, the long staircase was waiting for me with their polished hardwood gleaming faintly in the dim light. I ascended slowly, each step deliberate, as the sharp click of my stiletto heels echoed with authority against the smooth surface. The sound punctuated the air, each tap a reminder of the graceful precision with which I moved.

With every step, my legs stretched and flexed, the lovely fabric of my black pantyhose felt amazing on my leg, accentuating the sculpted curves of my calves. The arch of my feet within the confines of the pointed heels created a delicate tension, a perfect blend of elegance and control. The slender straps around my ankles framed each graceful movement.

As I climbed, a fleeting thought whispered in the back of my mind, a quiet reflection on the night ahead. For one of these legs, tonight might mark a turning point, a transformation from strength and fluidity to stillness, trapped and supported. The idea of a cast immobilizing one limb, keeping it from flexing for weeks, was both sobering and sexually exhilarating. It added weight to each step, a heightened awareness of the freedom and beauty in every motion, knowing it might soon be a memory.

Where was he...

The smooth wood beneath me made each step feel intentional, the sensation of the firm surface under my heels heightening my awareness of every movement. The sway of my hips became a rhythm all its own, the short hem of my cocktail dress shifting ever so slightly, revealing the faint shimmer of the pantyhose against my thighs. The climb was slow, a graceful ascent that turned each step into a showcase of poise and elegance, building anticipation with every moment

At the top of the stairs, I leaned lightly against the railing, crossing my legs with deliberate grace. My sleek black stiletto dangled off my foot as the faint sound of my dress rustling filled the quiet air. The setup was carefully planned, every detail designed to create a moment that blurred the line between reality, performance and pure sexual fetish.

I waited, my chest heaving slightly, breaths coming in shallow gasps, as I felt his presence behind me. I knew he was there, watching, waiting. The anticipation was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to reach out and caress my skin.

"Look forwards, you look amazing Miss, don't look back" Ethan whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

"I've been thinking about this moment for years, Miss Robinson."

"You have?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his gloved hand reaching out to lightly trace the curve of my neck. "Every detail. The way your dress hugs your body, the way your heels make your legs look endless."

His fingers moved lower, grazing the edge of my dress, between my legs.

"And nothing underneath...hummm"

Steffie...2.0
Chapter 7 to come

Extra 113 Broken foot, cast, crutches

Clip 782 Full leg cast, LLC, crutches part 1

DYR 393 Broken leg, broken arm, broken hand, SLC, Brace, SAC part 1

Wheelchair clip 147

Extra 112 She come in on crutches in a white cast and leaves in a blue c...

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

Clip 781 Fall in stairs, broken ankle, cast, crutches part 2

DYR 377 Broken ankle, black cast , crutches part 2

Wheelchair clip 146

Extra 111 Broken leg, first a white cast, then a pink cast and crutches

Tutorial crutches while in a cast with stairs part 2

Clip 780 Fall in stairs, broken ankle, cast, crutches part 1

DYR 376 Broken ankle, black cast , crutches part 1

Wheelchair clip 145