Martin nibbled between where his wife’s thighs used to be, now just short soft stumps. She begged him to go slower. “We have all weekend,” she cooed and thrust the dark brown skin around and over his face. “Eat mama’s pink pussy.” To him, those were musical words, almost as sweet to his ears as, “Kiss my stumps darlin’.” No matter how much she wanted him to go slow, her body was moving, quivering, shaking wildly, and she was pulling at his baldhead moving his mouth here and there. “That’s it-t,” she groaned loudly in a deep, low, almost out-of-body, voice. Sometimes followed by, “Your tongue sure does-s good things.” Mostly, she just moaned.
Both of his hands rested against her slim waist, sometimes her shapely hips, attempting to hold her still, trying to keep his mouth against her wetness, against the sweet pink skin. It was impossible. He knew once Selma was in the throws, she was all over the place. He loved it. She did too.
Twenty minutes later, Selma lay on her back, both hands behind her head on the pillow. Large brown breasts rolled slowly over her chest as she breathed. “Let me rest, then you can ‘do’ me with your big ole tool.” She giggled a few times and moved so the breasts would jiggle a bit more. “First, titillate me with talk about some of the amputees you’ve made. You’re such a great surgeon.” She jiggled a little more and leaned close enough to peck at his lips.
“Male or female?”
She shrugged her shoulders, her hands staying behind her head. “Darling, it doesn’t matter as long as it has stumps attached.” She giggled. Her waist flexed, her hips rose slightly from the bed then wiggled side-to-side.
He shoved a few fingers deeper, pulled her clit between his lips. She was so-o wet and nectar poured down that space below her slit. He paused and watched if flow. His tongue dapped and lapped unable to prevent some from circling her asshole. A thumb strummed her clit and kissed deep inside.
“Darling,” she whispered, and one at a time, waved the small mounds of thigh. He didn’t stop. She didn’t really want him to. “Wouldn’t it be pretty if you revised just one of them … make it completely gone?” Just the left stump moved this time. “Yeah.”
She pulled at him. “Come lay on top of mama. Enjoy the way it feels.” She paused as he moved. “Enjoy the way you’ve made me have nothing past my hips.” His body now on her, his lips near hers, his body draped over her legless hips. “Don’t it feel … good?” Her hips moved just enough to let him begin to sink inside. “Don’t it?” He slowly filled her. “Oh Martin … I love you so.”
Susan moved gracefully though the conference room. Ten people already seated and Mark secretly watched. Her long black hair, braded and casually tossed forward over the professional black business suit jacket and the white blouse, sometimes distracted observers from the shapely form of the single leg, a black shoe with a moderate height heal, extending from the knee length black skirt. She lowered the tasteful, all black, crutches from her forearms and quietly placed them beside the chair as she sat.
She glanced around the table and opened her notebook. “Thank you for coming,” she told them as she started the monthly review meeting. “Martin,” she simply said, looking directly at him.
He shifted slightly in the chair and flipped through a few pieces of paper. “Twenty-eight people the past month. Up from twenty-one two months ago,” he dryly began, indicating how many people had been though the program. He explained how many had various amputations, average stay, and what he referred to as ‘success rates’ meaning how well the people adjusted to no longer having the limb.
Mark lifted a hand and asked, “Male to female ratios?” He pretended to not be interested in the women that had been through the program. Everyone in the room knew he was.
“There were nine women, three under forty, two over fifty.” Most seemed to be in their forties. “Eight had a single leg amputated above the knee … usually the left leg. The other had both above the knee.”
A woman lifted her left hand slightly as she looked at Martin. She was middle aged, attractive, not beautiful. A plain wedding band graced the ring finger of the raised hand. The sleeves of her cream-colored silk blouse ended midway to the elbow, one had no arm visible past the end of the sleeve. She began without waiting for acknowledgment. “Do you expect to see the increase continue? What are the plans should the number double … triple?” Her voice was sensual, almost as if inviting someone under the sheets with her.
“Surgically, we could handle much more. It appears the limitation is the number of beds. I’m sure Susan would be in a better position to address that. I’ve spoken to Thomas and he is willing to do these surgeries should the volume increase.” Martin paused. “Yes, he seems quite willing.” He chuckled.
Martin continued for a while then closed the folder. Susan glanced at Wanda, who began her report.
“The newly established process for qualifying candidates has been in place for two months. They receive a questionnaire after they initially contact us. I conduct a one to two hour session with them before making a recommendation to Martin.”
A woman sat across the table from Wanda. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall behind her. She asked, “How many are being denied?”
“When people come, they are emotionally committed and understand, if accepted, surgery will occur within a few days. It can be quite devastating if someone is rejected, so we try to use the questionnaire to disqualify those with severe mental health issues before setting up travel here.”
A man sitting beside Mark made some notes on a yellow legal pad then held a hook slightly off the table. A ballpoint pen lingered inside the hook. The sleeve of the other arm appeared empty. “How are people learning about the program?”
“Currently it is word of mouth.”
The woman with one arm asked, “Should we be more open about this? I mean, there might be people who could benefit, but don’t know we’re here.” The stump moved in her sleeve. “Thank god I worked here.” She glanced around the room and then wrote on her notepad.
Susan looked at her. “Let’s talk later. I think we should prepare something to post on a few Internet groups.” She then looked at Martin. “If we do that, I suspect we’ll likely see a big increase. Maybe we should have part of one floor where we give preference to ‘your’ patients. Oh, and let Thomas know he may be needed.” She giggled.
The woman with one arm then asked, “Are there many who come back for an addition amputation … perhaps come back multiple times?” She grinned and looked at the man with the hook.
He smiled back. “Can you ever have enough?” He chuckled.
She shook her head.
The sign behind Katlin read ‘Traveler’s Inn’. A woman stood beside a man as he filled out the registration card. She was much younger than he was and had soft tanned skin, the kind one gets from laying in the sun some, but not every day. Her appearance, neat, casual, like her blouse, faded blue jeans, and blood red running shoes. She glanced at Katlin’s crutches and the lack of leg below the skirt. Katlin smiled, then took the credit card, and dragged it through the card slot. The woman inhaled deeply letting her chest swell making her firm, but smallish, breasts press tightly against the fabric of her dark blue blouse. Without a bra, the nipples formed small peaks. She shifted her weight to one foot then lifted the other slightly.
“Nice hotel,” the woman commented.
“It is becoming a destination resort, plus people having surgery at the hospital find it convenient.” She made a slight chuckling sound after saying ‘surgery’ thinking how only people seeing Martin would stay at the hotel. “I was doubtful at first. My husband assured me it would be.” Katlin straighten up and filled her chest, the chocolate brown cleavage exaggerated itself.
“Is there a restaurant?” he asked, staring into the brown valley. His eyes followed down her front and gazed for a moment at her lack of one leg. He imagined what she might look like without clothes and wondered how much of her leg was missing.
“Down the hall, just past the bar.”
“Can you tell us where ‘1546 Aspen’ is?” he asked.
“In the office park next to our parking lot. You can walk. Are you going to see Wanda?”
“Yes,” the man replied. He grinned and the woman rubbed his forearm and smiled at him then at Katlin. “Did you?” he asked.
Katlin nodded and slipped two key lock cards across the desk. “Someone is at the desk until ten at night and by phone after that – dial *0 on the room phone.”
The couple turned to leave. A woman wearing a prosthetic leg pushed a wheelchair with an armless woman missing a leg through the lobby and down the hallway towards the rooms. The man’s face tracked them until long after they were no longer visible. “Wow,” he said, his face now slowly moving so he faced first Katlin, then the woman.
“They checked in a few hours ago,” Katlin said, as if nothing special had happened.
“Do you get many?” the woman asked.
Katlin smiled. “Yes … more each month.”
“Great,” the woman replied, still holding his hand. “A destination hotel, for sure.”
Rick placed the travel bag on the luggage rack and unzipped it. “I’m so excited,” Mona said, rubbing her hand along his back. Her hands snaked around his neck as he turned towards her. She rubbed against his front. “A man with one leg….” Her tongue slipped between his lips and searched for the back of his mouth. The rubbing became more of a grinding and her breath grew deep as she moaned into his mouth.
She lingered, rubbing her palm over his chest, feeling a nipple grow erect beneath his polo shirt. Her hand stayed for a while then pushed into his khaki trousers, feeling him inhale giving her hand room. “Sweetheart,” she said – her voice deep and longing. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft – squeezing, stroking, and pleasing. The fire quickly building inside her, her thoughts of him with one leg barely able to be contained any longer.
Nothing said as she guided him backwards towards the bed, her hand holding his cock like a handle to steer him in the right direction. His legs touched the edge of the bed and he fell backwards. She sat beside him and fiddled with his belt buckle, then the snap on his pants, then the zipper. He watched, not helping.
She muttered something unintelligible as she forced his trousers and underwear off the hips and down the thighs, leaving them around his knees. “There’s my friend.” Her hand roamed the full length of the shaft as she nibbled and pecked around the smooth skin of the swollen head. “Something ‘is’ excited.” Her lips tightly surround the head and her hand moved more quickly. Small popping sounds drifted near as her lips passed over the ridge of the head. He made pleasant noises, but she was lost in pleasuring her mouth and preparing for the gushing of tasty warm milk.
“No big rush,” he offered, between groans. He knew he was past the point of no return and watched her hand and head moving like a synchronized dance team. It happened, then again, and another. He listened to her gulp. She continued long after the last stream hopping for more. There wasn’t.
She sat up and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked towards his face. “I married you for two things….” She grinned and licked an errant drop of cum from her lip. “That was one.”
She laughed loudly and slapped his left thigh. “Soon.” She laughed again then sucked his waning erection again.
Mona’s hair was still damp from the shower as she and Rick strolled into the bar before dinner. Two women and a single man sat on stools forming a private conversation. They whispered and elbows rested on the wooden bar. Mona looked at the three pair of crutches leaning against the wall nearby. “Look,” she softly said as she tapped Rick’s shoulder. “There.” Her head tilted several times in the direction of the group. She glanced around the room and noticed a few wheelchairs and other crutches.
They held hands as they walked past the group. Rick nodded and said, “Hi,” to no one in particular, though he checked each out equally. One woman glanced casually at Mona before turning back to the others. Mona pulled two stools out, not close to them, and they sat down. “Two whiskeys,” he said to the female bartender wearing a hook for one hand.
Her nametag read, ‘Tia’. She glanced at each and poured from a bottle under the counter. Her hook steadied each glass. “Vacation or…?” she said, and then gave a small chuckle as she lifted her hook.
Mona nodded and played with his hand. “He is. I’m excited for him.” She took a small sip and put the glass down. “We’ve been talking for a while.”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “Funny thing about online dating places.” He laughed.
“What? Like ‘Man wanting to be amputee, seeks interested younger woman’.” Tia giggled and glanced at the other three. Loudly, “Is anyone ready for another?”
“Nah. One leg is just fine,” the taller woman with long, straight, almost white straw blond hair said. She then added, “Oh, sure, another round of drinks,” then giggled. Mona let her eyes travel over the woman’s white t-shirt that did little to hide the enhanced – almost too much – breasts and the fashionable unfaded blue jeans with one pant leg trimmed neatly about the hip missing all of its thigh.
The woman extended her hand as if for a shake, palm down, fingers a bit limp, the nails painted neatly in dark red and the ring finger missing all but a short stump. “Nicole,” she said in a deep sultry, almost pretentious voice. She looked back at the others, “Sasha and Kevin.” She paused for effect. “A dear friend and her ‘charming’ husband.”
Mona forced her eyes away from Nicole’s nipples drilling into the fabric and looked at the other two. Both older than Nicole, he was much older than Sasha was. All three were what most would refer to as ‘beautiful people’.
“Is this your first stump?” Sasha asked, almost as if asking if it was the first time for traveling to some exotic far way place.
“Robert did mine before he retired,” Kevin quickly added without waiting for an answer to her question.
“Martin did mine before he moved here,” Nicole chimed in. “Isn’t this the greatest?” Her tone was flip, almost party like, in the way she talked about having their legs amputated.
Mona recoiled slightly, but hid the physical response, as she realized all three seemed to have such a different attitude from Rick. “We see Wanda tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that such an old fashion name?” Sasha said in a patronizing tone.
“My mother’s name,” Rick glibly said. It was a lie, but he was trying to regain Mona’s attention and ignore the others.”
Tia leaned slightly over the bar, the front edge of her top falling forward giving them a clear view inside to her navel. “Your table is ready.” She held the pose for a moment and Rick took the opportunity to look.
A twenty-something woman wearing a black skirt, white blouse with a black bow tie, held two menus in the crook of one arm and coughed quietly to gain their attention. “I’m Debbie and I’ll be your server this evening. Follow me.”
Rick quickly scanned her shapely and youthful body complete with a prosthetic left leg without cosmetic covering, just a silver tubing to the foot. “Is everyone…?” he whispered, undressing her in his mind as he had Katlin earlier.
“Probably,” she replied. She walked gracefully without any limp. She spoke without looked at them while she walked. “There’s some new housing nearby and many of ‘us’ are moving there.” He held the chair for Mona then sat across the table. Debbie put the menus in front of them, and then brushed at the sides of her hips. “We just bought a house.”
“You and your husband?” Mona asked, looking up at her face.
Debbie looked around before speaking. “Dad and I.” She ran a finger across a piece of out of place hair. She whispered, “People don’t mind about how I ‘had’ my leg off, but they still find my ‘thing’ with my father is ‘taboo’,” she said, emphasizing a few words. She paused. “Strange, huh?”
“No.” Mona replied. “I’m into older men … ones missing a leg that is.” She looked at the woman’s face for a short moment. “We all have our ‘kinks’.” She giggled. “It seems like there is a more tolerant attitude around here.”
Debbie glanced back toward the entrance then back at Mona. “Yeah, it’s pretty wonderful. I need to seat these people then I’ll be back to take your orders. No rush.”
Jack walked out of the office towards the front desk, his crutch tips moving quietly along the marble floor. “Hey,” he said, looking more at the front door than at Katlin.
“Got the books balanced?” she asked.
He had been the accountant for Robert’s medical practice, but now worked full time at the inn. He nodded as he looked out the front window, a slight tint hiding how sunny it really was outside, and leaned back on his crutches. “Great day.”
She stood beside, turned slightly towards him, admiring his looks. “Three today.” She moved towards the door and back towards him, just pacing.
“Married life still good?”
She stroked his upper arm. “Yeah-h,” she drawled. “I’ve noticed you almost lusting.” Her hand lingered for a moment on his arm. “A man without a leg….” She sighed deeply, but never finished the thought before returning to the front desk, leaving him in some dream.
Tracey’s prosthetic leg extended past the hem of the tan skirt. She pushed Shelly’s wheelchair across the parking lot from the Inn. Shelly wore a long sleeve blouse to protect her pale white skin from what she considered an overly hot sun that would burn her like a piece of toast. The empty sleeves blew about in the gentle breeze. The thin fabric of the skirt, which ended well below the knees, fluttered as helped by pulling herself forward with the single foot. She sat slightly high on one side and one side of her body seemed too wide, both from pretending to be missing the leg and the other arm. Wanda sat in her wheelchair by a small outdoor table sipping a soft drink and enjoying the warm day.
“Darling,” Shelly said. “Are you Wanda?”
Wanda tossed the nearly empty cup in a nearby container and looked up. “Yes. You must be Shelly … and Tracey.” As she spoke, she glanced at each woman, one at a time. “Let’s go inside.”
“This is exciting,” Shelly said. Both followed behind Wanda into the office.
“Have a seat,” Wanda said, not looking at either, as she opened the folder lying on the desk and skimmed some notes. She looked up and watched Shelly for a moment. “The right leg?” she quizzed.
“Just above the knee and the right arm like the other,” she replied, making sure it was clear she had indicated both on the form. Wanda knew that was on the form and nodded. “I understand how this will change my life.” She cleared her throat. “I plan to use a prosthesis for my leg. She lives with me.” Shelly tilted her head towards Tracey. “She’ll be my … ah, hands … already is.”
“Thirty-eight?” Her finger trailed down the form.
Shelly was small, pleasing to look at. Her face soft, rounded, and her lips with a pale color lipstick seemed to beg for a kiss. “Yes.”
“Husband?” It was an indirect question to get her to talk about her living situation. Wanda’s finger rested on the box marked single.
“No … Tracey…. It’s been about two years since the arm.” She waved the arm stump. “I wanted to give myself a chance to adjust. It’s just part of they way I’ve always thought of myself.”
“Both arms and one leg?”
Shelly nodded several times. “That’s all … I promise.” She giggled. She pulled the hem up to expose the knee of the folded leg.
“It should be just above the knee.”
Tracey flipped her fingers through the dark brown hair a few times and glanced between the two women. “Like me.”