Story – The Aidna files (2) – Coquilles à la me

“Good evening, mister nice dev,” Aidna smiled.
“Miss gorgeous amputee,” I smiled back. “Welcome, and do come in.”
I let her go first and watched her graceful one-legged steps. She was wearing a black stretch-legging, tailor-made to seamlessly fit around her sexy stump as usual. And while I enjoyed her no doubt thought-out choice of dress, I was also smiling from the way we’d welcomed each other. It had become a naughty little tradition to do it this way, one we both found fun. Yet, it also symbolised quite a bit.

Much to my excitement, our turbulent kick-off had generated a follow-up. And while that was not a relationship in classical terms, I was more than happy with how we’d decided to keep seeing each other. Aidna had her research project and thesis to finish, which meant being very busy as well as pretty stressed. There was an assignment for a PhD-project at stake for her that she was very eager to bring in, which understandably meant no time for relational committments, not for the time being at least. Furthermore there was our age difference: Aidna was 23 and I was 37, not an unbridgeable gap but a considerable one nonetheless.
Continuing to see me as a friend was quite okay with her though, as it was for me since her view on being just friends turned out to be thrillingly broad. We were well matched, spiritedly so, always had good fun, shared quite a few interests and she appreciated my being a pretty good cook by coming over for dinner very regularly. Often it was just for dinner, coffee, catching up and a thanks and see you soon. But whenever time allowed, she loved staying all night, and she most loved discussing with me, argueing with passion and also letting that passion channel into the sexual, quite easily so too, at least when the mood was there. Aidna was mercurial, and she was in every respect. Any spirited discussion could lead to sex, as any spirited sex could suddenly turn to discussion. Ending up in bed was no guarantee for having sex, and having had it wasn’t a guarantee she’d stay the night. And there was a flip side to this as well: a short visit for only dinner was no guarantee for nót having it either. Aidna was pure sex when she felt like it and impossible to persuade when she didn’t. Everything she said and did, mirrored who she was as a person, which was as much an exciting and very genuine experience as it was tough to handle for a man often not finding it easy to keep track of her effortlessly changing moods.
Yet the easily most thriling and satisfying part of this was her drinking in my erotic fascination. Whenever in my company and whatever her mood, she literally paraded her missing leg and merrily enjoyed my responses. Convinced of the sincerity of my special attraction, she played the one-legged girl for me, willingly and with unabashed pleasure. It made my enjoyment an exciting mix of incredibly relaxed and otherworldly thrilling.
In short, I was walking on air and she was walking with me, very explicitly on one leg so.

Once in my room, she put her crutches aside and turned to me for a real welcome. She snuggled into my embrace, kissed me warmly and smiled when my cupping hand honored her stump with a special welcome.
“Mmm, I should’ve worn a skirt. Would make your hand feel even better than in this legging,” she whispered, winking subtly.
“Tough to make a stump look better than in a legging, though, especially an elastically clad, sexy one like yours,” I whispered and winked back.
“I knew you’d guess why I put it on.”
“Thanks for that, sexy. It’s ravishing. Only beaten by taking it off, the legging I mean,” I grinned, teasingly tickling her stump where I knew her scar was.

She smiled broadly, her eyes twinkling. This was not only excitement for me, it was for Aidna as well. She often put it as finding me ‘pleasantly normal’ in my attraction to her being an amputee. Her playfully sarcastic characterisation was never without serious undertone, though. Obviously, this was all very emotionally charged. Having to miss a leg leaves no one unmoved, not even a positive spirited young woman without much memory of things ever having been different. Not surprisingly, there was also a frail side to Aidna’s unawed attitude and firm disregard of anyone rejecting her for how she looked. She was smart, perceptive as well as sensitive, meaning very little went unnoticed to her while near everything had emotional impact.

This made my always remaining sincere and honest a crucial requirement, and I was extremely aware of that. Banal sexual enjoyment of Aidna’s being one-legged would be easy, I was soon convinced it would also be short-lived then. So, I had put all cards on the table and made her feel at ease to do the same. During those first weeks of regulalry seeing each other, we had spent hours of exchanging and clarifying feelings and thoughts on this. And it was a delicate matter, there was no hiding and no trimmings, just the straight truth in every aspect. The doubts and insecurities as much as the lauding, the sense of guilt as much as the essence of arousal. In that respect, this just friends of ours was rooted in total openness and unvarnished honesty. It also was the only way to give a weird attraction a normal place, the only way to see my sexual fascination for her amputated leg be respected and enjoyed by her, the woman possessing the stump. But once that had been accomplished, it was an intense thrill to enjoy.

“And what did you cook for your one-legged muse today?” she inquired, subtly lifting both her stump and an eyebrow.
“Coquilles à la Paul for starter, sea bass Provençale for main course, surprise for dessert.”
“Mmm, sounds wonderful. What should I expect from à la Paul?”
“A short sizzle for the coquilles and my own secret little sauce enriched with truffle oil,” I replied.
“Wow, sounds really fancy,” she smiled, obviously appreciating I’d gone through some effort. And I had. “And is surprise for dessert gonna be a big surprise…?”
“Well, it comes with watching tv…” I replied with a suggestive look.

She instantly knew what I meant and chuckled. We both loved to replay the video recording of our first encounter, for various reasons. As so often with amateur footage, the reappearance of our fierce first fuck on screen was every bit as obscene as you’d imagine cheap porn to be. And boy, did we love it. Knowing how it had really been, made letting the recording’s merciless vulgarity have its way with us not only easy and fun, watching ourselves as porn stars quite added to our excitement as well. And obviously, we loved that too.

“And can I get my ravishingly one-legged muse a glass of wine?”
“What would monsieur le connaisseur have in mind?” she asked back, grinning derisively.
It made me laugh. She often accused me of being a snob with wine. At the same time, most examples of my alledged snobbery had made her exclaim she’d never thought wine could be that good. Being two-faced was a thing Aidna handled effortlessly, though, and with her usual flair.
“A frisky, dry Riesling to start with maybe? And then something a little more rich in body to continue?” I replied, deliberately using wine lingo to tease her.
“I’d say I’m frisky enough for that Riesling,” she winked.
“Hmm, good to hear,” I replied, walking to the fridge to fetch the bottle. “It’s been a while since I saw you really frisky.”
“I know,” she answered, not at all affected by my insinuation. “Lots of work stress makes me a lousy fuck. Better to not seduce you then.”
I chuckled while uncorking the bottle. This was so typically Aidna. “How do you get rid of the stress then?”
“Like you do, probably?” she replied with a naughty grin.
“And how is that?”
“Well, for lack of a dick to jerk it off with, girls tend to use a fast finger,” she replied without blinking an eye. “And why ask for the sake of asking?”
“I’m a curious man, you’re an open minded woman,” I replied, handing her the glass of Riesling.
She nodded, whispered “Cheers”, took a sip and observed me for a few seconds. Then her eyes narrowed. “Mmm, and you’re inviting me to do it for you, eh?”
“I am,” I said, taking a sip as well.
In a moment, I would either see her shrug it off and change the subject or watch her accept. It was going to be the latter, I concluded from seeing her put her glass aside. And it was. She gave me a frolic grin, then started to slide her legging down with panties and all.
There wasn’t a trace of discomfort in how she unbared her pitch-black haired pussy and stump. She lifted and twitched it upon revealing, eying my crotch as she did. My guaranteed instant response never ceased to flatter her, and she enjoyed playing it.
“Nicely frisky, by the way, this Riesling,” she smiled, sipping again while moving her other hand down. “And what did you have in mind more particularly?”
I knew I could ask her anything. She would do it too, if she felt like. No beating around the bush was key in everything you did with Aidna, sex not excluded.
“Sit on a barstool, spread very wide and finger yourself while we continue talking,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t take it as a command.
“We’ll make shaving versus hairy cunts the subject then,” she said as she obliged, sat and spread out for me.
I wasn’t shocked by what she said, not anymore. Aidna could come up with anything for subject, and no beating around the bush included calling things by their name. Breasts and pussy were acceptable as long as the atmosphere wasn’t sexual, once arousal stepped in she demanded I’d say tits and slit or cunt.
“You have both,” I replied, looking straight into her gaping sex.
She had. Her pitch-black triangle was neatly trimmed, it was also lush. Further down she was shaved, though, very recently too. I couldn’t detect a single stubble, and she was showing me every intimate detail with shameless bravado.
“I have,” she replied. “The looks of a real woman combined with convenience. I hate the sound of a guy spitting out hairs when licking my cunt. It distracts my pleasure.”
“I’m all with you. Pubic hair is sexy, especially when you have a lot of it,” I said, and I meant it.
“Good to hear,” she smiled. “It’s called a beaver these days and that really doesn’t sound positive. While I think it’s feminine, having hair on your cunt that is, not how they call it.”

I nodded, understanding how she meant it and loving her total lack of abashment. There wasn’t any in the way her hand moved on either. She made a stretched fore- and ringfinger part her cuntlips to let her middle finger slide through the gradually increasing shimmer of her dark pink-ish cuntflesh, flickering the tip occasionally to play with her clit. And there wasn’t any furthermore in how she showed me it didn’t leave her untouched.
It was very much typically Aidna too. She’d either do something I asked or wouldn’t. But if she did, she went all the way.

“Show me how much you like this,” she then said.
I nodded again, unbuttoned and unzipped, freed my cock and took it in my fist, jerking a little. She watched me intently, her middle finger now flickering faster.
“How often do you jerk off?” she asked, her lower lip trembling weakly.
“Depends,” I said, “But at least daily whenever you’re not frisky.”
“Meaning you always jerk off with me in mind?”
“Yes, eversince I met you, I do.”
It made her middle finger move faster. As well as my fist.
“And what of me makes you cum really hard?”
She lifted and twitched her stump as she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear me say it. The almost luminous staring of her light blue eyes gave her asking an intensity that made me shiver.
“Your hot stump. There’s no hotter way to take off a leg than they did with yours,” I said, jerking harder as I spoke.
I had done the confessions, all of them. As I knew she wished me to never hold back.
“Details,” she whispered, her fingertip starting to move frantically.
“Your scar is incredibly hot,” I obliged. “Such a thrilling reminder of where they made the cut to amputate your leg.”
Her mesmerising stare, from straight into my eyes down to my rockhard boner being jerked and back. The sounds of my fast moving fist, of Aidna’s finger sopping. The smell of my precum mixing in with the now gushing wetness of her cunt. This was stroking all senses, or bashing them rather.
“Cut off high enough to give you a short stump that makes me really, really hard. It maximises the contrast between your long leg and your hot high amputation, which is especially hot when you walk with crutches. Beautifully round curved too, your thrillingly high missing leg, and it has just enough muscles left to allow you to tease me with beautifully aimless contractions and super hot stump dangling,” I continued, going all-out, my heart in my throat, my excitement roaring.
“And if only your fascination was to decide, would it have my leg cut off if I still had it?”
Aidna was going all-out as well. She had never asked me this before. The sheer taboo of it drove me wild.
“It would,” I replied, near growling with arousal. “Just the way it’s amputated now. You’re a perfectly amputated hottie.”
Our very much overstepping the mark conversation had the same effect on her, it seemed. That fingertip was full on her clit now, squeezing so hard it was making her grimace. I watched her stump contract its muscles in rapid convulsions, feeling the sight of it sting my balls. I’t was excitingly evident: I’d done my confessions and now Aidna was using them against me, and as much without mercy as thrilled by this herself. I knew she wasn’t opposed to my fascination, even welcomed in a way. She was no exception to women craving to be desired, and anyone finding her leg amputation an asset rather than a turnoff made that distinctly easier. It didn’t mean she’d just accept anyone who did, far from even, but in terms of a welcome twist in male erotic preferences, she did appreciate it.
“So much an amputated hottie that I can make you cum over my stump?”
“You have no idea how hard,” I replied, panting like mad.
“Show me…” she whispered.

It was followed by a loud moan. Aidna was close too, and judging from the speed at which her middle finger was moving, she wasn’t holding off. I stepped closer, so close that my cockhead touched her stump. I rubbed it, guided by my jerking fist and letting my precum lubricate the smoothness of my hard cock indenting the soft fleshly remainder of a leg taken off. She welcomed it with panting passion and another loud moan. She stared at it with flaming eyes, her fingertip squeezing and pushing ever frantically. And then she saw me tense.
The burst of my ejaculation splattered full over her stump, making it twitch uncontrollably as my dollops of tribute came spurting out. Because that it was, a tribute, a total sexual reveling in her leg being amputated, made possible by her willingness to undergo the full tenor of my fascination for the one-legged. And while I was shamelessly glorifying the fleshly beauty of her having no right leg, Aidna came with quivering intensity, almost directly after me and trembling near out of control.

***
She stared at me in silence. Tender, nibbling kisses. A vulnerable smile. Pitch-black hair sticking to an all sweaty face, amplifying the contented exhaustion in her light blue eyes. I kissed back, caressing the naked softness of her skin from her shoulders down along her spine. Her glowing body undulated against mine. Gently pressing, she played her breasts against my chest, in aftermath surrender and sensuously enjoying all clothes being off now.
“We’re weird, aren’t we?” she whispered. “Most people take their clothes off befóre sex, we did after.”
“How do you mean after?” I winked.
She giggled softly. “Not finished with me yet?”
“I only just started…”
“Mmm, good to hear…” she whispered mischievously. “I could do with a proper fuck.”
“You look like you can,” I grinned.
“Hmm, so it shows?”
It didn’t, but I nodded nonetheless.
“That’s bad.”
“It is, but we have all evening, haven’t we?”
She confirmed with a soft groan.
“And the night, if you feel like.”
It got me a charmed smile. I was taking her fickleness into account and she appreciated it.
“Naked dinner first,” she replied, meaning she hadn’t made up her mind yet. “Short sizzled coquilles to start with, if memory serves me well?”
I nodded and gave her another nibble-kiss.
“They’re an afrodisiac, not?”
“My dinners are well-conceived,” I winked.
“So your cunning plan was to try and fuck me after the first course?”
“Possibly…”
“A starter to get me horny and a raunchy video to help me letting you jump on me; don’t you think that’s a bit thin for a woman of my class?” she asked with a defiant chuckle.
“Depends on how eager for a fuck the classy woman is?” I replied, winking.
“Good point,” she replied, her eyebrow lifting subtly. “But how did you know I would be?”
“Well, our last fuck has been two weeks, you booked me for the whole evening and when we phoned about it you added twice that you wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. An educated guess.”
She looked at me as if caught redhanded, then her face turned to a sporting smile. “Pretty good guessing… for a man blinded by lust.”
“You force me to be a good guesser. You’re too sexy to be bad at it.”

I let my hands slide further down as she giggled charmedly, over her peachy buttocks, then over her stump. My cum still on it made it feel sticky. She had refused to have me clean it off, undeniably flattered by how profuse a sexual discharge her high amputation was able to ignite. She twitched her stump muscles in response, knowing their shiftless contractions fascinate me and eagerly allowing me to feel them roll underneath the skin spanning the shape of what amputation had left of her leg.

It felt so good to have done all the confessions. Experiencing this with a woman who not only consented but actually enjoyed, was every bit as profound a thrill as you’d imagine it to be. It was pulling a closet fantasy out of the closet and discovering that reality is so much better than hidden enjoyment.
Reality was also a worthy deeper perspective. Aidna was first and foremost quite a woman, quite a character as much as quite a babe. Many a heated discussion – and she was really good at that – could completely make me forget she was an amputee, and of course she wasn’t then. Her discussing was the often razor sharpness of a passionate and opinionated mind fuelled by a smart set of brains, and it was stimulating fun to duel with her provocative positions. And as to the quite a babe side, Aidna was a classic example of letting her flair and expression add to a beauty that wasn’t spectacular by itself, her alluring, light blue eyes excepted.

“How about a sizzle for those coquilles now?” she asked, changing the subject as easily as ever.
“Ready in a few minutes, sit down,” I said, nibble-kissing her again.
“I’ll watch my naked chef in action,” she smiled.

[To be continued]

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