“You are so predictable. But nice predictable!”
She lifted an eyebrow and grinned as he rolled off the silicone hose, the last act to take off her C-leg and make her appear the way he rather passionately preferred. And meanwhile, it’d become a joy to do. Or rather: see it be done.
Her C-leg taken off was new. It was four months now since she accepted his generous gift. Her prosthesis taken off wasn’t new at all though, and neither was her leg amputation becoming visible that way. It had stopped to trigger sad emotions though. Even losing a leg was subject to time healing all wounds. It had taken a while before she could look at it without any stomach twists, but they were gone for years already. So, there was a broad smile when she watched the hose come off. And it became broader when she felt her stump being tenderly stroked.
“Mmm, you make feel nice.”
“You are nice, and your whole beautiful body is too.”
“Makes more easy for this to feel nice,” she smiled.
“I’m happy it does,” he smiled back. “I want it to feel nice for you.”
“I see you want very much, yes. Now me believe that too!”
“You don’t then?”
“I feel okay and not sad to have one leg? Yes. I find it beautiful and sexy like you always say? No.”
“I’m listening,” he replied, softly caressing the subject of their talk.
“It’s stump of leg amputated, and beautiful or sexy does not feel good word for that.”
“Yet you don’t mind me finding that, do you?”
“No, I find flattering. But is not the same as finding myself, not?”
“No, you’re right there,” he smiled.
“But I learn. Already I find this very nice,” she smiled back, winking subtly.
“And you do enjoy to excite me, my sexy seductress,” he replied, grinning.
“Yes, it works very good! You easy man to make like me,” she giggled, contracting its muscles as he held her stump in his hands.
“Mmm, and this I like a lot in you!”
“Hmm, and you think I not know…?”
There was a liberated relaxedness to their smiling. They made a good match in many respects, as they were both very content with a relationship of a few long weekends per month and the odd small week of holiday. They both had their own business, she’d started to study again, and more importantly they were not the characters for a standard being together. Being apart most of the time – although they did Skype a lot – allowed them the space for their own ambitions, it also worked as a nice build-up of apetite to be seeing each other again. And once they did, releasing that build-up was another thing they were quite good at.
Every day life with its stares and needless pity alternating with wallowing in this man’s fascination was another thing she loved. Having to miss her left leg no longer bothered her, but that was not the same as feeilng it be found genuinely beautiful. She was a woman, women loved to be desired and this man made it extremely easy to not let classic feminine doubts about physical appearance disturb that pleasure. He was very fond of her, both of her person and of her physical looks in general, so her stump was only one of many things she could tease him with. Playing his excitement with her special beauty worked wonders though, which made it a lot of fun to do.
After so many years, her stump no longer reminded of amputation. Gradually, a sense of missing had become replaced by one of possessing something new instead. As an awareness, her leg taken off had taken on a new identity, one void of feelings related to what had been. She often called it no longer being an amputee, which she knew sounded strange to others but described her experience pretty accurately. Amputated as a word referred to something missing, and she wasn’t really missing the leg anymore. Rationally she was of course – and that would unlikely ever change – but the absence no longer felt as such, had stopped to feel as an absence. Her body had come to feel whole again, a different whole but whole nonetheless. The loss of her leg had managed to establish itself with a self-evidence that felt emotionally calm, like an inner peace. And inner peace was what mattered in not letting a horrid negligence of the past determine her life, it also enabled her to enjoy his attraction with charmed consent.
“Oh, I think you know alright,” he chuckled. “But what pleases me most is that you also like it.”
“It is nice to feel attractive. And you very good at make me feel attractive,” she replied, beaming.
“It’s easy, because you are…”
“Mmm, tell me in more words,” she pouted.
“Well, you’ve got beautiful blue eyes that know how to twinkle, that know how to defy and that know how to look wanton…”
“Nice start. More?”
“I love your hands, and how they gesture…”
“Your hands nice too,” she chuckled as she felt them slide under her sweater.
“Your skin is soft and very sensuous…”
“My skin feels hands become naughty…”
He nodded slowly, looking deep into her eyes. “It’s not easy to remain a gentleman with you…”
“Well… gentleman is very nice. Not gentleman can be even more nice,” she winked.
“Do I still have choice then?” she giggled.
“No, I don’t think you have,” he whispered, sliding under the cups of her bra.
“Are you also good at take that off?” she chuckled, hinting at the C-leg now parked against a chair.
“Not sure how good I am. But I’m certainly eager,” he grinned, sliding behind her back.
Her sweater went off first, causing a static electricity crackle that made them both grin. He dropped it on the floor with the proper degree of unconcern, then reached to unclasp her bra. There was a sensuous determination in his eyes while he looked into hers while freeing her full breasts. He cupped them gently as they came out of the cups. She was in her early forties, and it showed like he found it should. Actually he found the slight sagging of her breasts very sexy. He didn’t care for bodily perfection, found many so called imperfections much more attractive. In that respect, his attraction to her leg amputation was one of many imperfections he could be fascinated by, both by the physical looks and by how it influenced the person of the woman possessing them. He often found a special character strength in women with an imperfection. It showed they had had to fight for their happiness, and their having succeeded showed in many more ways than just their coping with the imperfection. And the woman he playfully called his Polish mistress was an attractive example of what he really admired in their personalities.
What he also admired in her – and very much so – was her daring to really be agreeable to his attraction. Convinced of his sincerity and feeling loved and appreciated for her person, she trusted herself to go much further than just accepting it the neutral way. And very interestingly, her feeling comfortable to play with his fascination had channeled his own feelings into very natural and totally at ease. Seeing her actively enjoy what she knew he found special about her, had taken the burden off his emotions, emotions that had long been confined and had now lost their laden aspect and the guilt feelings coming with it. She was fine with his attraction, and her enjoying and even encouraging it was as much heart warming as it was sizzlingly exciting. But maybe most of all, every emotion that came with his attraction was now embedded in a reassuring self-evidence. For the first time in his life, it was really okay to have the attraction. For the first time, he was able to freely express these feelings and see them be liked. Liked by a beautiful lady who qualified to mesmerising perfection, who charmedly and relaxedly enjoyed every bit of how much she did, and who happily let it be part of their being great friends and hot lovers.
“Mmm, nice hands…” she whispered.
“I can tell. Your nipples are betraying you,” he winked.
“Is not betray,” she replied with defiant confidence. “I make no secret you excite me.”
“Hmm, tell me more…”
She grinned into his wanton eyes. “I never make it secret I like sex. Sex makes feel good.”
“You don’t, no. You even seduced me the first time.”
“Yes, because I felt like sex and you were too much gentleman,” she giggled.
“But not anymore, eh?” he winked, tugging her breasts by her sexy erect, big nipples.
Her moan gasped full into his face. And she wanted it to. “No, and I am glad not anymore…”
“Tell me what you’d want most then now…”
“You mean it?” she pouted.
“Of course I do.”
“Give me erotic massage then. With oil. My whole body naked, and your sensuous hands without any shame.”
He made big eyes and grinned subtly. “Here?”
“So no laying down relaxed?”
She shook her head with a smile. “No, I want to stand and enjoy be your one leg Polish mistress. See you become very excited of me.”
“I assume with me undressed as well?”
“Yes, of course!” she grinned with seduction. “And two people excited… maybe will bring more?”
“I’d count on it, my Polish mistress!” he winked.
“You forget something,” she replied, lifting her stump and grinning.
“Ah yes. My one legged Polish Mistress.”
“Much better, my gentleman devotee,” she smiled, blowing him a kiss.
Before taking off the rest of her clothes, he first took care to give her a nice view. As she took care to make her view as nice as possible. Once her skirt and panties were off, a few twitches of her stump were enough for a swift response, and he wasn’t shy to demonstrate how easily it brought him to impressive hardness.
She slid off the table as he went to fetch the massage oil, smiling to herself and shivering slightly with anticipation. Their sex had never been bad, but it was becoming better and better with time. They had the life experience to be open about what they most enjoyed, and somehow the mutual openness about his attraction had made their sex life benefit along with it. If a leg amputation could be enjoyed without taboo, then anything could.
So, she knew his massage was going to be both sensuous and shameless, exactly as she preferred. Tenderly strong and determined male hands on her body were just about the greatest treat she could imagine, and the prospect of soon being touched with glorious erotic intensity was giving her goose bumps. He would start with her neck and shoulders. He might continue with her foot, and work his way up her leg. He would most certainly avoid her erogenous zones in the beginning, knowing she loved the erotic tension to be built-up slowly. No doubt he would closely follow how very erect her nipples would become, as she was sure he’d tease her with occasional sniffing, to playfully tell her he was catching the scents of her mounting arousal. Then he would likely move to her back, particularly her lower back, and then to the lush flesh of her buttocks. That would be the moment his massage would turn to more lustful kneading. Maybe he would pull her against him, to tease her with the warm throbbing hardness he’d make poke against her belly, with a subtly arrogant grin when it’d cause an uncontrollable groan. Which it would. It would also be her signal of now wanting his hands to become sexual. She could really drink in tender touching turning to groping, to lust driven enjoyment of her body, to lust igniting in him from doing it. That would be the moment of letting it all go, of surrendering to desires that would swipe every thought out of her mind, blank her thinking, the wonderfully relaxing side of his hands becoming deeply erotic. And meanwhile, he knew exactly what to do with them.
That was the thing she found even more wonderful: her body having no more secrets for him. Meanwhile, he could read her eyes, sense her every reflex and response, and interpret every subtle moan and shiver. And she adored the way he played with it, with restrained triumph and alluring confidence, with a subtle expression of power over her that he used with thrilling wisdom. And to which she gave in with passionate hunger.
Her thoughts were already with him totally. In her mind, she was feeling his touch, smelling the scents of his body close by, feeling the tension he always managed to trigger. He made her feel desired, longed for, wanted with passion. As he was a man she loved to be desired by.
She’d first come to know about this attraction when she was much younger. Then she’d used it to boost her confidence. Now there was no need for that anymore. Having passed the age of forty had distinct advantages. The insecurities were gone, lots of things didn’t really matter that much anymore, simply because she felt confident and happy with herself. And she often thought that since she was, she’d become more attractive to others, which was probably true. In retrospect, she knew and understood there’d been things in the way of seeing a guy make a move at her. It wasn’t because of her leg amputation, not just. It was about how she dealt with it, how she managed to shine as a woman despite of it.
With this man she did, very much so. And with him, his attraction was a welcome convenience among many other things matching so remarkably well it still surprised her now and then. That made it easy to actively enjoy it, so easy it could make her forget that missing a leg was actually a serious disability. She’d probably never find it beautiful, like he did so much. But with him it simply wasn’t a disability.
She beamed as he came walking in again. Approaching slowly, he looked straight into her eyes. He read them, perfectly as always. So well it made her shiver.
There were no words required. His hands did exactly what she’d been anticipating them to do. Only his actual touching was even more intense than her previous thoughts had envisioned.
A soft moan escaped from her throat. Earlier than expected, but very uncontrollable.