Mark finished and fell to one side of Maggie, his cock still erect. She rolled onto her side and pecked at his lips, a hand massaged the gooey cock helping another small stream gush out and land on his stomach.
"You fucked me good darling," she cooed. "Twice this evening, just what has gotten into you?" She giggled still pulling on his cock. Her mouth covered his and her tongue drifted inside.
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Roger had seen the couple every Saturday morning about the same time for the past month. It is impossible to not remember such a beautiful woman with a hook for one hand and an empty sleeve. Unfortunately, the same man is with her each time. She wears a wedding ring on a chain around her neck, dangling just above the start of very fine cleavage.
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Hot, parched, in need of at least a beer, I crutched into the darkened bar and though the blue haze of cigarettes and reek of days old beer. I was surprised that it would be so busy at nearly three in the afternoon. Maybe everyone else was thirsty I thought. The stool scraped across the floor in a loud symphony of un-tuned instruments. I rested my hips on it then leaned my crutches against the edge of the bar.
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I had found my wife's stash of pictures, mostly women missing one or both legs, a few men at the bottom of the pile. I resisted letting her know, instead I spent time searching the net to learn about her fascination. There are hundreds of fictional stories about people wanting to be with amputees, but I stumble upon a few where some actually want a limb amputated.
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Marci quizzes, 'Stilettos or pumps'. A black running shoe dangles from two fingers. She had always preferred stilettos because of the way they highlighted the shape of her legs. Even the shorter heel of a pump had been nice, and not hurt her feet as much. Since the amputation, just about anything without heels felt better and offered more stability on one leg.
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Erica Cranston sits on the exam table across from Dr. David Madison in the room, nothing between them. The door is closed. Her knees part wavering nervously. He sits on a low stool, legs crossed, one hand holding his chin as he listens. She's used to the conversation now. This is not the first she has met with.
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Robert had been invited to a party by a mutual friend of Anne Simpson. He was intrigued and went because the party didn't sound like the typical party for the people that he usually hung with. This one was a costume party for one thing. There was the opportunity to meet different people than the normal crowd for another. Robert had also been told that Anne herself was an attractive and available lady and he was always looking for his soul mate.
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Jean sits on the edge of the bed, a hand on the belt buckle ready to undress. She glances up at Paul, the man she just met at the smoky saloon. His jeans are far enough down to see the bulging erection staining at his boxers.
"Listen, there's something I need to tell you."
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Lydia's lay on her stomach on the deck of the large yacht anchored alone, a mile from shore. The turquoise water lapped delicately against the hull. She flipped the page of the paperback book while her only foot floated in small circles above an upturned knee. Her slim attractive body betrayed her age. Most people thought her only in her early twenties though she was more than twice that age.
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I grab the headboard and roll onto my side. My complete lack of legs affords me little in the usual ability once done with ease. Pushing against the sheet until upright, I look around the room.
"Morning Yae," Mark says matter of factly as returns from the bathroom. Pausing by the balcony door, he watches the surf crash against the white sands and the luscious bikini clad women strolling casually through the remains of the waves receding back where they came from.
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