Life with Disabilities

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

I woke up to a chill in my toes, instinctively pulling them under the covers. As I lifted my leg, I realized I had no feet at all. Five years have passed, and I still haven't escaped the trauma of that horrific car accident. Occasionally, I still laugh at myself for losing my legs. I turned to my side, pulled back the covers, and reluctantly gripped the dirty handle by the bed. Using my strength, I propped myself up and sat on the edge, staring at my mangled legs. Five years ago, that damned drunk driver in a modified sports car veered onto the sidewalk. My right shinbone was shattered, and my left foot was cleanly severed by the car's underbody brace. I woke up to find that the doctors had amputated my entire right leg below the knee. Originally, my left leg still had a section of a healthy calf, but the wound kept getting infected. Over ten months, I underwent multiple surgeries, watching the doctors remove piece by piece from my left leg, until even the back of my knee was necrotic from the inflammation and had to be removed, leaving only half of my thigh.
"You want to get up? Let me help you." My wife's voice had barely sounded from behind when she was already beside me, reaching out to support me under my armpits, preparing to help me into the wheelchair. "No need, I can do it myself. You should rest a bit more," I said in a low voice.
My wife said shyly, "I'm not tired, I don't need to rest." I sat in the wheelchair, and through the neckline of her pajamas, I could see her full breasts. Remembering how she had looked on me last night, so intensely, I hated myself for being a cripple. Last night, my wife had been particularly enthusiastic in licking and sucking me, and my long-dormant erection was now standing tall. My wife grasped my erect penis, pressing her full lips tightly against the veins of my shaft, her tongue repeatedly licking the urethral opening inside her mouth. I remained silent, purely experiencing her ever-changing sensations.
When my wife had naturally licked my perineum clean, she began to quietly remove her pajamas and bra. Completely naked, she knelt beside me, continuing to suckle with all her might. How I longed for this tender silhouette, how I yearned for this moment. However, when the yellow sunlight from outside pierced through the gaps in the curtains, scattering across my uneven limbs, the beautiful scene suddenly became utterly ridiculous. My naked wife, oblivious to my changing thoughts, simply straddled me at her own pace. She supported her body with her healthy limbs, her soft, full breasts sweeping upwards over my erect penis. Her large, brown nipples traced a path down my already bloated belly to my chest.
We closed our eyes, listening to each other's breath, our lips slowly closing, our tongues entwining. In the darkness, my wife's soft hands gently guided my erection, letting her slightly damp body tightly envelop my engorged member. At first, my wife simply knelt on the bed, slowly swaying her hips back and forth. Gradually, heat and moisture spread, and her breathing became rapid. I listened to my wife's alluring panting as I felt the friction. Her hips moved faster and faster, her arousal growing stronger. She placed her hands on my chest, then slowly lifted her lower abdomen, and I clearly felt a gentle pull on my erection. When half of it slipped out, my wife took the opportunity to fall, squeezing deep inside me once more. I heard her gasp, and then she began to swallow and release me again. I stared at my wife's beautiful face; her eyes were closed, her small nostrils and full red lips slightly parted, as she rode me passionately.
At this moment, I felt like a humanoid device, a broken one at that. I understood she needed to close her eyes, create some space, and use her imagination to fully enjoy the process with a broken humanoid.
My wife wasn't athletic, but her legs were surprisingly stamina-rich; she could continuously bounce up and down on me. In the past, I used to hold her lower body, letting her ride at my preferred rhythm, but now she was like a seasoned rider, firmly holding me beneath her jade-like legs. My wife constantly varied the strength and speed of her riding, excitedly embarking on the path of pleasure. She cupped her violently shaking breasts in her hands, unconsciously pinching and playing with her large nipples, uttering obscene moans: "Oh ah~~~ Good husband, I'm coming! Don't stop! Hoo oh ah oh~~~" Seeing my wife's prelude and hearing her ecstatic sounds, I felt nothing special. I'm just a legless, humanoid rod, powerless, forced to lie obediently on the bed, watching my wife vigorously ride my crippled body from below until I ejaculate inside her.
"Ah...ah...husband, I love you." She kissed me passionately. "Ah...I really love you." ########################## My wife and I met at my old boss's hair salon. At the time, I was already a top-notch hairstylist, while she was just a shampoo girl, twelve years younger than me, who had only recently entered the workforce. Back then, at nineteen, she was youthful and charming, her baby fat gradually fading, revealing a pretty and pleasing profile. Her eyes, curved like cashews, held an eternal smile; her full, luscious lips, paired with a straight yet delicate nose and a chin like a tomoe, made her as perfect as a manga heroine, unforgettable at first sight. Back then, we, a group of hairdressers, witnessed her transformation from a girl into a woman. From her awkward, unfashionable appearance when she first started, she gradually blossomed. Her slightly chubby, rounded feet transformed into shapely, slender legs; her rounded waist began to reveal a graceful waistline; the girl began to know how to wear more flattering and fashionable tops, allowing her once shy breasts to burst forth, confidently displaying her alluring curves.
This shampoo girl, blossoming into a beautiful young woman, quickly became my girlfriend. From then on, she was like my lucky charm; my career went smoothly, and soon I had my own small hair salon and our child. After we got married, she stayed home to manage everything, while I worked diligently, starting from a small hair salon and eventually owning two fairly large hair salons in the city. Just as I was planning the next decade of my life, I was in a serious car accident. I lost both my legs; I lost my life.
After numerous and lengthy surgeries, and after doctors completely removed my left knee, I sold all my shares in both hair salons to my partners and employees. Reality was cruel. Even though my hands were still as nimble as ever, no one wanted to patronize a "chief hairstylist" in a wheelchair. For over ten months without work, my partners still deposited the salon's profits into my account. It was neither reasonable nor ethical for me to shamelessly remain in the company as a pure investor. After my accident, my good brother, Wang Lingde, took care of everything for me with lightning speed. Through his mediation, he got the insurance company to quickly approve emergency funds, and the insurance money arrived in my account shortly afterward. He even patted his chest and promised to cover all my son's education expenses so he could continue his studies at his original prestigious boarding school.
This young man, twelve years younger than me and the same age as my wife, started working at the hair salon around the same time as her. Although he was just a junior hairstylist, one of my apprentices, he displayed a maturity and ambition beyond his years. I quickly noticed his talent, not just in hair design, but in his profound understanding of everything. For Wang Lingde, this hair salon was too small; in fact, the hairdressing industry was too narrow for him. After several heart-to-heart talks, he finally made up his mind to carve out his own niche. When we met again, he was no longer the timid junior hairstylist he once was, but a successful fashion designer with his own international brand. From then on, we became close friends despite our age difference, calling each other brothers. Later, he became my best man and my son's godfather. Even though he was often abroad, he still enthusiastically helped me find a suitable partner when I expanded my hair salon.
After my recovery stabilized, Wang Lingde invited my wife to work as a sales assistant at his company, so that she, with little work experience, could gradually integrate into society. Less than two months later, Wang Lingde tactfully told me that my wife's performance was somewhat below his expectations, but he would still keep her on. They would make further plans once she found a more suitable job. I knew perfectly well that with my wife's education, experience, and qualifications, she would find it difficult to handle sales work, and more importantly, I absolutely did not want her to be exposed to the public eye and engage in social interactions. However, every family has expenses, and my wife understood that she had to be responsible for supporting the family. With my explicit and implicit suggestions, she tried to explore her true interests and abilities. Six months later, unexpectedly, my wife found her own little world in the online world and became an internet celebrity.
As a disabled middle-aged man, I was completely out of touch with the world and unfamiliar with the online world, so I had no idea how my wife became an internet celebrity. All I knew was that initially, she constantly asked me for advice on hairstyling and hair care, then filmed the tips I taught her and posted them online. Later, a newly imported hair care product company invited my wife to try their products. After the videos were posted online, she initially only had a fixed following. Who knew that two weeks later, overnight, her number of followers exploded, and she began her internet celebrity career.
At that time, I had already adapted to the job Wang Lingde had referred, working as a polisher at a non-profit lens company that advertised employing people with disabilities and rehabilitation. I worked diligently, trying to prove to my family that I wasn't useless despite my disability, and that I didn't need my wife to support the family alone.
One morning, I opened my eyes to see my wife looking at her underwear in the mirror. She wore a dark purple bra, a half-cup design that lifted her already quite full breasts from bottom to top, making her snow-white mounds hang exaggeratedly on her chest. The bottom, like the bra cups, had an inverted triangle of fabric in the front embroidered with roses, but the back was a thong design, exposing her round, full breasts completely. My wife saw me in the mirror, bent down to pick up her nightgown, and held it in front of her: "You're up?" I tried to ask, "New? It seems a little…"
Before I could finish, she interrupted, "A little too much. I'll call the manufacturer to discuss it later." "You did an underwear sponsored ad?" I was a little surprised, and used the headboard to sit up on the edge of the bed. My wife, ignoring the nightgown in front of her, gently adjusted my posture: "Yes! They're very generous." She leaned forward slightly, her breasts overflowing from the cups like overflowing milk pudding. Watching her soft, white breasts sway against my wife's chest, I longed to stand up powerfully, pounce on her, and express my love for her with burning passion.
But I could never stand up again. I couldn't remember the last time I felt such intense sexual urges, and then I realized it had been over three years since we'd had sex. I felt ashamed; my wife wasn't even thirty-five, and I wondered what kind of life she had endured for me. That very night, I tried again with my wife. For over a decade, I had been the one in control. Although I wasn't her first boyfriend, nor her first man, I had led her through wave after wave of pleasure. On that unremarkable night, after more than three years, I asked her to be with me again. I lay down quietly, and my wife knelt beside me, slowly taking my penis in and out. Until, after a long period of rest, I was aroused again. My wife put on a condom, then habitually straddled my legs, preparing to lie on my lap and continue enjoying me. As she straddled my body as usual, her lower body sank, her lower abdomen and feet landing squarely on the empty space where my severed limbs had been.
A cry of anguish shot through me, and I went limp instantly. My wife, oblivious to what was happening, patiently swallowed and released, putting the condom back on my erect penis. Then, at my instruction, she straddled me, slowly rocking up and down. She wasn't very strong; many times I wanted to thrust upwards towards her clitoris, but I could only bounce disgustingly on the bed like a worm. Finally, before she could achieve pleasure, I ejaculated. After that night, I never again made impulsive demands of my wife.

[The End]

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Life with Disabilities

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