DREAM MEETING





She deliberately pivoted to face me and raised the stump of her 

left leg.



She was on crutches. The snug pants showed a good set of hips and 

a lovely right leg. The high heeled, wood sandal enhanced her 

ankle and defined her calf.



This was the fourth time I'd seen her (in the parking lot where I 

generally go for lunch). I had never had the opportunity to make 

a pass, but I had looked at her and followed her. I knew she'd 

noticed my interest, but until now had not indicated such.



The remainder of her amputated leg was pointing directly toward 

me. The unneeded part of her pants was rolled up and ended just 

below the end of her cut off leg. I think she had "amputated" 

part of the pant leg because the roll was not overly thick. I 

could see a light-colored circle inside the short pant leg's 

cuff: the end of her stump! She held the pose for at least half a 

minute and then smiled and dropped her nine-inch leg. She swung 

it and smiled at me again.



I went toward her; I had no idea what I was going to say.



"I thought you might like that," she said with a grin.



"Yes, I did. I .. "



"You've stared at me before. With a special look. Not just curi-

osity."



"Well, yes, I have. I, .. ah..."



"Because I'm an amputee." It was not a question.



"Yes!"



"That's fine. Why don't we have a drink?" she asked.



"Nothing could please me more"





"Let's go to my place for that drink. With a couple of hits I bet 

you could get me to show you what this looks like," She nodded 

down, moved her stump and smiled.



I followed her in my car. I followed her up the walk and then the 

steps. I was enthralled with the sight of her lone leg swinging 

between the crutches and the single high heel tapping the pave-

ment. She moved smoothly and with purpose. She handed me the key, 

and I opened the door.



She went to the couch and sat. "There's stuff in the kitchen, ice 

in the frig," she commented. "I like scotch."





I found the mixings and carried two scotches into the living 

room. She was sitting with her stump pulled under her right 

thigh, her one shoe on the floor. I handed her a drink and sat on 

a chair at the end of the sofa.



"Cheers," she said, taking a gulp.



She moved and brought her stump out from under her thigh. She 

twisted and pointed it toward me. I could once again see just the 

end of the remaining short leg. She bounced her stump up and 

down, then rubbed it with her free hand. She massaged it very 

hard; I could see the shape change as the unseen flesh moved 

beneath her fingers. She took another swallow of the drink.



"It's good. Massaging my stump, I mean. Would you do it, please?"



I knew she could see my erection when I went over to the sofa, 

but she didn't comment. I sat and put my hands on her thigh, the 

thigh with no leg. I began to squeeze it and move my hands along 

it. Up high, it felt like a leg's thigh, which is always nice. 

But the thrill was in the fact that it was not a leg's thigh. It 

was only a thigh. There was no leg! I was handling the stump of 

her amputated leg!



She unfastened the belt and unbuttoned her pants. "Pull these 

down so you can massage the end," she whispered. It sounded as 

though she were getting excited. But I presumed she was only 

trying to add an intimacy so I would not be too embarrassed. I 

pulled her pants down enough to bare her stump. I ran my hands 

down its length, I cupped the end. I lovingly rubbed it.



"Oh, that really does feel good." Again the husky whisper.



I had my eyes fully open. I was mesmerized by the sight and feel 

of this most special thing. I watched the soft, warm flesh move 

beneath my hands. I gently ran a finger along the scar. I cupped 

the end, the actual spot where her leg had been amputated and 

reshaped. I slowly massaged it. I convinced myself I could feel 

the end of the severed bone through the reconfigured tissue.



I bent my head and used my mouth. The sensations got better and 

better. I became even more excited when she put her hand on my 

head and drew my mouth tighter against her stump.



"Oh, God. That feels sooo good!" Her eyes were half closed when 

she whispered, "Let's go to bed."



She rose and balanced on her one leg and pulled her pants up. I 

followed as she hopped to the bedroom where she sat on the bed 

and finished undressing. She pulled down the cover and flopped 

down, leg and stump spread slightly. I crawled on top of her, 

kissed her breasts and moved down. She was warm and moist. Her 

sweet aroma added to my passion. I lifted her stump, and, cra-

dling the end in my hand, I began to eat her. She moaned and 

writhed. Her motions and cries of delight increased the more I 

handled her legless thigh. She was nearly frantic.



"Please make love to me!" It was nearly a command.



"Might we go to dinner?" she asked later, after we'd napped. "I 

could wear something nice and we could come back here and start 

all over. And finish in bed. Again. If you like!"



I could barely answer, but I did manage to say, yes, and that I'd 

be back to pick her up in a couple of hours.



She hopped with me to the door. We kissed, and she lifted her 

stump. The blunt end hit me just below my belt.



"See you at seven," she smiled. "I'll be ready .... am looking 

forward to it!"



Driving home, showering and returning to her place, I was filled 

with anticipation and wonder. I actually had a date with an 

amputee ... had actually held and kissed her stump .... was going 

to dinner with her .... and was then going to ....



"Come on in," she called in response to my ring.



I entered, and she called from the bedroom, "I'll be there in a 

sec."



Three minutes later she came through to doorway.



Her shoulder length hair was simply done. It fell around her face 

in easy waves. Her well-fitting blouse was long-sleeved. The 

darts at waist and chest did the most for her well-shaped upper 

body. It was silk, a light cream color. The tan, wool skirt was 

very tailored. It wasn't severe, but it had no pleats and fit her 

hips and thighs snugly, without a wrinkle. It was hemmed just 

above her knee.



Her crutches, obviously custom made, were of a dark brown wood 

with a hint of red. The right one had a built-in purse just below 

the handle. The padded saddles appeared to be a bit high. They 

reached well up under her arms and seemed to push her breasts 

together.



Like the rest of her outfit, her jewelry was simple and 'clean'. 

Her make-up was straightforward, understated.



The single shoe on which she stood was a pump of the simplest 

design. The dark brown kid had a soft gleam, and the leather was 

smooth, with no seams, folds or accents. But it was far from a 

simple shoe. Other than in pictures, it was the steepest, highest 

shoe I'd ever seen. (Platform--3/4"; heel--6-l/4": I measured, 

later). The soaring, slender heel was spectacular; it held her 

foot nearly vertical and defined the muscles in her calf.



"Fantastic!" I gasped.



"Thank you," she smiled. "Glad you like it."



She walked past me and went the length of the room. From the back 

she was all the better. Her lone foot struck the floor directly 

beneath the center of her hips. The tall heel was perpendicular 

to the floor, as was her foot. Her ankle bent slightly to the 

right and the lower leg angled outward as did what little I could 

see of thigh as her one leg reached up toward its hip. The mus-

cles in her calf flexed and stood out as she walked. The narrow 

skirt clung to her thighs. I could just barely tell where the end 

of her stump was. She didn't move it, and the effect of her 

thighs moving together seemed to increase her one-leggedness. At 

the far wall she pivoted on the erotic shoe.



"Let's go."



In the car, she carefully smoothed the skirt over the end of her 

amputated leg and then reached for my hand. She led my fingers to 

where her thigh ended. For the rest of the trip, I kept moving my 

fingers slowly and gently over the end of her stump.



Getting out of the car and going through the bar and into the 

dining room, we (she) attracted a great deal of attention. I was 

thrilled by this. It was as though I knew they were all jealous.



During our first drink she commented on how I had visibly reacted 

to the looks we got. She said she was used to it now, but did it 

bother me? I certainly did not, and I said so.



She began to talk about herself. Her leg had been amputated 12 

years ago. She had, at first, only dated men who she was con-

vinced were interested in and drawn to her, men who found her 

being one-legged 'acceptable'. For various reasons, this hadn't 

worked out very well. She began to date men who were obviously 

interested in the fact that she was one-legged ("like you"). If 

the guy became interested in her she continued to date him; if 

not, she stopped.



Also, she discovered that on occasion she liked attention because 

of her one leg, and to its accompanying stump. She liked getting 

dressed up, wearing stylish clothes and very high heels with her 

crutches. There were times when she wanted to flaunt her 

one-leggedness.



"I'm not an exhibitionist all the time," she said. "Most of the 

time I use one of my limbs. Or, if it's crutches, a normal shoe 

and casual clothes.



"But not tonight," she continued. "Tonight I want to flaunt being 

an amputee. I want to enjoy it. I wore this outfit, especially 

the shoe, because it accentuates my missing leg, not only to me 

but to those who see me. I think you're the perfect partner. I 

think you're attracted to me because of my stump, not only it 

specifically, but what it represents.



I was about to answer, but she went on, "And that's great. Be-

cause when I'm in these moods that's just what I want; someone 

who is aroused by my body, my one-legged body. How it looks. How 

it feels. You can get to appreciate the real me later. Tonight I 

want you to desire my body, to want to pet and make love to me, 

but mainly, I want you to lust for my stump.



"I want to turn you on because I'm an amputee," she went on. "I 

want to hop for you, wear a peg-leg and limp for you. I want to 

excite you with my body, its looks, feels and tastes. I want you 

to want to love my short leg. I want to feel special and unique 

because I'm one-legged.



Her candid comments were exciting. Her use of the words "amputa-

tion", "stump", "short leg", "crutches", "one leg", "shoe", 

"hop", "amputee", "scar" , etc. was very thrilling. I liked 

hearing her talk about it. I nodded full attention.



"About my stump," she said. "It's funny, but I think of it as, 

'it'. Like, 'it's cold' or, 'it's tired or, whatever. I don't 

know why, because 'it' certainly is part of me. My stump has 

feeling and feelings (sometimes to much). There are functioning 

muscles and I can do things with my stump. I mean, my short leg 

is alive and functional. So, I wonder why I use the term 'it' 

when thinking about my stump?"



Before I could respond, she said, "Let's go home, and I can show 

'it' off. You can excite 'it'. And me."



	===============



We sat together on the couch and enjoyed brandy.



"You relax, have another if you want, while I change into someth-

ing else."



I took off my coat and shoes. Another drink sounded good, and I 

was just beginning on it when she reappeared.



She had on a long, stain robe. It was belted at the waist and 

reached to her ankle. The glistening material shimmered where it 

touched her body. Her lone foot was shod with a high-heeled 

bedroom slipper. She

was using forearm crutches. And because of the robe they were 

sensational.



The robe had very full sleeves which were also quite long. The 

loose sleeves completely covered her hands as well as the 

crutch's handles. It was as though the aluminum shafts were part 

of her arms. Her elbows did not bend that I could see. She would 

raise up what little the high heeled slipper allowed and swing 

her arms stiffly forward together. It was as if two peg-like 

crutches were extending handless arms.



She stopped in the center of the room and placed her bizarre 

looking crutches slightly forward on her one foot. She smiled. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she moved her stump. The robe parted and 

the blunt end appeared. Then more and more of her legless thigh 

came into view. The gleaming satin fell to the side as her pure 

thigh moved up and up. When it was straight out she moved it from 

side to side.



"Please use your mouth on it," she whispered.



I savored the sight as I went to her on hands and knees. Her robe 

nearly covered her foot. All that was to be seen of her was the 

out- thrust stump that poked through soft satin. I took it in my 

hands and licked the end. I began kissing it all over.



"Yes. YES. Love it. It wants to be loved." She was panting. "Feel 

and pet it. Nibble the end, please."



The warm soft stump was delicious, and I licked and sucked it 

like a piece of candy. In what seemed to me too short a time, she 

murmured, "I'm beginning to feel my special feeling." She lowered 

her stump and said, "I'll put on something different, now. For 

both of us to enjoy."



That was the beginning of a series of 'fashion shows' to which 

she treated me.



when she returned she wore a shirt and pants. She was using 

forearm crutches. The pants were long and only two inches of a 

peg-leg showed Nothing of her right foot could be seen.



She moved across the floor on crutches and a peg-leg. She kept 

the unseen leg hanging straight down all the time.



"Makes it look like I'm missing both legs, doesn't it?" she 

asked. "I learned to do this once when I sprained my ankle, only 

then I kept my bandaged foot in sight. I thought you might enjoy 

it more this way."



She toured the room. Christ! She did look like a double amputee, 

using crutches and one peg-leg.



I thought at the time what this crutch-peg routine with the long- 

sleeved robe would be like. Her leg wouldn't show at all and the 

strange looking crutches would be even more striking. She could 

pose and raise her right leg, with knee bent, and it look just 

like a stump when it poked the sleek satin into a bulge. If I got 

the courage I would ask her.



Next, she hopped into the room naked. She handed me two Ace 

bandages. "Bind my arm. we're going to amputate it." She grinned 

at my reaction. "I'll tell you how. You'll like the effect, I 

bet."



She held her right arm to her side with her hand back between her 

buttocks. I tightly bound the arm to her body. At her direction, 

I used the elastic bandage to make a bra, a bra which lifted and 

squeezed her breasts into an unnaturally high, thrusting shape. 

They were fantastic, especially when she hopped from the room.



She wore two outfits one-armed and one-legged. First was a well- 

fitted, short sleeved cocktail dress. Her breasts, in their 

'special' bra were magnificent: the dress' material was straining 

to hold them back. The five-inch heeled, sling-back slipper was 

dark brown, her peg-leg, of which I could see just a bit of the 

bucket, was a very deep brown wood. The finish had a low luster, 

and I could clearly see the grain.



But what made the outfit was the cape-like item that was part of 

the dress. It covered most of her shoulders and then fell down 

and back in deep pleats. The 'cape' completely covered all traces 

of her 'amputated' arm. The cape did not fully cover the dress' 

short sleeves. I could clearly see the arm-filled left sleeve, 

but the right sleeve simply hung from her shoulder, empty. It 

dangled and jerked slightly when she moved. It really did look as 

if she had no arm in addition to the obviously missing leg.



"Looks real, doesn't it", she commented. "I don't know why, but I 

went out this way once. God, What a sensation I was!"



She deliberately planted the peg-leg harder than necessary when 

she left the room; the armless sleeve went wild.



She returned, using one crutch. The lose-fitting sweater was long 

sleeved and long waisted. It hung nearly below her hips. There 

was no right sleeve: the sweater had been knitted smooth at the 

shoulder. The dark yellow pants were of stretch material and 

incredibly tight at her thighs, knee and upper calf. The tight-

fitting boat on her right leg was brown suede and had a four-inch 

heel. It was worn over the pant leg, which was slightly bloused 

above the boot's top. Her left pant leg was tailored to fit her 

stump. There was no hint of a seam, and it was tight, I mean 

tight. Her legless thigh looked like an oversized, mustard-col-

ored bullet.



She would plant the single crutch and then push off with her one 

leg and ride the crutch much like a pole-vaulter. Her booted leg 

hit the floor with a good jolt. When she planted the crutch for 

her next 'step' there was a similar shack. All during this 

crutch-hopping, she kept her stump in constant motion. She swung 

it and caused it to bounce and jerk with each step.



"Which do you like better?" she asked. "I think this one is 

sexier and more fun, but even I wouldn't go out fixed up like 

this. It's too. awkward. The peg-leg outfit is better. Of course, 

if I wear a running shoe I can do this crutch-hop busi-ness pretty 

smoothly, really. Would you like to go out with me as a double 

amputee sometime?"



She jolted from the room before I could say, "YES!"



The next thing I knew she had hopped back into the roam with 

nothing on but the Ace bandage. She went quickly around the room, 

bouncing on her one leg. Bouncing was not the word for what her 

breasts did. Exaggerated in size and shape, they went completely 

wild. The erect, pointing nipples were a blur as they twitched 

and violently jerked. I took just a moment to look at her stump 

and saw the flesh quiver with each hop.



"Just a little treat," she laughed.



She returned on crutches, full length ones which did nice things 

to her breasts which were held up by a half-bra. The only other 

bit of attire was her shoe. It was black evening slipper with 

slender straps that went nearly to her knee. The three inch 

platform was open and the eight-inch heel was gold.



She swung into the roam, made a round for my benefit and stopped 

in front of me. She slouched on the crutches and her breasts 

reacted beautiful. She then sat next to me and took hold me. I 

petted her stump.



"Odd as it may be, this, the dressing up, I mean, really is fun. 

Fun and exciting. I don't do it often, but when I'm in the mood I 

love it. Also, of course, I love your reaction."



She stroked me and licked my ear.



"I know you think it's extraordinarily sexy; I do too. Most girls 

like to show off their stuff now and then. You know? Seduction

clothes like half-bras and crotchless panties, sheer night gowns 

and so forth. They like to turn on their man, to be the object of 

his desire. And I do, too. But I can do so much more. Because I 

have this" -- she raised her stump and swung it from side to 

side. "I have a stump, and it can add so much to seductive 

dressing. Damn! I am having fun."



"I ... ah .. well .. I have never enjoyed myself as much ... I 

mean, .. I'm .. ah ...."



"I know," she interrupted and pushed off the couch to stand.



She went to the wall and leaned against it, positioned her 

crutches and raised her naked stump.



"Please use your mouth on me before the finale," she cooed.



I yet again (Could I ever get too much? No.) used mouth and hands 

on her lovely stump. I squeezed its softness and ran my tongue 

along the shallow crevasse of its scar. I licked it, and I licked 

and ate her.



"Dear God. I never tire of it," she sighed. "I love your mouth 

and hands on me and in me and, especially, on 'it'. Use your 

teeth. I want to come. Please. Help me come! Make me come ... 

oh ... please.



Only her crutches held her when she came, because her leg nearly 

collapsed, and she sagged onto her sticks. She was panting and 

groaning and sucking in deep droughts of air.



"This will be the final scene," she said and went once again to 

the bedroom. "Be back in no time."



Five minutes later, she was magnificent! Her breasts were held 

high. The black half-bra thrust them proudly forward. A 

single-sided garter belt, in black, held up the single nylon 

which covered her one leg: It shimmered in the light. The 

inevitable, single shoe was a boot this time. A calf-high, black 

kid boot which laced up the front. Dainty, black panties, worn 

over the garters, completed her attire: except for her peg-leg, 

of course.



I could see only a hint of her stump because it was covered by 

the smooth, black cone of the peg-leg's stump bucket. The bucket 

was longer than her stump and reached even with her knee. It was 

rounded off like the end of her stump. The peg itself was a rich, 

ebony. It was carved in a spiral design and ended with a black 

crutch tip.



The show was spectacular! She limped around the room again and 

again. She really was enjoying herself. I was certainly enjoying 

myself. As much as her peg-leg, the boot accounted for of her 

limp. The soaring heel was a least eight inches high. The 

gleaming platform I guessed at about three inches. It was a very 

high, very steep boot.



Her breasts bounced and made little jerking movements with each 

planting of peg-leg and ultra-high boot. I decided the peg-leg 

was a bit short. I assumed this was because she could raise very 

little higher on the toe of the boot due to its steepness, and 

she didn't want to 'trip' on her peg-leg. (She later told me that 

this was exactly right).



She took careful steps. She pivoted on the peg-leg. then on the 

platformed boot. She stood, gently moving for balance. She posed, 

supported by her peg-leg alone, with her booted foot up on a low 

table. At one point she took two very short, quick hops with the 

peg-leg held out in front of her. She stood in front of me, 

facing me. Her hands were on her hips. Like before, she moved her 

foot for balance.



"As long as I'm walking or moving it's not too hard. But just 

standing is a problem. This boot doesn't allow much ankle move-



ment and my peg doesn't help at all. So I have to keep moving a 

bit all the time."



The combination of limbs was stunning: one was a lovely, nylon-

clad and booted real leg, gracefully bending at knee and ankle; 

the other was a substitute-leg, a piece of carved wood, fastened 

to a cone-shaped affair which covered and extended the stump 

where her leg had been amputated, a peg-leg, rigidly swinging 

from her left hip. The contrast made each all the better.



"I'm nearly undressed," she said. "Why don't you take your 

clothes off?



I did.



"I can see you're not bored," she laughed.



She went to the book case and took hold of a shelf with one hand. 

With the other she pushed her panties down to just below the 

stump bucket then put her hand on the shelf. She wiggled her leg, 

and the panties fell to the toe of her boot. She used the peg-leg 

to get the panties over the boot's toe so she could lift it 

clear. She flipped the panties aside using the tip of her peg-

leg. She raised her boot and placed it on the end-table. The tip 

of her peg-leg dug deeper into the carpet. She squirmed slightly, 

as though getting comfortable.



"Please use your mouth on me." It was soft sigh.



I went to her on hands and knees. I raised my mouth and licked 

the bulge of flesh above her stump bucket. It was soft and warm. 

I ran my hand down the length of her lovely nyloned leg and 

across the boot and its fantastic heel. I drew my tongue across 

the exposed bulge of her short thigh before licking between her 

legs.



I was greeted by a warm moistness which I increased by licking 

and sucking. With my hands on her hips, I buried my face in her. 

She began to move her hips, her propped-up leg began to move and 

quiver. I probed deeper and deeper with my tongue.



"Oh, dear God. That feels so good. I love it!" She was breathing 

deeply: it was real this time, no question. "Please do it faster 

and harder. Please!"



In addition to doing it "faster and harder", I brought a hand 

from behind her and began to play with her. She started groaning. 

I used my finger, tongue and mouth frantically and before too 

long, she came. I could feel her entire body shudder, her in-nards 

twitched and she let forth with a series of "Oh's" and "Ah's" 

that were graphic.



I stood and kissed her mouth and breasts. When she took hold of 

me I thought I would not be able to hold off a climax.

I moved away.



"I want to prolong it," I said lamely.



"Oh yes. So do I," she smiled. "You stand, and I'll eat you. 

Gently."



She put her boot on the floor and lifted her peg. A half-turn and 

the peg came free of the stump bucket. She lowered herself to the 

floor and came to me on her knee and the end of her stump bucket. 

Without hesitation, she took my erection full in her mouth. She 

clamped her lips on me and began to move her head back and forth. 

I could feel the back of her throat with each movement. She used 

her hands on me, gently feeling and exciting me.



I felt the climax coming, but I couldn't stop it (I was to the 

point where I didn't want to stop it). Like she had done before, 

I shuddered, nearly convulsed and cried out with pleasure/desire.



I regained my breath and stumbled to the couch: she followed, 

still on her "knees", and rested her head on my thigh.



"I suppose to many I would look foolish, ridiculous, even objec-

tionable. But I get a thrill out of dressing like this. I feel 

ultra-feminine, get ultra-horny. And it's so much better when I 

can share it with someone." She smiled up at me. "Let's rest a 

while and start all over."



She gently handled me, and I stroked her hair. I was surprised at 

how rapidly I recouped.



"There's a pair of black crutches in my closet," she said.



When I returned with the full-length crutches she was standing 

against the wall. She took the sticks and crutched the length of 

the room. On her return, she stopped and planted the crutches 

well in front of her one leg.



"Why don't you take off my bra and stump bucket?" she asked.



I undid her bra, dropped it on the floor and kissed her breasts. 

I pushed the release on the bucket and pulled it off her stump. 

(The bucket had a special lining; her stump was not bandaged.) I 

licked her stump. It was warm. I massaged it and kissed it.



She was now clad in a one-sided garter belt, one nylon and one 

high- heeled boot. Her one remaining leg was dressed, but her 

erotic zones: crotch, breasts and stump, were naked, ready for me 

to love.



She crutched to the end of the room and pivoted on the platform 

of her high-heeled boot. As she returned, I marveled at how the 

crutches affected her breasts. They bulged and pooched with each 

stride. She swung her stump, holding it forward more than neces-

sary.



"I feel anything but disabled," she stated. "Honestly, I feel 

sexy and feminine and desirable."



"I couldn't agree more," I smiled. It was the truth.



She came to where I was sitting on a chair and moved over my 

thigh. I took the crutches. She put her hands on my shoulders and 

lowered herself to sit on my thigh, her stump between my legs. I 

took a breast in my mouth, and she began to ooch back and forth 

on my thigh. Her stump hung down. The boot was upright, her thigh 

parallel to the floor. I could feel the difference between her 

bare stump and the nylon-clad right thigh. Both felt very nice!



I could feel the warm, moist lips between her thighs as they 

moved on my leg. She increased her movements as I sucked and 

squeezed her breasts. Before long she was bucking. She abruptly 

dropped her boot and let all her weight come to bare on my leg.



I flexed my ankle, raising my thigh, and she let out a cry of 

delight.



"Bounce me. Please bounce your leg," she begged. "I want to come 

again. I want to come once more before we go to bed."



I drew in on the pulsing breast in my mouth and frantically moved 

my leg. She, slack leg and stump hanging down and wildly jerking, 

drove her pussy onto my thigh. She had her belly forward trying 

to get more. I used my hand on her. That did the trick: she 

exploded with screams of delight.



"Help me hop to the bedroom," she asked when we'd recovered. "I 

want to do it in bed. With my boot on. Oh, God, how I want you to 

make love to me. I want it so bad!"



With her arm around my shoulders and mine around her waist, we 

proceeded to her bed. Her hops were short and very abrupt. Her 

breasts and stump quivered and bounced. Her nipples remained 

hard.



She sprawled on the bed, booted leg and stump spread slightly.



"Please play with my stump," she murmured. "And please fuck me!"



I squeezed and sucked the nine inch stump of her leg. The soft 

flesh yielded beneath my fingers and open mouth. With a hand 

still on the end of her amputated leg, I mounted her. She spread 

her thighs and guided me in. I drove full the first time. She 

responded with a deep moan and encircled me with her boot. I 

could feel the heel poking my back. She was hot and wet. She was 

wild with desire, as was I.



"I'm glad your leg was amputated," I said rashly as I squeezed 

her stump. I was coming.



"So am I. It's true. At times like this, so am I. There is noth-



ing like being one-legged. Nothing like having a stump. Nothing!" 

She barely got the words out before she screamed with pleasure.



"I'm still in the mood", she said the next morning, with her hand 

between my legs. "If we went out again, I could wear a cocktail 

dress with a peg-leg. Or you could 'amputate' my arm, and I could 

wear that caped dress. And later we could .... Would you like to 

do that?"



I had no trouble coming up with the answer.