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Stockholm Syndrome - Part 3As I awoke I knew that it was done. I knew because I was not craving a fix. I was filled with a horrible sense of relief and a deep sense of shame and guilt. I had asked for this. I had begged for this because it was the only way I could get another shot. But now I had also made myself even more of a burden on the man who had been so kind to me, the man who had taken such good care of me for� how long now? Weeks? Months? A year? My time sense had become distorted, partly by the drugs I�d become so dependent on, partly by my isolation, my lack of any schedule. With the drugs in my system all I wanted was to be free of them. When I had enough so that I didn�t need a shot I recognized the addiction and longed for the ability to go without a next fix. I knew, though, that as soon as the drug started processing out, I would want more and that the desire would grow until I would do anything, say anything, to convince him to give me more. I wanted to kick, but I knew that I couldn�t. Half awake and on my way back to full consciousness, I chuckled internally. I wanted to kick. Add kicking to the long list of activities I could no longer participate in. I thought about my legs, my lovely legs. I remembered how much he had always enjoyed seeing me in high heels, how he would fixate, staring at my feet after he strapped me into them. I could not wear high heels for him any more. Not ever. What would happen if he grew tired of me? What would happen if he tired of caring for me? I had no arms. Now I had no legs. I tried to hang on to the last blurry fragments of sleep, but they escaped me. I could not grasp them. I could not chase them. Add grasping and chasing to the long list of activities I could no longer participate in. I let my eyes open. I was alone in my room. I was thirsty. The ever-present plastic cup of water waited on the bedside table with a straw in it. Yesterday, I would�ve just sat up and leaned over it to drink. I tried to sit up. My arm stumps pushed back into the mattress as they usually did when I sat up. My abs flexed as always. But instead of my back rising from the bed two tiny lumps wriggled under the sheet, pushed upward. I saw them and knew at once what they were. My legs. What was left of my legs. They were so small� under the sheet they almost had the appearance of a second set of tits when they pressed upward. I relaxed and they vanished again. I had no counterweight down there. I didn�t know how to sit up. My mouth was so dry and at the same time, I had to pee. And I couldn�t sit up. That was what I found profoundly shocking. I woke up knowing that my legs were gone, knowing that I had begged for him to take them from me. Yet the thing that shocked me was that I was unable to sit up. So simple a thing and so completely beyond my ability now. I wondered where he was. He had always been here to take care of me when I needed it. Well, that wasn�t exactly true. Sometimes he was a little late when I needed a shot or I was getting hungry. But he always got there in time. Now� I tried to lick my lips� tried to generate saliva to ease the incredible thirst. My bladder was fast becoming a serious issue as well. I needed to pee so bad. My bathroom was right there, just a few feet away from the bed but it might as well have been locked shut for all the good it did me. I could hear the constant trickle of water into the toilet from the stuck stop-gasket. I tried to cross my legs to hold it in. My legs. Oh, god. Tiny, bandaged stumps rubbed against one another and pain shot through legs that were not there, cramps in phantom muscles, a burning sensation in my right foot. I automatically tried to reach down to massage them and my arm nubs wiggled. I was moving spastically, confused suddenly in all the sensations. I tried again to sit up, again I saw how little of me was left and then I felt the first warm wetness. That was all it took. I lost control. I stared at the ceiling and felt myself begin to wet the bed. I cried and gave up. I let it flow. I hoped the urine would not soak the bandages. I hoped that if it did that was not the sort of thing that could hurt me, cause an infection or blood poisoning or something. I didn�t know. I couldn�t quite tell how the pee had spread. The sensations in my legs were all too confusing, burning and cramping where there were no legs to burn and cramp. I didn�t think I felt wetness there, but I could not be sure. I knew for sure, though, that I had peed. I had wet the bed like a baby. I tried to roll onto my side to get to the water. I could not roll onto my side. I could not sit up. I could not roll over. I had begged for this. I realized I was sweating. That seemed strange. I was under the sheet only, no blanket. The ceiling fan turned above me. I felt a bit warm. And I was sweating a lot. Did I have a fever? I didn�t feel feverish. I felt� �horny? Where had that come from? I was lying limbless in my own urine, sweating like a rugby player and suddenly I was turned on. My right arm stump twitched in a useless attempt to touch myself. My leg stumps rubbed together and pain shot through me again. I thought about how lovely it would be if he came in with a shot for me. I banished that thought. No. No shots. Not if I can help it. I don�t need them. I�m stronger than that. I can hold off for as long as possible and wean myself off of it. That�s what I thought at that moment. That�s when he came in. He was so handsome. That was the thing. He was a good looking man all the way around, tall and dark haired, lean without being skinny. He was exactly the kind of guy I would�ve gone for before� all this had happened. And he had been so kind to take care of me through my recovery from the first surgeries after� whatever had happened to my arms. And then to do what he�d done for me when I asked him to, just because I was too weak to live without the drugs. I owed him everything and I knew it and now� I was ashamed even to have him see me like this. I said, �I�m sorry, sir.� But it came out dry and cracked through my parched lips. �Why are you sorry, Katie?� He called me by different names all the time. I think it�s some kind of pet game for him, a strange sort of term of endearment. Maybe he doesn�t know my real name. I don�t know his. It�s part of what�s special about what we have. �Couldn�t hold it. I�m sorry.� I said. �I can barely understand you. Do you want water?� I nodded. He brought the straw to my lips and let me drink from it. It felt so good. I said, �Thank you, Sir.� I may have said, �I love you,� but I�m not sure. I know I was feeling very warm, sweating. And very aroused. �Now. What were you trying to tell me?� �I�m sorry,� I said again. I couldn�t look at him while I said it. I looked up at the ceiling again. �I couldn�t hold it in. I� wet the bed, Sir.� He chuckled then and pulled back the sheet. �Oh, that�s not so bad, Baby. Barely any leaked out at all. I�ll just change your diaper for you.� Diaper? He had me in a diaper? I wanted to protest that I was not a baby, that I did not need a diaper but obviously this was not the case. I had been unable to hold it in, unable to get to the bathroom. I put my focus on the blue sky beyond the window as he unfastened the diaper, wiped me dry and put a new one on me. I was like a baby. Barely bigger than one, now. My legs ached now, a dull, throbbing ache. I tried to rub them. Managed only to squirm on the bed in my new, clean diaper. He watched this the way he used to watch my feet. Then he moved to the bedside table and I watched him draw fluid from a vial into a syringe. He brought the needle toward me. �Would you like a shot now, honey? Since you had me take your legs, we have plenty again for a while. Do they hurt, your new stumps?� I thought about saying, �no thank you,� thought about how long I might be able to hold out before I really needed a fix. I thought about just putting myself through the struggle of withdrawal and getting sober. I thought about how wonderful it would be to be able to think clearly again and almost at once wondered what the point of that would be. I was a torso. What could I do sober that I couldn�t do stoned? My legs began to itch, my not legs. A phantom itch. I heard myself saying, �yes, please. Please, sir. Yes.� I noticed that I was reaching toward the needle with my stupid little stub arms. I forced myself to lie back and relax. No arms. No legs. He put the needle into the artery at the base of my throat. I felt the prick of the needle, the dull ache of the fluid being pushed into me and then, almost at once, the soft, sweet relaxation as the medication reached my brain. �How�s that, my pet?� �Thank you, Sir. That�s� wonderful.� The itching faded under the warm haze of the pain killer. I looked up lovingly at the man who was so good to me, the man who took all the pain away. I wanted him so badly. What was that about? Why was I so turned on? I was repulsive, a helpless woman in a diaper. He had just cleaned my own pee off of me. How could I feel so sexy? I said, �Sir�?� as meekly as I had ever heard myself speak? �Yes?� �I need,� I began. Then I said, �I�m sorry but� will you�?� I couldn�t quite bring myself to say it. Not yet. �What is it, Honey? You know you need to ask if you want something.� �Will you touch me?� He put a hand on my shoulder. �Of course I will.� His touch sent fire through me. I pushed at his hand with my nub, trying to guide it. �No� sir. Lower. Please. Help me� I need� I feel like I�m going to go mad if I can�t� if you don�t help me�� �Oh!� He seemed startled and delighted. �You want to cum?� I nodded. �So, it�s happened already! Very nice.� I didn�t really understand what that meant. �What? No. It hasn�t� happened. I need your help. I can�t� I can�t�� Up until last night I had been able to find ways to manage. I could get into a position that let me rub myself with my heel. At times I had humped a pillow, the arm of a chair. Now� I could do nothing to meet my own need and I had never felt it this strongly before. �No, that�s not what I mean,� he explained patiently as if I were the child I was beginning to feel like. �The brain corrects around unused areas. The center that senses and controls the legs is right next to the libido. Without legs, your synapses are rewiring themselves.� I was trying to listen to him but I was dizzy with desire and his strong hand on my shoulder combined with his knowledgeable tone to make me very, very excited by him. �Uh-huh?� I said, hoping he would come to a point and touch me as I wanted. �Everything that used to have to do with your legs, feeling them, moving them, crossing them, arching your feet� all of it. Now it�s rerouting through the libido. This feeling? This desire? You wanting me to touch you? Wanting to cum? This is going to be with you a lot now. All the time, I�d wager. You�re my beautiful little nymphomaniac torso pet, now, honey. One more addiction for you to deal with. Huh?� �Can we� can we talk about this afterward?� I asked. �Seriously, Sir. I think I�m going to lose my mind. I can�t think straight. Just� please. I�m asking you. I�m begging you. Help me. Help me cum. Please, Sir. Please.� He stroked my hair with one hand as he let the other drift down me. I felt it slide under the elasticized, velcroed waistband of my diaper. His fingers sought me out and I felt myself rise and writhe under his touch. I tried to press myself harder against him, to control the contact, the pace. I twitched and wriggled as he fingered me, so gently� too gently� bringing me slowly toward the point I wanted to reach at once and then� �black splotches danced across my vision and I heard my own voice as I moaned, �Oh, yes, Sir! Thank you! Yes. There! There! There!� And I exploded with an orgasm that sent phantom tingles through me at all four quarters as I whimpered again, �Thank you, sir. Thank you. Oh, thank you.� �You�re quite welcome. Now, can you think clearly enough to remember what I told you a moment ago?� I thought back and knew that he had spoken the truth. I had just cum beautifully, brilliantly. Already I found I wanted his hand back, I wanted his touch. I was beginning to crave contact. I felt tears well up as I realized that this was how I lived now, helpless and craving� always wanting what I could not provide for myself. �Again, Sir? Please?� �No,� he said. �Not right now. You�re so tiny, now. It�s much too easy for you to overheat. You just lie still and relax for a while. You yell if you need anything. Okay?� And he turned and left me alone in my room, horny and hot. At least he had put me in a clean diaper. I tried to decide whether he wanted me to call him if I needed a bathroom or just wait for him to come back and change me. I tried to sleep. Not a chance. I could remember the sensation of his hand against me. I tried to rub myself against the sheet and managed only a little bit of wriggling. The minimal movement turned me on. The sensation of the cotton sheets against my skin turned me on. The sunlight angling through the window turned me on. He was absolutely right. The loss of my legs had somehow turned me into a hopeless nymphomaniac, a helpless nymphomaniac. I tried to do mental exercises the way I used to in college when I had to keep myself from obsessing over an upcoming exam, the way I used to in the days after I�d first lost my arms when I was overcome by fear and despair. I picked a number and tried to find a square root. I couldn�t keep my mind on the problem. My thoughts turned back to my desires. I was too sex-obsessed to do basic math. I heard a sound that surprised me. I had giggled. When had I become a giggler? I wondered suddenly whether he had actually done something to my brain. I was horny and helpless and I had giggled. I knew I should have been miserable. I should have been weeping, depressed. Instead I was giggling and� wow. I realized that I was touching my hair with the tiny nub of my right arm. I was really just touching it but I knew that I was trying to twirl it the way some girls do with their fingers. I wasn�t one of those girls. At least I never had been one of those girls, flirty and stupid. But now� I felt sexy and sex was the only thing I could really think about. I remembered the way he had looked at me when I wriggled. I remembered how I used to cross my legs and turn my ankle just a little bit to hold his focus with my feet. Thinking about it made my leg stumps twitch under the sheet and sent a wave of desire through me. I had never found my feet sexy but now� just thinking about them� remembering how it felt to arch into high-heeled shoes� My right arm wiggled around in my hair. My left strained and twitched for my groin. I thought about how I would wriggle for him when he came back in, how that would please him, how I could excite him and make him want to please me. I used to hate girls who used their sexiness to get what they wanted. Now all I wanted was sex. Later I would want another shot. I knew that. But just now, every synapse was firing in my libido. And all I had to get what I wanted was my sexiness. A sexiness that most men wouldn�t see at all. A sexiness that only he could properly recognize. I was so lucky to have fallen into his care. I wondered how that had happened. I wondered how I had gotten so lucky. The door opened and he came back in. I smiled and cocked my head, keeping my eyes down the way he likes them. �Hello, Sir.� I wriggled just a bit and I could feel his eyes on me. He said, �Hi, Sue. How are you doing?� I wasn�t sure what to say. I said, �I�m good, sir. I� want you, sir. I want you so bad.� �I know, honey. But not right now. Right now I want to take you out, Baby. Can I count on you to behave yourself?� �Out? Sir. No. I� can we stay in? Please. I just want to� will you hold me? Will you touch me?� I know I wriggled a lot then� trying to wring my hands, trying to sit up. All I managed was a pathetic, infantile wiggling. His eyes widened. I heard myself giggle again. �You�re being very cute today, Honey. I think for the rest of the day you�re Cindy.� �Okay, Sir. Now will you--?� �Now, Cindy, I�m going to dress you up and take you out. Do you need me to change you first? Have you gone again?� I shook my head, hating that he would ask me, hating that he was right to ask. He brought out clothes for me. They were ridiculous but I didn�t care. I was too happy to feel his hands on me as he put me in the school-girl�s plaid skirt. He didn�t put me through the show of trying to dress myself, make me roll around pathetically for his entertainment. He fastened the skirt around my waist and helped me sit up so he could pull a girly pink tee shirt over my head. I dutifully raised my arms � my stubs � so they could pass through the sleeves. The ends of them barely peeked out the ends. My leg stumps moved a bit as I balanced, sitting up for the first time without legs. Every time they wiggled I felt sexy and horny. I heard that girlish giggle again. God! What was happening to me? I was a torso dressed up as schoolgirl and I was turning into a giggling bimbo. I remember thinking right then � pretty much for the last time � that I should be resisting. I should be fighting this. I didn�t want to be a sex toy. I was a liberated woman. I had had a career and a degree and � his hand cupped my breast and he whispered warmly in my ear, �you�re so beautiful, Cindy!� And I said, �Thank you, Sir!� brightly, hoping he might touch me more. He went to the drawer and came back holding a few items. He held up the cable-knit, forest green knee socks he�d put me in a few times. �You can�t wear these for me any more. Huh?� I wasn�t sure where he was going with this but I shrugged and tried to ignore the wave of sexuality the socks somehow triggered in me. He went on, �You remember? I used to put them on your feet? Your pretty feet? And smooth them over your calves.� His words� feet, calves� they sent warmth to my crotch and made my stumps twitch. He brought out a pair of little white cotton socks, another pair he�d put on me from time to time. �You remember these?� He touched my face with them and I tried to rub my cheek against it, craving any contact, any sensual experience. �You think you can still wear these for me, Cindy?� I was baffled. �Um. I don�t know � how sir?� He slid up my left sleeve and pulled the little white sock onto my arm stump. Again, I giggled. �You like that?� �Yes, sir!� I really did. The socks were cute and went with the outfit and I knew they pleased him. He�d loved having my feet in his lap when he put them on me before. It was nice that I could still wear them for him. He put the other sock on my other arm and then pulled my sleeves down far enough that only the round ends showed below my sleeves in their clean, white, girly socks. I could see his excitement when I posed, moving my nubs. In my mind, I vogued. For a moment I imagined that I�d gotten to him strongly enough, that he would take me now, skip the field trip and let me take him inside. For a moment, I imagined it. But no. He lifted me in his strong arms and carried me out of the room. He carried me so effortlessly. I was weightless in his arms. I tried to hold onto him. My sock clad arms rubbed his neck and shoulder. I tried to grip with my legs. They wiggled and I turned on again. It was amazing how badly I wanted him to touch me. Or set me on the arm of the couch. Or shove a carrot into me. Anything. I was trapped in a constant craving. �Sir?� I began, planning to beg. I changed my mind and said, �Where are we going?� �I told you, Cindy. We�re going out. And honey? This is a test. If you behave yourself, you�ll get a wonderful reward. If not� � It sounded so ominous. I said, �If not, what, sir?� �If not, I will drop you off at a bus stop and let you fend for yourself. I can�t have you around any more if I can�t trust you to behave yourself.� Panic struck. Just the thought of it. Fend for myself? I was� I was a nymphomaniacal torso dressed a schoolgirl, for the love of god. Fend for myself? I imagined myself on a bus bench�. Unable even to climb down� begging strangers for help. God. Begging strangers to touch me. To change my diaper. To� �I�ll behave, Sir.� I said. �I love you. Just tell me what you want.� �I just want you to be my adorable, adoring lover, Cindy. No matter what happens, no matter where we go, tonight, that�s all I want.� �Of course, Sir. What else can I do? I want you to be happy.� He put me in the passenger�s seat of the car and fastened my seatbelt and shoulder harness, but I still kept sliding down, slumping in the seat. He said, �Sit up, Cindy.� I wiggled, trying, and said, �I can�t, Sir. I�m sorry.� �Pathetic,� he sneered and he unbuckled me and lifted me out onto the roof of the car. I was frightened, so high up. I couldn�t tell from there what he was doing in the car, bringing something from the trunk, setting it up in the passenger�s seat. He lifted me back down and put me into a child�s booster seat with a cross-harness and a central strap that came up between my legs. I tried to rub against that, but couldn�t get the right sense of contact through the diaper. He straightened my skirt as best he could. I was stuck. I was strapped into a child�s seat in my diaper and there was no way I could get free on my own if I wanted to. All I felt was safe and loved. I said, �Thank you, Sir.� I knew I would have no trouble behaving myself. All I wanted was to make him happy. |
 TeleMate | Goddess Taryn  |  |
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| Age Range | 20-24 | |
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| Description | Goddess Taryn~Supreme FemmeDomme Mistress*I AM yOur New Addiction! Feeding Off My Every Word; Praying I Won't Become Bored With yOU; Offering Me Complete Servitude! Call 1-877-263-2393 For yOur Personalized Ultimate Mind, Body, & Wallet Fuck! | |
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04-27-2024