The Chair

Chapter 1

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered in my right ear.  I shivered.  “Yes,” I mumbled as he pushed my soaked hair to the side and started kissing and nipping at my neck.  He was behind me, the way that he always liked it.  And, honestly, it gave me a thrill too.  I heard myself moan as he slowly slid his hands up my torso to my dewy breasts.  He kneaded and kneaded eliciting a gasp from me.  Then plucked and teased my hard pointy buds.  He took my hands in his and planted them against the shower wall.  I felt his hardened member rub against me as he leisurely slid his right hand back down my arm, over my right breast, down my belly and between my thighs.  He brought his nimble fingers up and began to work his magic on that small bundle of nerves.  I bit my lower lip, but still moaned loudly anyway.

“Are you sure?” his voice husky now.  He suckled my ear, flicking the lobe with his tongue.  I felt my legs start to give. They were trembling so violently that I was close to collapsing.  He shoved his leg between mine to help steady me.  “Please,” I whined.  This man would be my undoing.  He always liked to ask and then tease me some more.  “Say it,” he whispered quietly, bringing his other hand down to my left breast.  He kneaded and worked it lightly.  “Say it!” he growled and I jumped.  He squeezed my breast and nipped my ear.  “I want to feel you inside me,” I whined.

“I'll give you exactly what you want,” he told me.  He stopped working his fingers and lifted my right leg up.  I felt his hardened tip rub against my opening then I gasped as he slowly pushed inside me until he was filling me up.  Then he slid his hand back down to dance around my sensitive nub as he slowly pumped in and out.  I moaned as I felt a mini climax.  He sped up, pumping in and out in a rhythmic fashion.  I felt another one coming.  I whimpered as I went over the edge.  He continued to pump and rub, pump and rub.  I felt another one coming, stronger this time.  I was going to be a trembling mess when he was done.  I hoped to be.  He stopped rubbing with his fingers and put his hands flat against the wall to brace us.  He continued to pump, harder, faster, harder, faster.  This was going to be the big one.  Right as I was at the precipice, I heard him groan, but he continued to pump slowly, but with force.  “Don't stop,” I begged, “don't stop.”  But he had already stopped.

He did this sometimes.  He liked to watch me finish myself.  He lowered me to the shower seat.  I lifted my leg up and vigorously started pounding my fingers in me, in and out, until I found that spot.  Then I found a tantalizing rhythm and continued with it, until he growled and picked me up.  He flipped me to where he was sitting on the seat and I was straddling him.  I moaned as he entered me again.  I put my hands up, one on the shower wall, the other on the shower door, to steady myself.  He took my right breast in his mouth and suckled my nipple as I ground on him, back and forth, side to side.

He stopped, wrapped his arms around me tight and started moaning himself.  It pleased me that I could give him as much pleasure as he gave me.  I continued grinding, then I started to feel it again.  Slowly back and forth, side to side, until I reached that precipice again.  As I started to tip over the edge, he put his hands on my hips and started to work me faster.  I cried out as I took that leap, then collapsed against him, riding that wave.  He continued to work my hips, back and forth, side to side, in that same rhythm, until he reached his orgasm.  He cried out and I felt him explode inside of me.

We sat like that, hugging, for a minute, then he turned me around and washed us with soap and water.
“Are you ever going to let me take this blindfold off?  I’d like to see you,” I asked as he carried me to bed.  “Soon,” he whispered, “but not today.”  He put me in bed and covered me up.  “Are you going to tell me your name?” I asked.  No answer.  He was gone.  I took off the blindfold and dozed off.

I awoke to the phone blaring.  My eyes shot open and I looked down at myself.  I was dressed.  It wasn't real, but it seemed so real.  I picked up the phone off of the bedside table.  It was Jenny, probably wanting to remind me to be ready at seven for the hundredth time.

I answered the phone, ”Hi Jenny.”  “I’m really sorry Jess.  I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.  Little Brandon is sick and I just can't leave him with a sitter.  He’s so miserable,” she spilled out in ten seconds flat.  “Oh no!” I said.  “Grant would keep him but he's got a business call that he'll have to take.  I’m so sorry!” she apologized again.  “We’ll just do it some other time.  I’m sure that there'll be more chances,” I told her.  “No!  You have to go!” she exclaimed, “Isn't there someone else that can take you?”  I didn't say anything.  “What about Dave?” she asked, quietly.

I hate to ask Dave.  I know he'll say yes, then drop whatever he has planned just to take me.  He needs to assuage his guilt.  I try to save Dave for my many doctors appointments.

“I guess I can ask him,” I said, dread filling me.  “Ask him!” she commanded, “You know that he still loves you!  He would do anything for you!”  Dave is in love with his self-loathing.  I have tried to explain this to Jennie many times, but she just doesn't see it that way.

“Fine!” I gave in, “I’ll ask Dave.”  “Do it now!” she commanded.  “Why are you so pushy?” I tried to change the subject.  “Now!” she groaned.  I could hear Brandon crying in the background.  “Fine.  I’ll call him now,” I agreed.  “And don't forget my signed copy of the movie,” she reminded me.  “Okay, okay,” I agreed.  She ended the call.

I took a deep breath then dialed Dave's number.  True to form, he answered on the second ring.  Of course he'd be happy to take me.  He'll be here at six, to make me dinner, of course.  Then we'll leave at seven, in order to get me a good seat.  No, Dave, you don't need to get tickets.  I’ve already got them.

We ended the call in the typical longing goodbye fashion and I dropped the phone on the bed next to me.  I rubbed the bridge of my nose, then my temples.  I’m going to need a migraine pill now.  What a way to ruin the aftermath of the visit from my dream lover.

I looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table.  It was only two.  I could sleep for another two hours.  I decided to do just that.  I relaxed and closed my eyes, hoping that dream lover would return.  He didn't, but I did get two more hours of sleep.

I awoke to my alarm blaring.  I slammed it off with my hand, hoping to stop the pulsing in my head.  Definitely time for a migraine pill.  I hated taking them because they make me a little sleepy.

I sat up and used my arms to slide over to the edge of the bed.  I carefully lifted my legs over the edge of the bed to where they just dangled.  I easily transferred my body to my wheelchair.  I was proud of myself.  I remembered thinking that I would never be able to do it in those first few days of trying.  But with practice, I had become quite the expert.  Once situated, I wheeled myself down the hallway and into the kitchen.  I grabbed a diet Coke out of the refrigerator, wheeled to the counter where I kept my meds and got a migraine pill.  I opened them both and washed the pill down with the diet Coke.  I sat rubbing my temples.  It would take a few minutes for the pill to kick in.  I went ahead and took all of my other afternoon meds.

I decided that a shower would probably help and wheeled myself to the bathroom.  Once inside, I turned on the shower to warm up and began the tedious process of undressing.  I had taken up wearing nightgowns because they were easier to get on and off.  I put the gown in the laundry hamper and began working my way out of my underwear.  Most of the time I don't wear them anymore.  I can't really feel them anymore and they just get in the way.  Panting from the exertion, I put them in the hamper.  Definitely going sans underwear tonight.

Once my breathing had calmed, I transferred myself to the shower bench.  I soaped myself up with body wash then took the shower wand from it's hook on the shower wall and sprayed myself off, making sure to remove all of the soap.  I wet my hair and put it back in the hook.  I rubbed the shampoo into my scalp, rinsed, conditioned my hair, then rinsed.  The shower did help my headache, but, as expected, the migraine pill was making me tired.

I towel dried my hair, squeezing as much water out as I could, then dried my body as much as possible.  I laid the towel down in the seat of my wheelchair, then transferred back.  I wheeled into my bedroom naked.  I lived alone.  Who'd know?  I went to my closet and picked out my favorite blouse and shirt combo.  A navy blue flowing skirt that reached down below my knees and a white silk button-down blouse.  I got dressed, with some effort, but I got dressed.  I took pride in myself, that I was able to do so many things myself.  Not everything, but maybe some day.

I checked the clock on my nightstand.  It was five-thirty.  Time had gone by fast.  I decided to put my socks and boots on.  Boots that reach up to my knees.  They take more effort than my other shoes, but they cover my legs.  I don't like to show my scars.  I finished putting them on, put my phone in my lap and wheel myself to the living room.  I check the clock on the wall as the doorbell chimes.  As always, Dave is early.  Ten minutes this time.

I opened the door.  He looked handsome as always, boyish good looks, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, black jeans and a navy blue blazer.  He leaned down uncomfortably and kissed me on the cheek.  He held the bouquet of flowers to me so that I could smell them.  “They're beautiful,” I commented, sniffing them.  “Not as beautiful as you,” he stated, as if it were a fact.

He had a sack in his other hand, “I hope you don't mind.  I brought takeout.  I’m really sorry but I was afraid that we wouldn't have enough time to eat.”  “That's fine,” I agreed.  Normally, I don't eat out.  I have to watch my weight in order to be self-sufficient with the chair.  If I put on too much weight, I won't be able to get in and out of the chair without help.  He used to try to force takeout or taking me out to eat all of the time until I finally broke down and explained why I couldn't.  The heartbreak on his face was unbearable.  This was the first time in two months that he had even tried.

I wheeled myself backwards enough for him to pass.  He came in and shut the door behind him.

“Let me put those in some water,” he said, taking the flowers too quickly.  I was still smelling them, but that's okay, I guess.  He rummaged through my kitchen cabinets until he found a vase.  I had bought a couple just for him.  He took one and filled it with water.  He cut the stems with some scissors that he found in a drawer and put the flowers in.  He set the flowers on the table.

He started unpacking the food.  At least he had gone for healthier options.  For me, anyway.  He handed me a grilled chicken salad and unpacked a mouth-watering cheeseburger and fries for himself.  It was so much easier to eat healthy when I ate alone.