Martin nibbled between where his wife's thighs used to be, now just short soft stumps. She begged him to go slower. "We have all weekend," she cooed and thrust the dark brown skin around and over his face. "Eat mama's pink pussy." To him, those were musical words, almost as sweet to his ears as, "Kiss my stumps darlin'." No matter how much she wanted him to go slow, her body was moving, quivering, shaking wildly, and she was pulling at his baldhead moving his mouth here and there. "That's it-t," she groaned loudly in a deep, low, almost out-of-body, voice. Sometimes followed by, "Your tongue sure does-s good things." Mostly, she just moaned.
Both of his hands rested against her slim waist, sometimes her shapely hips, attempting to hold her still, trying to keep his mouth against her wetness, against the sweet pink skin. It was impossible. He knew once Selma was in the throws, she was all over the place. He loved it. She did too.
Twenty minutes later, Selma lay on her back, both hands behind her head on the pillow. Large brown breasts rolled slowly over her chest as she breathed. "Let me rest, then you can 'do' me with your big ole tool." She giggled a few times and moved so the breasts would jiggle a bit more. "First, titillate me with talk about some of the amputees you've made. You're such a great surgeon." She jiggled a little more and leaned close enough to peck at his lips.
"Male or female?"
She shrugged her shoulders, her hands staying behind her head. "Darling, it doesn't matter as long as it has stumps attached." She giggled. Her waist flexed, her hips rose slightly from the bed then wiggled side-to-side.
He shoved a few fingers deeper, pulled her clit between his lips. She was so-o wet and nectar poured down that space below her slit. He paused and watched if flow. His tongue dapped and lapped unable to prevent some from circling her asshole. A thumb strummed her clit and kissed deep inside.
"Darling," she whispered, and one at a time, waved the small mounds of thigh. He didn't stop. She didn't really want him to. "Wouldn't it be pretty if you revised just one of them ... make it completely gone?" Just the left stump moved this time. "Yeah."
She pulled at him. "Come lay on top of mama. Enjoy the way it feels." She paused as he moved. "Enjoy the way you've made me have nothing past my hips." His body now on her, his lips near hers, his body draped over her legless hips. "Don't it feel ... good?" Her hips moved just enough to let him begin to sink inside. "Don't it?" He slowly filled her. "Oh Martin ... I love you so."
-
Susan moved gracefully though the conference room. Ten people already seated and Mark secretly watched. Her long black hair, braded and casually tossed forward over the professional black business suit jacket and the white blouse, sometimes distracted observers from the shapely form of the single leg, a black shoe with a moderate height heal, extending from the knee length black skirt. She lowered the tasteful, all black, crutches from her forearms and quietly placed them beside the chair as she sat.
She glanced around the table and opened her notebook. "Thank you for coming," she told them as she started the monthly review meeting. "Martin," she simply said, looking directly at him.
He shifted slightly in the chair and flipped through a few pieces of paper. "Twenty-eight people the past month. Up from twenty-one two months ago," he dryly began, indicating how many people had been though the program. He explained how many had various amputations, average stay, and what he referred to as 'success rates' meaning how well the people adjusted to no longer having the limb.
Mark lifted a hand and asked, "Male to female ratios?" He pretended to not be interested in the women that had been through the program. Everyone in the room knew he was.
"There were nine women, three under forty, two over fifty." Most seemed to be in their forties. "Eight had a single leg amputated above the knee ... usually the left leg. The other had both above the knee."
A woman lifted her left hand slightly as she looked at Martin. She was middle aged, attractive, not beautiful. A plain wedding band graced the ring finger of the raised hand. The sleeves of her cream-colored silk blouse ended midway to the elbow, one had no arm visible past the end of the sleeve. She began without waiting for acknowledgment. "Do you expect to see the increase continue? What are the plans should the number double ... triple?" Her voice was sensual, almost as if inviting someone under the sheets with her.
"Surgically, we could handle much more. It appears the limitation is the number of beds. I'm sure Susan would be in a better position to address that. I've spoken to Thomas and he is willing to do these surgeries should the volume increase." Martin paused. "Yes, he seems quite willing." He chuckled.
Martin continued for a while then closed the folder. Susan glanced at Wanda, who began her report.
"The newly established process for qualifying candidates has been in place for two months. They receive a questionnaire after they initially contact us. I conduct a one to two hour session with them before making a recommendation to Martin."
A woman sat across the table from Wanda. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall behind her. She asked, "How many are being denied?"
"When people come, they are emotionally committed and understand, if accepted, surgery will occur within a few days. It can be quite devastating if someone is rejected, so we try to use the questionnaire to disqualify those with severe mental health issues before setting up travel here."
A man sitting beside Mark made some notes on a yellow legal pad then held a hook slightly off the table. A ballpoint pen lingered inside the hook. The sleeve of the other arm appeared empty. "How are people learning about the program?"
"Currently it is word of mouth."
The woman with one arm asked, "Should we be more open about this? I mean, there might be people who could benefit, but don't know we're here." The stump moved in her sleeve. "Thank god I worked here." She glanced around the room and then wrote on her notepad.
Susan looked at her. "Let's talk later. I think we should prepare something to post on a few Internet groups." She then looked at Martin. "If we do that, I suspect we'll likely see a big increase. Maybe we should have part of one floor where we give preference to 'your' patients. Oh, and let Thomas know he may be needed." She giggled.
The woman with one arm then asked, "Are there many who come back for an addition amputation ... perhaps come back multiple times?" She grinned and looked at the man with the hook.
He smiled back. "Can you ever have enough?" He chuckled.
She shook her head.
-
The sign behind Katlin read 'Traveler's Inn'. A woman stood beside a man as he filled out the registration card. She was much younger than he was and had soft tanned skin, the kind one gets from laying in the sun some, but not every day. Her appearance, neat, casual, like her blouse, faded blue jeans, and blood red running shoes. She glanced at Katlin's crutches and the lack of leg below the skirt. Katlin smiled, then took the credit card, and dragged it through the card slot. The woman inhaled deeply letting her chest swell making her firm, but smallish, breasts press tightly against the fabric of her dark blue blouse. Without a bra, the nipples formed small peaks. She shifted her weight to one foot then lifted the other slightly.
"Nice hotel," the woman commented.
"It is becoming a destination resort, plus people having surgery at the hospital find it convenient." She made a slight chuckling sound after saying 'surgery' thinking how only people seeing Martin would stay at the hotel. "I was doubtful at first. My husband assured me it would be." Katlin straighten up and filled her chest, the chocolate brown cleavage exaggerated itself.
"Is there a restaurant?" he asked, staring into the brown valley. His eyes followed down her front and gazed for a moment at her lack of one leg. He imagined what she might look like without clothes and wondered how much of her leg was missing.
