‘Rear window‘. One of my all time favourite films. If you haven’t seen it yet, watch it and luxuriate in the beautiful Grace Kelly, the dashing James Stewart and the heat of a New York summer. I watched it again recently and it reminded me of my own lover-in-a-cast experience. You would think that having a leg in a cast would hamper a man’s sexual appetite. I found it to be quite the opposite…
I suppose given the nature of his work, it was hardly surprising that the gardener injured himself on the job. He ended up in a full leg cast as the summer was starting. The timing was bad. I had just taken him as a lover and was excited by his strength and fit body. Within a few weeks, my hunk of a gardener was bed ridden and limping around on crutches. It wasn’t quite the image I had had in mind when getting involved with him. Nevertheless, his new invalid status meant he could not drive and so, feeling rather sorry for him, I offered our sofa bed for him to sleep on for a few weeks until he was in a better state.
He would spend the days lying naked (bar a pair of shorts) in the living room. I would go about my daily business, returning in the evenings and making supper for us both. He would hobble over to the large mahogany dining table, balancing his crutches against it, propping his leg up on another chair. The heat of the day did not subside at night and so he remained topless for dinner. I found myself looking at his body as we ate, feeling that prickle, that sense of desire and lust awakening. I touched his other (good) leg, moving my fingers up his inner thigh, finding a way under his shorts towards his crotch. His erection became visible and so I placed my other hand on top of his cock, rubbing it gently. He placed his fork down on the table and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations.
I got up from my chair and knelt in front of him, pulling his shorts down far enough to expose his erection. Taking him in my mouth as far as he would go, I began to give him a blow job. Perhaps it is the Florence Nightingale in me, but I thought he needed a little bit of pleasure after all that pain. His breathing changed and he began to gasp. I looked up at him and he started to tear at my dress, desperate to see my breasts. I stood up, slowly and took a step back. Then unbuttoned the fastening on my dress, button by button as he watched. His eyes sparkled and I could read the same lust in his face that I was feeling.
As my dress dropped to the floor revealing my pink satin bra and knickers, he reached for his crutches and tried to get up. I helped him stand and he held onto the back of a chair as he slipped one of my breasts out of my bra and kissed it, suckling and fumbling for the clasp. When it pinged open and my bra fell from my shoulders, he could not contain himself anymore. The gardener lurched forward and pushed me, face forward over the dining table. I could feel the cool shiny surface against my breasts and his hardness against my ass as he leaned over me. He steadied himself, balancing on his good leg and then pulled down my knickers. I felt him find my hole with his fingers and then thrust his cock into me. It was my turn to gasp. Pushing myself up a little, so our bodies were touching, we fucked. He had a surprising amount of energy given his invalid status. He pounded and pounded, my hips hitting the edge of the table as he did so. When he lost his balance a little we changed positions, I climbed on top of the table, lying back with my legs open and cunt close to the edge so he could enter me again and balance against my legs. I could feel him deep inside me, the table was just the right height. We were both sweaty from the exertion and heat and I began to slip on the mahogany surface. It felt so lustful, so raw, so untethered. As he brought me to climax, I held onto the edge of the table so that force of our bodies colliding was increased. He came shortly after me, panting and sweating as he collapsed, bent over me.
Those weeks were intense – hours of heated sex, standing, sitting, lying on the dining table or sofa bed. My hips were black and blue from being pounded against the table edge and I got a thrill from inviting friends around for dinner, knowing that only ten minutes before they had arrived I had been fucked on the same table at which we ate. He was remarkably versatile given his cast. It was like having a personal sex slave at home… He couldn’t leave and so we made the most of our nights together I’m not sure if it helped or hampered his recuperation, but what a great way to be bed ridden!