Wheelchair Bound?

"A new tradition? Beating my naughty girlfriend every Valentine's Day. Yeah, babes, I could get round that idea..." She grinned, and I sat on the floor beside her to give her a huge kiss. Sore bum on cold hard wooden floor was fantastic. As was she.

Ali mused, "Sorta appropriate, I guess. Seeing St Valentine was tortured and all."

"Was he? I only heard his story in primary school Assembly, where they just said he was imprisoned but there were heart-shaped leaves growing through the bars into his cell, and his lady love brought him a pin so he could prick messages into them - cryptic, of course, and unsigned, which is why Valentine cards are meant to be anonymous still. Even if they're no longer green!"

"Huh. I'd never heard that before. I just assumed all the martyrs got tortured for their faith at some point. I'll have to use pins or needles in you next time - make some messages appear on your breasts..."

Next time. She wanted a Valentine's next time! I went back to our kissing.

Our snog was interrupted when I heard Gordon speaking, way above our heads.

"Wotcha, mate. Yeah, you're not the only wheelie in the village any more."

I looked up -- not that far -- to see a punk in black leather, studs, and smoky eyeshadow, in a sturdy motorised wheelchair.

It looked familiar, but I supposed most powered wheelchairs would look rather like Mike's. Then I looked at the guy's face more carefully.

His unusual body shape was hidden under his bulky leather jacket, but under the hair gel, mascara and make-up was the horribly unmistakable face of my senior colleague Mike.

Staring at my naked body.

"Oh shit," I summarised the situation succinctly.

"It's the other lass's chair," Gordon explained, unnecessarily.

"Ah, Ali! We met last summer when you came to our work picnic, remember? How lovely to see you!" Mike was managing to stay totally deadpan, reaching down to shake Al's hand.

"Oh!" She clocked me scrambling into my dress as fast as I could, underwear be damned, realised who he was, and pulled herself up into her own wheelchair, putting herself on a level height with Mike. I sat on the other chair, pulling on my leggings and avoiding eye contact with either of them, while Ali gave up and doubled over in hysterical laughter.

The bitch. For that, I was going to ensure next Valentine's Day was full of cutesy pink hearts and stereotyped romance! Maybe I'd send a heart-shaped fluffy paddle in a bouquet to her work.

OK, maybe not. But I'd threaten it.

Mike spoke. "It's all right, Becca. I won't mention anything at work. Just 'bumped into you in the street this weekend', like. Fancy a coffee next week, though? In a secluded area, not the main canteen? Send me an invite." To Ali, he said, "How are you getting on with the chair? Becca said you'd had a disaster of a tank from the local hire shop. This looks better." He gestured towards her with a shoulder.

"It is. It's my first outing in it, today."

"Ooh, a virgin!" Mike shouted out loudly, and I couldn't help but laugh. He added, sleazily, "You like it, then?"

"I think so. I've managed to do more today than usual. Stop snorting, you! I think it could be useful for commuting, and some outings."

Mike nodded. "Cool. Mine's more of a personalised full-time number, but looks like yours might really suit you. You might need more cushions and bag hooks. And gloves!" He showed off his fingerless gloves, these ones black leather with silver studs on the back, not the dull ones he used Monday to Friday. "When it's cold, you'll definitely want gloves -- the metal rims get perishing cold..."

"Thanks."

"Anyway, nice to see you both -- got to go, people to do, things to meet, you know how it is..."

It was nice to have encountered him in his natural habitat, I concluded, though I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep a straight face when he came by to explain his cost/benefit analyses on Monday morning.

"You're all dressed again, babe! Aw, shame."

"I suppose we'd better think about getting home," I replied. In her hyped-up state, I knew she wouldn't think about it until after the last train departed, around 1 a.m.

As we gathered up our belongings, the Professor walked past. His jacket was rumpled, and his face flushed from exercise. "How did you get on, my dear?" he enquired of Ali.

"Brilliant! I mean, I'll probably feel it in my wrist and shoulder tomorrow, despite being careful..."

"Ooh, I know. My wrists can't cope with vigorous action any more either." His gesture made clear the hand action he meant, but he was too much the gentleman to mention wanking unnecessarily.

"That sounds... tough?" I didn't want to sound condescending with my sympathy.

"Don't you worry, my dear. I have minions for that sort of thing!"

He gave the filthiest wink I'd ever seen on an octogenarian, stretched his body up straight again, and stepped away to receive farewells from several other attendees. Paying their respects, it looked like.

Another familiar voice spoke. "How are you guys getting home? Train? Annie and I are getting a cab to near yours, if you'd be interested in sharing? Cool. Just wait up while we pack her wares."

I realised the friendly goth woman we'd bought from earlier was in fact Gordon's partner, as she greeted him with a big kiss. "All right, me old perv? Been letching over the new girls?" It was clear she was quite happy with the idea.

They called a black cab to ensure Al's wheelchair would fit, though I doubted she'd want to sit in it for the journey. Indeed, it took some convincing the taxi driver that we didn't need the ramp getting out, just stowing the folded chair in front and letting Ali get in first, while Annie and Gordon stowed all their cases of merchandise round us before clambering in themselves. It was cosy in the centre of the cushy back seat between Al and Gordon, with Annie facing us on a jump-seat.

Ali laid her hand casually on my thigh, and when the others were distracted by the cab setting off, she squeezed, carefully staring out of the window as she did.

I tried not to give her the satisfaction of wincing, but in a moment I had to call mercy. She relaxed her grip, patted me gently, and laughed.

I laughed too. This day had been worth every penny of the wheelchair hire. Seeing Ali sexy and happily dominant again was something I'd have paid ten times as much for. Well, if I'd had that kind of cash.

Finally, home. Al stood to unlock the front door; I hefted her chair over the doorstep and folded it to occupy less space in the hall. She smiled at me, tiredly, but not the grey exhaustion that I saw all too often on her.

"Bed, you," I told her.

She started to climb the stairs in front of me, clinging onto the bannisters for balance and support, but moving under her own steam. Brilliant.

She did then collapse on the bed. I removed her boots for her and her clothes, by which time she could manage reaching the bathroom, where she could sit to brush her teeth and knock back a bunch of meds when I passed her a glass of water. That done, I put my arm round her to bring her back to bed. Nothing to do with disability, that -- simply me wanting to hold my beautiful naked mistress.

Nearly nude. I'd left her underpants on, all smooth and stretchy, the black fabric highlighting her white smooth skin, those curves of her hips and waist and breasts, her shoulders more relaxed than they often were, her pale neck supporting her face that was still full of energy and happiness, not drawn with pain as so often happened after a day out.

Result. I shed my own clothing and got into bed with her. Turned on as I was, I knew she needed sleep. To be fair, after my concern the wheelchair trip would be a failure and the unexpected excitement of the after-party, I was exhausted too.

But I figured her mind had been changed about one thing. "Valentine's Day not so bad then?" I asked.

"Huh. Stubborn bint. I'll tell my colleagues my girlfriend got me a wheelchair as a Valentine's present. Who says romance is dead?"

I took that as agreement. Though she was getting the most OTT bouquet I could find delivered to her work next year. A hundred pink and crimson roses... Perhaps heart-themed sex toys could be hidden inside?

I treated myself to one long, leisurely kiss, producing a little laugh from her, before we snuggled together -- her warm female body against mine, always hotter than my well-insulated skin -- and we both fell asleep.

I don't know about her, but my dreams were filthy.

_______________

I woke up late, and my movement made Ali blearily open her eyes. "How are you feeling this morning, love?"

Ali did some stretching and wriggling. "Not bad. Bit tired, nothing to shout home about." She paused, grinned at me. "But happy. That was a really fun day. Night. We should do that again soon."

"Oh yeah? Which bit did you have in mind? Going out for pizza?" I teased her.

Al flicked my upper lip. "Cheeky. I liked being able to top you properly."

"It was great, wasn't it? But seriously, how do you feel today?"

Ali considered, experimentally stretching her muscles and testing various joints, always a necessity first thing in the morning.

"You know, really not bad. I'm tired, but just 'I could do with a bit more kip' tired, not 'totally exhausted and good for nothing today' tired."

"Oh, good!"

She nuzzled into my shoulder, then slid her face into the top of my breast.

"Isn't it," she whispered.

Cautious of this alleged new-found energy, I reached my hand round to her arse, squeezing and fondling. She really must have had some energy, as she started doing the same to me.

"Oh, I love your bum, Becs. Especially when it's all sore, and you squirm when I grip it. Yes, just like that, babes! You're so cute and adorable..."

"Don't talk crap. I'm a big fat ugly dyke. Cute, my big fat arse!"

"Shush, girl. I've told you before, no being rude about yourself! You wouldn't say it about anyone else, would you? So, then. You've got a big arse, yeah, and I love it. So much firm curvy meat to get my hands on, get my face into..." She pressed her face into each buttock in turn, shivering the flesh in circles, planting kisses on my bruises and running her tongue along the welts she'd caused.

"And these big enormous fantastic tits." She reached and squeezed. "Oh yeah, I could just lie between those fantastic pillowy tits all day, babes. But then I'd have to move from down here, and there's this beautiful cunt just begging for attention..."

It really was. Hearing Ali talk dirty with intent was a wonderful surprise to have in the morning, and I was instantly wet for her.

"You, babe, are gorgeous. Lovely shy cheeky smile, and then so wonderfully wanton and slutty when I do this..." She moved her mouth over my pussy, and I could hear her exaggerated inhale, breathing in my scent, "and you'll be even more beautiful when you're screaming for me! In pleasure, this time..."

She'd raised her head so I could hear her, then dropped it back down to push between my soft bulky thighs and get stuck in to eating me out, with enthusiasm.

I let my knees flop apart for her. My head fell back onto the pillow, willing her to keep going forever. She sucked one pussy lip then the other, licked in between them, slurped all over until my nervous clit emerged from its hood. She knew not to touch it directly or I'd scream, not in a good way. More spit mixed with my juices, and Ali took a deep suck of it all, my clit safe in the centre of her lips as she enjoyed the taste.

I recalled when she'd taken me to a ball at her old college, both of us wearing black tie rather than ball gowns, and there had been a stall giving out oysters. Ali had tentatively brought one to her mouth, then eaten it, and exclaimed, "They're right about them being an aphrodisiac, you know! It really does taste just like your pussy!"

I didn't know where to look. The young lad serving the oysters had blushed scarlet as he suggested lemon or Tabasco as accompaniments. We both ate a few more. Like Ali, I'd decided I liked running my tongue round the wrinkles and folds of the strange squishy thing in my mouth, with a salty savoury taste and smell.

"I really like the chili sauce on them," she'd told me.

"Don't get any ideas," I warned her.

The poor server had looked about to explode.

Back in the present, reality was going rather well. Gentle yet increasingly firm mouthing over my clit, and I moaned happily. This was the life!

"Oh yeah... Don't stop, my lovely talented gorgeous girl!"

She paused a moment. "And don't you forget it!" Back on task, her tongue tip touched my clit, with the usual reaction that I twitched as if electrocuted. It felt good, but too intense. She spat more and let me relax again as she continued to play with me more gently.

Then more weight on one thigh as she brought a hand up between my legs, squeezing that so-tender meat of my inner thigh, covered in welts, then two fingers diving unerringly where they were needed. Right into my desperate wet cunt.

None of that endless tentative shy stroking some women went for when they got another woman in bed. I'm not saying I don't enjoy the odd lazy afternoon of fondling and cuddles, but one thing I love about Al is her enthusiasm for getting down and dirty and fucking me hard where I need it. Not like some girls I've had in the past who were well up for kissing, making out, even getting naked, but when it comes down to it, it was mainly an aesthetic pleasure for them, not a drive to get between a woman's legs and get down and dirty, and consequently disappointing.

I'd initially feared Al would be another, what with most of her experience being with men, but she had the right sort of filthy mind.

"I'm sure you've got somewhere good I can put my mouth," she'd assured me. When she'd risen from between my legs, more stunning than Ursula Andress emerging from the sea and not just because she was topless, Ali added, "And I'm not straining my jaw like I would with a cock! Result!" She'd returned to her good work, investigating all the folds of my pussy and my reactions, and another result followed.

Remembering that, I squirmed delightedly as she stretched me with a third finger, then lay back to enjoy the now-rare experience of Al energetically fucking me on her hand. Oh, yeah.

I didn't know where she'd got the energy from - I didn't seem to have much myself!

I relaxed in my post-orgasmic haze, until my stomach rumbled loudly.

Ali giggled at me. "You fancy going down the caff for breakfast?"

"Always. Only if you take the wheelchair, though." I anticipated her demurring, and added, "I don't want you out of energy by the time I get you home again!"

She nodded, resignedly. The café was your typical greasy spoon by the station, only with a guy behind the counter who could fry eggs, bacon and mushrooms to perfection. Ten minutes walk for me, then the same back, uphill.

"OK. Help me get dressed quickly, then."

She must be hungry. Usually she'd insist on dressing herself, but it was much faster if I did up her bra and buttons. We flung on the nearest warm casuals, I got her chair out to the pavement, and she eyed me cheekily as she sat down.

Next thing I knew, she was halfway down the road, calling for my lazy arse to catch up!

I jogged up to her, only for the sarky bint to tell me, "Good. About time you got back into running. Come on, keep up!"

She slowed only to cross at the corner, and made me have to trot to stay beside her all the way to the café.

I'd rarely been so pleased to see its steamed-up plate-glass windows and a free booth!

Manut the owner grimaced at first, apparently concerned about the aisle being blocked if Al sat at the end of a table, but when she stood and stowed it in the window next to the umbrella stand and huge cheese plant, he gave us his usual hearty greeting.

I collected mugs of tea from his hatch a moment later; his assistant brought us toast just after, and within minutes we both had platefuls to die for. Looking round, we were probably the least hung-over patrons. A huge Sunday fry-up was still exactly what I needed after all the experiences and emotions of yesterday.

As I returned from the toilet, there was a beep on my phone.

"Oh, don't mind that," Ali assured me. "I was just buying something on eBay."

Her lack of specificity made me curious enough to check immediately, as I'm sure she'd meant to happen.

'Buy It Now: Hook and Loop Double-Sided Fabric 30cm.' She'd purchased 20 metres of it, in black.

"It was less than twenty-five quid. I had to!"

"Mm-hm. I suppose you did. Tell you what, let's get home and you can tell me all about what you plan to do with it!"

At the bottom of our road, Ali turned to me and asked innocently, "You can push me up the hill, can't you? We don't want to waste my energy, after all."

"That's what you call it, is it? You being lazy, more like!" I started propelling her anyway.

She recognised my fond joke. As she took over on the flat bit near our house, she assured me, "Yes, of course, you cheeky brat. I need to conserve my arm strength so I can give you a sound spanking!"

Ali continued, deadpan, "Call it a Valentine's weekend tradition. Oof!" she grunted, as she forced the wheelchair over another tree root pushing up a paving slab.

"You're going to get fabulous arm muscles from pushing up this hill, you know."

She stood and folded the chair so I could lift it over the threshold for her. "All the better to spank you with, babe. Or, should I say, my bloody Valentine?"