Broken Ground, Silent Plea

14 hours ago

Every marriage is unique.

I think the dynamics of my marriage will be somewhat different to yours. My disability tends to influence every aspect of my life with my husband; not least our sexual moments. I suppose that might go without saying, but look, I’ve said it now, in case there was any doubt. And you’ll find that I go into much more detail about that, if you can bear with the awkwardness of my disability and listen to my story; the story of a simple, submissive, Christian wife… with no legs.

How do I walk? I walk about on my hands, and sometimes I get about on a skateboard that my beloved husband bought and modified just for me.

When I’m standing -or should I say, when I’m ‘vertically upright’- my mouth is at just the right height to lick his balls. My husband likes that about me.

“I didn’t want my wife to be taller than me, so I married a woman without legs,” says my beloved husband. And you might think he has a wicked sense of humour -and in a way, he does- but he is speaking from the heart. He’s not the tallest of men, and he sure didn’t want a tall woman to be his wife. I remember when we met, and I popped the question, “What features do you like in a woman?” “The shorter, the better,” he said, “So you’ll do nicely.” For all the tall sisters out there, I know there are heaps of men who appreciate your long legs, and please be grateful being the way that the Almighty made you. I’m thankful to have found a man who wanted a short woman, because that is what I am:

Having no legs, I’m about half the height of a normal woman. And notice that I didn’t use talking marks when I said ‘normal’. That’s because I’m not normal, and I know I’m not normal. I was confused for a time, because this world is full of people who deny abnormality. They might say that I, for example, am ‘a different kind of normal.’ But my husband cleared up all confusion when I asked him, “Am I a different kind of normal?” “Normal?! How can you be normal?! Normal people have legs! You don’t! Even your DNA says you should have legs!”

You were a thalidomide baby, so the drug stopped the normal development of your legs when you were in your mother’s womb. You are abnormal. But you are my deeply beloved. God will not judge you for being physically abnormal, but be normal in your thinking and normal in your deeds, according to the normality which He created and commands.

“Thank you for loving me, and for choosing me to be your wife and the mother of your children. Every time I look down, I am reminded of how gracious you are to me, and nothing you could say could change my mind: You chose me, even though I have no legs.”

“Wife, I’ve told you right from the start: It was *because* you have no legs that I married you, not in spite of it. I seized the opportunity to marry a cripple -a lame woman- someone who couldn’t get away. I didn’t want a strong, independent, self-confident, egotistical, feministic cow-of-a-woman strutting around my home in high heels and a miniskirt thinking that she owns the joint and is some kind of ‘equal’… getting in the way of my decision making and opposing my right to rule my own life, marriage, and family. Stuff that idea! So I chose someone who never would; who never could! I have always said: It will be clear who wears the pants in our marriage, because you don’t have any legs.”

“I sought God’s wisdom and help to obtain a woman who would never walk all over me, and who would never walk out on me. And I praise God, that he gave me a woman who never could walk all over me or walk out on me, or walk the streets, because she has no legs.”

He’s right: I’ve got nowhere to go, and whenever I do go out, I find that people are a little embarrassed to see me. And who can blame them? I am an awkward creature -a human with no legs- and I’ve come to accept myself for what I truly am. If a woman’s place is the home, how much more is the home the place for a legless woman!

My husband is so full of wisdom and speaks honestly, from the heart, and I love him for it. This world is so full of strange, flattering voices. Some have made a fuss of how impressed they are that I walk about on my hands, or push myself on the skateboard, or how great a backrub I can give, and they say things like, “I wouldn’t say that you are ‘disabled’; I’d say that you are ‘differently-abled’: Look how much you can do, in your own way.” I appreciate that they are just trying to be nice, but they are nice liars. My beloved husband doesn’t mince words like they do: He always tells me straight up, “I didn’t marry you because you were ‘differently-abled’. I married you because you are *DISabled*! I knew that in your weakness I would be strong, and in your disability I am able. I can hold you down and have my way with you whenever I want.”

Sometimes -quite often, actually- he actually holds me *up*! He picks me up and turns me upside down and cuddles me against his chest whilst eating me out. The blood rushing to my head from being upside down makes me feel more hot and horny! I unzip his pants and take out his penis and lick it, and then take the whole thing in through my lustful lips… I like to deep throat him in this position -His erected member curves up and better slides down my throat when we are in the 69 position. I wrap my arms around him and hold his bottom cheeks and squeeze down, so that his whole penis disappears into my mouth, with his two heads loving me deeply, pushing up into my throat with his penis whilst thrusting his tongue deep into my baby hole.

I give him pleasure by receiving him gratefully. And I’m doubly grateful to receive him from both ends. It makes me feel so full of him, so turned on, so intimate, so complete. I am in my complete surrender and dependence on him.

Some of you here seem to indicate that your dominance-submission never leaves the bedroom. In my case it is more like *I* never leave the bedroom -or I am surrendered to the fact that my whole world is his marriage bed. I need to depend on him for everything, and he is always the dominant one -the husband- and I am always the submissive one, the wife. For me, my marriage is my life. I don’t ‘role play’ submission: I fully embrace my submissive role that God ordained for me. That works for me After all, there’s not much I can do, so God has removed the obstacle of the struggle with the flesh that perhaps many others face. My flesh is helpless and hopeless to bring about any will except my husband’s and my God’s.

“I did not marry you for what you would do for me,” my beloved husband declares to me. “I married you for what I would do to you!”

“I didn’t want a wife who would compete with me, thinking to herself that anything I can do, she can do better. So I chose a woman who is not better than me at doing *anything*, except being a woman: You are as good at being a woman as any other woman, because you have the same sexual organs. So I can do with you what a man marries a woman for: I can make love to you, and inseminate you, impregnate you, and make you bear my children.”

“Oh, my wonderful man, you are too kind Please make love to me now and let my moist holes be filled with your warm seed! :D” And he did. Lifting my pelvis off the ground and turning me over into some kind of standing doggy position, I held the ground with my hands and he held my hips and buried his lovely manhood into my inner being. Shaking my whole body as he pounded me vigorously, it was not long before he was shooting his warm, seed load into me, filling my womb like a little jar being filled with myrrh; or so I like to imagine.

I know that my children will have legs, because my DNA is fine. It was a trial drug -Thalidomide- that prevented the normal development of my legs when you were in your mother’s womb. You are abnormal. But you are my deeply beloved. Being my husband’s sex toy and bearing his children is my purpose in life; my wifely role. With no legs, there was fat chance of me succeeding at anything else in life, so it was easy for me to reject the temptation to be ambitious. Therefore I embrace my wifely role completely. I am completely surrendered to being his dependent. I couldn’t run away from it even if I wanted to. Because I have no legs.

Nor shall it ever be said of me that I ran off with another man.

“Am I special?” I asked my husband one day. “No, my love, you are not special. People just say you are special as a flattering way to say that you are an invalid. Then they say that ‘everyone is special’. But if everyone is special, then being special is common. But special, by definition, means something that is not common. Therefore everyone who is ‘special’ is actually not special at all. And you are not special in any objective way.

Objectively, you are an invalid. You are even less fit for life than most humans: and we are all unfit for life because sin has taken its toll on us since Adam. (Yet, where weakness abounds, so God’s grace abounds and reaches down to rescue and strengthen us.) Objectively, you are just a cripple. But subjectively, to me, I have chosen you instead of every other woman in the world. So in this sense you are special: You are special to me, and my only wife.

On the night of our wedding I marked you for myself, by thrusting my penis through your virgin hole, destroying your hymen, and by depositing my sperm into you. I have known you as Adam knew Eve, and experienced you like I’ve experienced no other woman, and my DNA has been squirted into you. You are mine like no other woman. You are special, but to me.”

Having no legs doesn’t make me better than anyone else. In fact, as my beloved makes clear, it makes me abnormal, more incomplete, and worse off than almost everyone else -at least physically. But my husband loves me just the way I am, and he is not harsh with me, but understands my disability.

Our Lord said, “Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required…” My earthly lord also understands that I can’t do much without legs, so he doesn’t require much of me. Most of what he does require of me is sexual. For example, I need to be ready for him whenever he wants me. I need to always be dressed appropriately, so that he can have sex with me whenever he wants, with easy access to my breasts and my holes.

While he is out working, I stay at home -of course!- and he leaves me a list of commands to do. For example, today he has commanded me to practice deep-throating a banana, because he wants to have his way with my throat when he gets home. And yes, I see that the last thing on my list is as expected: For the last hour before he gets home, I must think of him and masturbate, so that I will be truly desperate and aching for him when he walks through the door.

And that time is almost here, which is why, as I’ve been thinking about my husband and typing this with my right hand, my left hand has been working on my lady parts. I started by gently massaging my nipples, but soon made my way down to my pleasure hole. I slid one finger in, and then two, working deeper and deeper with each thrust. Thinking of my husband moving in me, I push deep inside and rub that sweet spot at the front wall of my vagina, and then I bring my fingers up and encircle my lovebud before sliding them deep inside me again. I’m so wet now, and my fingers speed up, thrusting in and out of me, making delicious, wet fapp-fapp sounds as I pleasure myself.

“Oh my tall man, I need you!!!” I call out, as I bring myself to orgasm… Wait up! My husband has just arrived home! I must present myself at the door for him. I’ll have to finish this story off later!

…

OK, I’m back

I just had a wonderful, warm time with my husband I went to the door with no panties on, and lay down on my back, to present my glistening wet labia to my husband, who opened the door to hear the arousing sounds of my moaning and my fapping, and to see the erotic sight of my fingers pounding my hole as I called his name… My husband was so turned on, he dropped his bags and ran the few steps to beside me and leaned down and kissed me on the lips, passionately, whilst he reached down with his strong arm, and shoved two of his fat fingers deep inside my lovehole. Shaking my whole body as he pounded me vigorously, it was not long before he was shooting his warm, seed load into me, filling my womb like a little jar being filled with myrrh; or so I like to imagine.

Nor shall it ever be said of me that I ran off with another man.

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