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发表于 2019-12-15 21:57:47
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本帖最后由 怪顎龍 于 2019-12-17 23:18 编辑
那個...你怎麼把第一部分塞在我的帖子裡了?
附贈原文
A Day In Ruth's Life - Part 2
by jerek-uk, Jul 7, 2014, 4:59:14 AM
The floor tiles of the bathroom were cool under Ruth's bottom as she edged herself sideways along the bathroom wall, rocking her torso from side to side and inching each legless hip forward in turn with every rock. As she shuffled herself along, she kept her left shoulder slope in contact with the tiled wall. She was counting 'steps' of course, and also aware of the regular 'bump' of the grout lines beneath the sensitive skin where her arm had once been. 12 steps to the corner. At the corner she jumped herself around 90 degrees and continued to inch her way along, keeping the left side of her torso in contact with the wall until she felt the change in texture in the floor tiles that warned her she was approaching the location of her specially adapted toilet in the farther corner of the room.
Adapted from the Japanese 'washlets', her state of the art toilet was sunk into the floor and had an integrated bidet as well as a blow dryer, water jet adjustment, automatic lid opening, automatic flushing, all accessed by a wireless control panel mounted on the wall in such a position that when she was sitting on the washlet her upper back was in contact with it. The standard control switches had been replaced with four large pressure plates, each textured in a different way so she could tell which one was which. She could press each one with small adjustments to the position of her upper body while her lower half remained in position on the heated seating pad that ringed the sunken bowl.
She inched her way carefully forward until she felt the texture of the seat-pad beneath her hip. A proximity sensor in the washlet would have sensed her approach so the lid was already raised. She shuffled herself into position above the bowl, careful to keep both hips on the pad and not to overbalance. She leaned back very slightly and felt the reassuring textures of the control switches against her upper back. Once she was in place she relaxed and urinated.
Once relieved, she twitched her upper torso back against the first switch and the automated, self-cleaning nozzle popped from beneath the seat and directed a warm, slightly soapy jet of water against her vulva (when needed, the second switch deployed another nozzle for her bottom). This time, though, she leaned her upper body away past the second switch and pushed back against the third one. The nozzle retracted, self-cleaning as it did so, and the washlet's blow drier directed warm air at her, drying her completely. Once she was dry she edged herself away from the bowl. Her weight leaving the seating pad would cause the washlet to wait a few seconds before flushing. Then the lid, recognising that she was safely out of the way, would soft-close until needed again.
The call of nature having been obeyed, it was time for Ruth's morning shower. She knew the shower was 15 steps across the room. Exactly at the count of 15 she felt the hard smoothness of the shower screen against her right breast. With a small sigh of relief she relaxed against the glass, enjoying the cool pressure against her skin.
The bathroom was designed as a partial wet room so the shower itself was open to the room. Ruth shuffled herself along the screen sideways, her nipples hardening at the smooth stroke of the glass. When she reached the end of the screen she knew she was in position. Another short disorientating series of hops took her into the shower itself, where she jerked herself around until she could lean against the back wall of the cubicle. The walls and floor in here were small mosaic tiles and felt quite different from the larger tiles that formed the bathroom walls – another tactile cue to her location.
Ruth shouldered her way along the wall until she found the place where the shower controls were located. Like the washlet controls, these were wall mounted at her shoulder level, and had large pressure plate switches, textured individually to allow her to feel which switch she was using. Ruth felt her way along the switches until she found the one that operated the water flow. She leaned into it slightly and felt it give under the slight pressure. Instantly she felt the rush of water against her body, held at exactly her preferred temperature by the shower's built in thermostat. She took a couple of small shuffles forward into the full force of the jet and relaxed in the comforting warmth. She had to exhale sharply every now and then to blow the water away from her tracheostomy and keep her airway clear, but otherwise she could just abandon herself to the silent, invisible spray, wriggling with pleasure as it pattered hard against her chest and back and on her 'lid' and the upper slopes of her torso.
After a minute or two of luxuriating in the water stream, Ruth hip-walked a few inches to her right. The texture of the tiles beneath her right hip changed to a wet and springy softness. She leaned over and felt the gentle roughness of the built in sponge-wall. This had been an idea she had had some months before when she was trying to work out a method for properly washing herself unaided, rather than relying on a carer or a friend to bathe her, and a local bathroom installer had sourced and built it for her to her plans. Part of the wall of the shower cubicle had been covered with a thick sheet of bathroom-quality sponge. The sheet was about three feet wide, six inches thick, with its top edge about two and half feet up the wall. At its bottom edge it curved onto the floor where it extended for about eighteen inches so that she could wash even her intimate parts. To one side was a soft wide plastic lever connected to a soap dispenser on the wall above the sheet.
Ruth bounced herself onto the spongy part of the floor and up against the resilient surface of the sponge-wall. She hunted for the lever with a shoulder-slope and leaned into it to activate the dispenser. She felt a dollop of liquid soap hit the top of her torso with a splat. Before the shower could wash it all away she leaned into the lever twice more, twisting her torso to get soap all over her. Then, still beneath the shower, she pressed herself into the sponge-wall, wriggling and twisting herself against it, turning and bending herself so that every square inch of her body surface was rubbed and sponged with the resulting foam. The feeling was ecstatic, both the feeling itself and the pleasure she got from knowing she was doing something for herself , even reduced and supposedly helpless as she was. So much tactile stimulation all at once in her sense-starved world almost overloaded her and she lost herself in a world of warm and squirming sensuous delight.
Eventually, she realised the time and scolded herself for her abandonment to the pleasure of the shower. She hopped herself around and off the sponge-wall and let the water sluice her off, shaking herself all over to flick any remaining lather off her skin. She puffed water away from her tracheostomy, feeling the water running down her shoulders, back and belly. At least she didn't have to worry about rinsing any hair. Not on her head at any rate.
With a sigh she shouldered the shower plate off and the flow of water stopped. A few chilly drips hit the top of her torso and she shivered, her skin erupting into goosebumps. Suddenly wanting to be dry and dressed, Ruth bounced herself out of the shower cubicle, using her back and belly muscles to jerk her entire torso up and forward, hopping like a person in a sack race. It was a very energy-intensive way of getting around for her but so much faster than her usual hip-shuffle. She laughed inwardly, enjoying the exercise...
Her eagerness caused her to be more careless than she usually was. On her third hop she slipped on the wet floor, her hips flew out from under her, and she crashed sideways, banging her ribs and rolling helplessly onto her front. She choked a little as an inhalation of shock caused a small amount of water to enter her tracheostomy. She lay there for a moment, taking stock. Her ribs hurt where she had banged them on the floor and her breasts were crushed against the wet tiles underneath her.
All the pleasure of a few minutes before had evaporated and suddenly, from nowhere seemingly, a wave of sorrow overwhelmed her. She was no longer Ruth. She was a thing, a headless, limbless trunk, a blind, insensate lump of helpless flesh and bone. For a moment she let the helplessness and frustration of her situation overwhelm her. She called these moments her 'torsification tantrums' and she refused to give into them when they happened. But still, not for the first time, locked in a dark and silent world of pain, she wished she could still cry.
Enough! Ruth, shook her shoulder slopes in anger at herself and tried to roll herself onto her back, but the slippery floor gave her hips and chest no purchase. All she did was slide and slip around hopelessly. She didn't even know which way she was facing now. She shivered in panic. This kind of helplessness was exactly what she feared the most, with its total loss of any control. She breathed deeply once or twice and forced herself to calmness.
Since she didn't know where she was her only choice was to slowly start to wriggle forward. She would know soon enough which direction she was travelling in – the change in texture of the tiles and their relative wetness would tell her. The bathroom was small; sooner or later she would hit a wall or other feature which would allow her to get her bearings.
She arched her back and started twisting herself from side to side, pressing her hips into the tiled floor as she did so. It was still slippery, but gradually she could feel herself inching forward. She had a sudden picture of herself, headless and limbless, a tiny torso writhing along like a grub, and again a paroxysm of such conflicting emotions flooded over her - horror, laughter, despair and some kind of extraordinary elation - that she found herself shaking with the force of the feelings. She wanted to scream, to laugh hysterically, to weep with terror and delight all at the same time... but she could do none of those things and so she simply lay and trembled until the storm of emotions had passed, leaving her weak and exhausted. Another torsification tantrum, and a bad one, she thought, as the shaking lessened and finally stopped.
She mentally gritted teeth she no longer had and started wriggling again. After a minute or two she felt an edge of loose and floppy roughness against the front of her torso. She wasn't sure what it was at first, but a further wriggle forward and an exploration with her 'lid' and collar told her she had reached the pile of thick bath towels that her girlfriend, Kamilah, always made sure were tumbled in a pile next to the shower cubicle for her. With a tiny hiss of relief and delight, Ruth arched her back, jerked with her hips and almost flung herself into the warm, dry, comforting softness of the pile of towels.
She wriggled herself around on the towels, the roughness of the fabric a sensuous, tactile delight against the sensitive skin of her breasts and belly after the chill wetness of the floor. She wriggled herself against the thick fabric, drying her front completely, and rubbing her mons veneris into the towel to dry the luxuriant bush of hair that covered it. Then she arched her back, twisted her upper torso as far to the left as she could and, using the increased friction of the towels beneath her, spun her torso back the other way in a hard flicking motion, her back muscles clenching with the effort. The momentum rocked her onto her side before she fell back onto her front. She used the reverse momentum to roll sideways and again flicked her upper torso hard to the right. A second time she rolled onto her side and again she teetered and fell back. Once more she arched and twisted, flung her herself to the right... and this time she had enough momentum to roll and topple over onto her back.
Ruth wriggled herself around on the towels, drying herself completely. As she did so she felt the pile of towels collapse and she was suddenly cocooned in towels, the fabric sliding over her skin surface and brushing her breasts. Her wriggling intensified in pleasure, and she felt her nipples harden at the contact.
She was enjoying herself so much, especially after her 'tantrum', that she decided to forego the minute or so with the wall-mounted hot-air dryer that was usually the last stage of her morning shower, and dry herself completely with the towels.
When she'd finished and was dry as she could be, she had to extricate herself from the tumbled towels of course. Still on her back, she flicked her hips to throw the towels off her lower torso and then curled her hips back over her top, curved her spine and performed the forward flick of the torso that brought her upright. This time she judged it perfectly and with only a tiny shift of balance she ended upright.
She had lost her bearings while she'd been enjoying the towels. She pondered what was the best thing to do. She concentrated hard on the feel of the air around her. Was is slightly cooler towards her left? Was that the open bathroom door perhaps? She hopped herself around and started rocking herself in that direction.
Sure enough after a minute or two, she recognised the texture of the bedroom carpet beneath her bottom. She must be in the doorway. Using the feel of the different textures on her bottom to keep herself on the borderline between the tiles and carpet, she shuffled sideways until she reached the wooden frame of the door with the side of her upper torso. Now she had a point of reference she could orientate herself within her room. Rather than take the long route around the walls, Ruth decided she would risk the quick route to the bed. Carefully she balanced, prepared herself... and then she tipped herself forward and at the same time tensed her muscles and jerked herself off the ground. Unbalanced she fell forward but as her bottom hit the ground, before she could topple forward, she heaved herself into the air again. She was gasping for air as she reached the bed in a series of wild bounces, the final uncontrolled landing leaving her propped up against the side of the bed, her ribs heaving with exertion. A little series of juddering hisses came from her tracheostomy – the nearest thing she had to laughter now.
Suddenly she jumped as a light touch brushed the top of her torso followed by two gentle taps. It was a strange sensation; although she recognised the touch was at the very top of her body, the sensation also seemed to come from her upper back, since that was where the flap of muscle and skin that closed her head amputation had come from. She levered herself fully upright and hopped herself around. A cool breeze told her that her bedroom door was open and the two taps were Kamilah telling her that she was there. Ruth bobbed her torso up and down and hissed once to show that she was aware of Kami's presence and to greet her.
Two more taps and then a short stroke, told Ruth that Kami was about to speak to her. Part of her rehabilitation had been learning how to read the shapes of the tactile alphabet and she was expert now at understanding the quick tracing of letters on her skin.
A.R.E Y.O.U. H.A.V.I.N.G. F.U.N.? signed Kami, and then she fluttered her fingers in the sign they had agreed for laughter.
Ruth bent herself at the waist and ducked her chest. She gave a long, quiet exhalation in a sign for slight embarrassment.
Kami tapped her twice and stroked again, to show that she was going to speak. Y.O.U. D.I.D.N.T. K.N.O.W. T.H.A.T. I. W.A.S. H.E.R.E. she signed, and finger-laughed again.
Ruth shook her upper torso from side to side in the sign for no. Ruth and her friends had long since discovered the fact that communication was much easier if they tried as much as possible to phrase their end of the conversation in questions that could be answered with a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Ruth could convey more complicated thoughts and phrases by spelling out the letters but the only means she had to do this was by hissing morse code through her tracheostomy. Because she had no real shoulder movement her range of movements was too limited to clearly spell out complicated codes. So her side of the conversation usually was mostly simple gestures and occasional strings of coded hisses. For speed, it was far easier to ask a question with a simple answer and let gestures show her mood or attitude.
Two taps, stroke. H.U.N.G.R.Y.? Kami signed. W.A.N.T. S.O.M.E. B.R.E.A.K.F.A.S.T.?
Ruth nodded yes, then hissed twice in quick succession to tell Kami she had something more to say. She arched her back and lifted up her upper torso meaning 'pick me up', then twisted herself towards the wardrobe she knew was in the corner of the room and gave the little double 'jump' that meant there was an associated activity or need with the indication. Kami knew exactly what she meant, but always double-checked so there could be no misunderstanding.
Y.O.U. W.A.N.T. T.O. G.E.T. D.R.E.S.S.E.D. F.I.R.S.T.? she asked.
Ruth nodded. She felt the warmth of two hands on her upper torso, gently placed against her ribs on either side – the sign that Kami was about to pick her up. Ruth could get herself onto her bed herself with effort, but it was far easier for Kami to lift her. Kami would dress her too. Fiercely independent though she was, Ruth was a realist, and she knew that there were very many things that she would always need help doing, things that with no real ability to hold or manipulate things she would never be able to do for herself.
Kami's hands went away for a moment. Ruth sighed and jumped herself around so she had her back to Kami, ready to be lifted.
She felt a change of pressure in the air and an almost indiscernible feeling of closeness as Kami knelt down to her level, then the wrap of thin, strong arms around her waist and chest. She felt herself lifted, a momentary jolt of instinctive panic as her bottom left the floor. But she was safe in Kami's arms and she relaxed as she felt herself gently hugged and carried through the air. Hypersensitive to touch as she was, she was conscious of every aspect of the contact between them. There was fabric against her back, probably cotton, but Kami's arms were bare; she could feel the slight play of muscles in Kami's arms and the tickling brush of arm-hair. T-shirt then, perhaps her favourite – black with the dark red roses. If she concentrated she could feel the soft beat of Kami's heart against her back, the rhythm of her breathing and the warmth of breath against her 'lid'.
The contact only lasted a few seconds. She felt herself lowered and the familiar softness of her bed beneath her back. Kami's arms unwrapped themselves and there was a moment of aloneness. Then two taps and a gentle stroke against her chest between her breasts.
D.R.E.S.S. Y.O.U. N.O.W.?
Ruth tensed her tummy muscle twice to 'nod' her upper torso, then lay back ready for Kami to get her dressed.
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