I drew Ethan from sleep the same way I had every dawn for weeks—lowering myself onto his stiff morning length and taking him in a slow, measured rhythm while I breathed heated vows against his mouth.
"Important morning ahead, love," I murmured, circling my hips so he brushed every sensitive place within me. "Doctor's visit. He may free your arms today. But rest easy… I'll ensure those hands stay out of your reach forever."
His thickness pulsed deep inside at the promise. Even after yesterday's false alarm—after I had moved across him with frantic hunger, pleading for him to plant something lasting—he remained utterly hooked. Still beading with anticipation at the mere notion of staying dependent on me.
We arrived at the clinic exactly as before. I wore the same breezy sundress, bare beneath, faint traces of his earlier gift still marking my skin. Ethan sat quietly in the waiting area, arms locked in plaster, the picture of a devoted patient.
Dr. Ramirez reviewed the scans and smiled broadly. "Outstanding recovery, Ethan. The breaks have mended cleanly. We can remove the casts today—two weeks ahead of schedule. Your wrists will be fully mobile again."
Ethan's expression flickered with brief alarm. Then he manufactured a convincing grimace.
"Doc… the pain is still sharp when I try to flex. Really intense. I'm not sure I'm ready yet."
I pressed my lips together to hide my delight. I recognized the deception instantly. My boy had no desire for independence. He craved my complete authority.
The physician studied the images once more and shrugged. "Discomfort can persist. We can keep them on another week if it feels uncertain, but the healing looks solid."
Ethan shook his head firmly. "Safer to wait. Please."
Dr. Ramirez glanced my way with understanding. "Your stepmother has provided exceptional support. Another week won't cause harm."
I nodded with quiet warmth, already aching between my thighs. "I'll continue managing every detail, Doctor. Without fail."
The moment we stepped through our front door I guided him straight to his room, turned the lock, and shed every layer before his eyes.
"I caught that little performance, sweetheart," I whispered, climbing onto the mattress and settling across his lap. "You have no wish to regain those hands. You want me to keep claiming you entirely."
His arousal strained hard beneath the fabric.
I drew his shorts aside, took him inside in one fluid descent, and sighed as he filled me once more.
"Since the doctor confirmed you're healed…" I reached down, took his newly liberated right hand, and pressed it firmly to my waist. "You may use them now. Only for this. Only to steady Mommy while I take you apart. No self-touch. No control. You still surrender everything."
Then I began to move.
With purpose.
Both palms now gripped my sides—strong fingers pressing into my curves for the first time in weeks. The sensation of him finally anchoring me while I rose and fell sent sparks racing through my body. I drove down again and again, my rear meeting him with crisp impacts, my breasts swaying freely, my center coating him completely.
"Hold on tight, love," I gasped, voice fracturing with rising pleasure. "Pull me closer. Feel how completely I surround you? Feel how ready I am knowing you chose this helplessness just so I never stop claiming you like this?"
His grasp strengthened, guiding my rhythm—never seizing power, simply assisting as I moved faster. His thumbs dug gently above my hips like anchors while I lost myself in the motion.
I reached my peak first—intense waves surging through me as I cried out, "Perfect boy! Keep me right here while I spill all over the length that nearly gave me your child!"
He held me steady through the tremors. Then I turned away, still joined, and continued facing the other direction so he could watch my rear shift while his palms rose to cup my breasts for the first time.
"Tease my peaks," I urged, driving back onto him. "Stronger. Yes—just like that. You remain Mommy's dependent one. These hands exist only to steady me, caress me, draw me down. Nothing more."
We lost track of time in that haze.
Face to face with his palms pinning my wrists overhead (even though he was the one meant to be restricted). From behind with him clutching my sides so firmly the marks would linger tomorrow. Me above once more, his fingers pressing into my rear while I circled my most sensitive spot against him and pleaded:
"Even though the test showed nothing… take me as though you truly planted something. Fill Mommy's depths again. Act like the casts remain. Act like you can only lie here and accept everything I give."
He shattered with a raw sound—pouring into me so deeply and fully that it overflowed in warm streams across the linens. I kept moving through it, drawing a second surge moments later, then a third, until he trembled with overwhelming sensitivity.
Only when he lay utterly drained did I finally pause, still holding him inside, and lean close to brush my lips across his brow.
"I understand everything now, darling," I whispered, gently smoothing his hair while his palms—those strong, devoted hands—rested at my waist. "You'll never crave freedom for anything except steadying Mommy while she claims you. And that is exactly what you'll receive."
He gazed up at me, eyes hazy with complete yielding.
"Keep up the act next week," I told him softly. "Tell the doctor the discomfort lingers. Because I never intended to return those hands anyway. Not when you satisfy me like this."
His length—still nestled within—gave one final, contented pulse.
I smiled and tightened around him.
"Tomorrow marks the turning point, love. The day you 're-injure' yourself deliberately… and I promise you'll never require those hands again."
To be continued.
End of the chapter: 14.