plasterllwc1983

[plasterllwc1983]

[plasterllwc1983]

[plasterllwc1983]

[plasterllwc1983]

The White Plaster and the Summer Afternoon

Anna was a young, beautiful girl who had suffered a minor accident in the park last week. Her left leg was fully encased in a plaster long leg cast — the clean, white cast was cool and smooth, still fresh from being applied. Her toes and the ball of her foot were left free, the cast perfectly hugging her leg but allowing the skin there to breathe.

Her boyfriend, David, who knew how special these feelings were, often sat beside her on the couch. That afternoon, Anna was resting on the sofa, and David gently leaned in to kiss the cast. Then, softly, he ran his fingers along the edge where the cast ended, touching the exposed sole. The skin was soft and slightly warm in the summer sun.

David’s fingers carefully slipped between the cast and the foot, feeling the smooth skin and the slightly sweaty but fragrant toes. He sighed quietly as he gently smelled the foot, then slowly began to lick the small exposed area, tasting each toe one by one, as if discovering a secret treasure. Anna laughed, trusting him to show how special this small intimacy could be.

Despite the stiffness of the cast, the warmth of the moment and their attentive care created a deep bond between them. David took his time, every movement full of tenderness and care, and Anna enjoyed the unique attention that this special, “white shell” around her body gave.

[plasterllwc1983]

Hey… I know you’re watching. I’ve seen how you look at my cast — this plaster SLWC. I’ve been wearing it for four weeks now. It’s heavy, thick, hard… and still beautifully white, even if it’s a little worn.

See here? Near the heel, the walking surface is all blackened from use. The toe plate is scratched, a little dirty… there are drawings and signatures all over it. You want to touch it, don’t you? I’m letting you. Come closer. Gently run your fingers along it. Slowly… feel how cold it is, how smooth… how real.

I want you to kiss it. From the top, near my knee, all the way down to my toes. But don’t rush. I can feel you through it — through the cast, through everything. Do you hear that knock? Try it. Tap right here on the side. Harder. Hear that solid sound? It’s like armor… but you, you’re the only one I let this close.

Look… I’m lifting my toes just a little. See? Right there under the toe plate — a small part of my sole is showing. You’ve always wanted to reach in there, haven’t you? I’m giving you permission. Be gentle. Just slide your finger inside, feel that narrow, warm space between my skin and the plaster. No one’s ever been this close.

And… if you want to… smell it. Go ahead. Lean in, deeply. This cast has absorbed me. My scent. My warmth. I’m not ashamed that you enjoy it. To me, this is trust. You’re different. You understand. And I want to share this intimate world with you.

[plasterllwc1983]

"Closer Than Ever" – a cast fetish story

She sat on the bench, the golden afternoon sun wrapping everything in a soft, warm glow. The girl wasn’t in a hurry — it felt like she was intentionally letting the moment stretch out. She lifted her casted leg even higher now, almost inviting you to come closer.

“Wanna… touch it?” she asked, her voice quiet, but teasing.

You couldn’t even speak — you just nodded. Your body moved on its own. You knelt in front of her, eyes locked on the blue fiber long leg cast that covered her right leg from toes to upper thigh. It was close — very close. You could see every detail.

The bottom of the cast — just beneath the heel — was worn, almost smoothed out from so many days of use. The black walking heel had scuff marks and bits of grime stuck in the edges. The fiber material itself was rough, yet sleek, a strange woven texture that caught the light in soft patterns. Dozens of faded messages and doodles covered the surface, but there were still empty spots — raw blue, waiting.

You leaned in, breathing in the air near the sole. A faint scent lingered — warm, sealed-in body odor, a little sour, a little dusty, but not unpleasant. It was human, personal. Real. And incredibly arousing.

Your hand shook as you touched it for the first time. You ran your fingers gently over the lower part of the cast, just above the heel. It felt solid and unyielding, yet fibrous and worn in spots — a texture only a well-used fiber cast could have. You found a small empty patch of blue and took a marker from your pocket. Carefully, nervously, you wrote your name. The lines trembled a bit, but the ink soaked in instantly.

The girl smiled down at you.

“Now I’ll always remember you… every time I look at that spot,” she said.

Your fingers slowly moved upward along the cast, following the curve of her calf, the shape of her leg encased inside. Near the thigh, the cast fit tightly against her skin, but there was a tiny gap, just wide enough for your fingertip. Without thinking, you slid your finger under it. It was warm — very warm — and slightly damp. Skin that hadn’t felt fresh air in weeks. A hidden space, intimate and real.

With your other hand, you tapped gently on the cast just above the heel. Tap-tap. The sound was muted but sharp — the distinct knock of fiber, different from plaster, almost hollow, but firm. The girl giggled.

“Okay, now it really feels like a check-up,” she teased. “What’s your diagnosis? Will I survive?”

You couldn’t answer. Every nerve in your body was focused on that leg — her casted leg. The rough surface, the faint smell, the warmth hidden underneath, the hard, unrelenting shell. The moment felt surreal. Like the world had collapsed into this one object — this beautiful, worn, blue fiber cast — and the girl who let you be close to it, to her.

[plasterllwc1983]

She speaks softly, with a slight smile on her lips. Her hair is a bit messy, but it only makes her more irresistible. The shoulder spica cast hugs her from her chest to her upper arm, bold and rigid. She slowly lifts her casted leg toward you, showing off the worn, scuffed heel of her walking cast—dusty, a little scratched, every mark telling a silent story.

“Look at this… see how worn down the heel is?”

She leans in slightly, raising her casted foot playfully toward you.

“I’ve been walking in this for days. I can hear it with every step—tapping, slipping slightly on the floor. It’s become a part of me.”

She pauses, locking her eyes with yours. Deep. Unblinking.

“You like watching me, don’t you? The way I wear it. The way it slowly gets dirtier, more used… I show it to you because I know you care. Every worn mark on it… is for you.”

She licks her lips, trailing her free hand slowly along her thigh.

“This cast doesn’t just hold me… it holds you, too. Doesn’t it?”

She turns slightly, revealing more of her shoulder cast, as if she wants you to take in every curve, every edge of the rigid fiberglass.

“Sometimes it’s tight… sometimes it itches… and it’s so heavy. But I kind of love it. Maybe because I know how much it turns you on.”

She smiles again, her voice dropping into a whisper.

“Tell me… what are you thinking about right now, looking at me like this… wrapped in these two casts?”

[plasterllwc1983]

Diary – Day 18 in the cast

Date: Mid-summer, 34°C. Mood: exhausted, flushed, resigned.

I still can't quite believe I'm actually in this. Fully. From my hips all the way up to my chin—and beyond. My arms are free, technically, but that doesn’t mean I feel free. The rest of me is sealed inside this hot, heavy shell.

It took me almost half an hour just to get out of bed this morning. I don't rush anymore. I know the rest of the day will unfold just like the last seventeen: slow, sweaty, still. The cast weighs down on my shoulders even though it doesn't cover them—just supports my upper back all the way to my neck.

My neck is completely encased. The plaster rises under my chin like a firm cradle, locking my jawline in place. I can’t turn my head. I always face straight ahead. Sometimes I hear voices behind me, but I can’t look to see who it is. If I want to glance out the window, I have to turn my whole body—and that’s no small task, considering I’m essentially a stone cylinder from the waist up.

The cast curves up behind my head, over the base of my skull. It forms a kind of hump—almost like a helmet. When I lean back, I feel it there, pressing against my occiput, like someone’s constantly supporting my head. Sometimes I instinctively try to lower my head, and the chin brace immediately stops me. Like a leash.

My skin itches. Everywhere. Especially between my shoulder blades and along the back of my neck. I can’t reach it—not with a stick, not with a hairdryer. The plaster isn’t white anymore—it’s grey and blotchy near the bottom. I don’t know if others notice, but I feel it. Even the smell of the cast has changed—no longer fresh, but dusty, body-warm, and a bit stale.

The strangest part is breathing. I can’t take deep breaths. My chest only moves as much as the cast allows, which isn’t much. My breathing is always shallow. I can talk, but sometimes even that takes effort. And since I can’t tilt my chin down, I can’t see my chest or stomach properly. Just the ceiling, or straight ahead.

People stare when I go outside. Some look at me with pity, others with discomfort. For me, it’s become normal—being stiff, slow, and sometimes feeling like I’m not in control of my body. Like I’m just a passenger inside it. The cast is in charge now.

There are still five more weeks to go. At least. Sometimes it feels like I’ll be trapped forever. And other times... I’m not sure I want to leave it. It’s become a part of me.

[plasterllwc1983]

It was an early summer Sunday afternoon. The city buzzed in the distance, but the little café terrace was quiet and shaded. You were already sitting there, sipping a cold drink, your heart beating just a little faster than usual. You knew she’d be there soon.

Julia.

You didn’t fully understand why she had become so important to you. Maybe it was the easy, natural way she moved through the world, or the playful smirk that always hovered on her lips. But you also had a secret — your eyes were always drawn to her feet.

And then she appeared.

She wore a white, loose summer dress, her hair tied in a bun, sunglasses shading her eyes. But you only noticed one thing: the brown leather Birkenstock sandals on her feet... and inside them, her bare, flawless soles.

She sat down across from you, crossing one leg over the other, and you saw the back of her sandal slide off. There it was, right in front of you — her bare heel, just slightly yellowed and roughened from hardened skin, like she had spent the whole summer walking barefoot. Her skin was golden, a little dusty from the day — but soft. So natural. So deeply arousing.

Julia noticed your gaze, but she didn’t say a word. She just smiled — knowingly.

Slowly, she lifted her foot and rested it on the edge of the chair, giving you an even clearer view of her sole. You stared, breath caught in your throat — the delicate arch, the curling toes, the texture of warm skin now fully revealed to you.

“Do you like it when I show you?” she asked softly, teasingly.

There was no mockery in her voice — just playfulness, and the hint of something more intimate.

You nodded. Words would have failed you anyway.

Then Julia gently pulled her foot even closer — almost into your lap.

“I’m always barefoot at home,” she said. “I love how my heels get a little rough. Not everyone likes that... but I think it makes them more mine.”

You leaned in closer. She smelled like warm skin and summer air. Your whole body tingled with electricity — and yet you felt safe. Julia didn’t laugh. She didn’t judge. She was simply there, open and beautiful.

Maybe nothing more happened that day — just that moment.

But it stayed with you ever since: Julia’s bare sole, the hardened curve of her heel, and the understanding smile that seemed to say: you are not alone.

[plasterllwc1983]

"Hey, there you are again… just watching me, aren’t you?"

Her voice drifts over you like a soft caress—a mix of playful mischief and sensual invitation. You can almost feel the unspoken desire in each word as she speaks directly to you.

"For weeks now, I’ve been trapped in this cast—from head to toe. I remember the day it was applied; the plaster was blindingly white and perfect. But now, look at it… It’s no longer pristine. Where I once shone, now you can see subtle yellowing from all the sweat, smudges where life’s little mishaps have left their mark. Do you notice how the cast has lost its original glow? Every mark, every streak, is a part of me now… and a part of us."

Her tone grows huskier, laced with a hint of longing, as she describes how the cast has transformed over time. "Especially around my waist and legs, you can see the evidence. And that toe plate… oh, you know exactly what I mean. The once-perfect surface is now dirtied, worn from days of living, from every step and every accidental brush against the floor. It’s a masterpiece of wear—a reminder of the reality we’re sharing."

There’s a pause as she shifts slightly, the creak of plaster a reminder of her immobility. "I can barely move on my own anymore. I’m completely bound by this cast, completely dependent… and it feels so deliciously exhilarating. Every time you run your fingers along it, every soft, teasing touch, sends shivers through me. I can’t reach for my nose or scratch an itch, and yet, that helplessness makes me ache for your care. It’s as if every restricted move amplifies how much I need you."

Her voice softens, lowering to an intimate whisper that caresses your ear. "You see, this isn’t just about the cast. It’s about us—about how we’ve become entwined in this power play. I’m not just a girl in a cast; I’m your girl. Every slight imperfection, every bit of wear on this plaster, is a testament to the moments we’ve shared. When your hands glide over my immobilized form, when you remind me of my vulnerability, I feel your control—your love—seeping into me. It’s intoxicating, knowing that you’re the one who holds the power over my every move."

A playful chuckle escapes her lips as she continues, her tone shifting back to that teasing quality. "I know you love it—the tight embrace of the cast around my hips, the way it locks my legs so firmly, ensuring that I can do nothing but lie here and surrender to you. The way you watch me, knowing that every stain, every rough patch on the plaster, is a sign of our passion and of my complete surrender. I’m not just confined—I’m transformed. This cast, with all its imperfections, has become a part of me, just as you have."

There’s a pause, as if she’s letting the weight of her words settle between you. "Tell me… how long do you want to see me like this? How long can you imagine yourself taking care of every inch of me, every imperfection that tells our story? Because I’m ready—if you are. Ready to let this cast mark our time together, to let it be the canvas upon which our desires and our mutual need for each other are painted in the most intimate, raw detail."

Her eyes meet yours with an unspoken question, challenging and inviting all at once. "I’m here, in this immovable shell, aching and alive with every moment we share. And I want nothing more than for you to come closer—to touch, to marvel, and to take delight in every scar, every mark, and every story this cast holds. After all, it’s not just plaster—it’s the very imprint of our connection."

[plasterllwc1983]

Her voice is soft, teasing, but there's that sly little edge she knows drives you crazy.

"You've been staring at my cast again, haven’t you? Don’t lie… I know that look on your face. The way your eyes keep drifting down to my toes sticking out… so dirty now, right? Weeks in this cast, and it’s all smudged and grey. You love that, don’t you?"

She shifts slightly, as much as the full body cast allows. The creak of plaster is unmistakable. Her arms are locked to her sides, chest rising slowly inside the rigid shell. She can’t move much — and that’s exactly the point.

"I can’t even scratch my nose without help... completely helpless, completely yours. You could do anything to me… and I’d just lie here. Hard and hot under all this plaster. You like how tight it is over my hips? My thighs completely encased, stiff and heavy... locked down."

She grins, her voice a whisper now.

"You know what the worst part is? The weight. It’s so heavy, baby. My body aches under it. I can’t even turn my head much anymore. But I love how you look at me… like I’m your perfect little broken doll. Trapped, sweaty, a mess… just for you."

Then, playful again:

"Come closer. Touch the toe plate. Feel how rough it is now? Weeks of being out, dragged over floors, exposed to the sun and dust… all that clean white plaster is gone. But you like it better this way, don’t you? Worn. Real. Mine."

She giggles softly.

"I’m not going anywhere. This cast is staying on for a long, long time. And I want you to be here, watching every second of it. Watching me."

[plasterllwc1983]

Hey... I know you see this cast differently than others do. And to be honest... I think I’m starting to like that.

When they first put it on me, I was only thinking about the pain. The discomfort. But now… after wearing it for days… there’s something strangely exciting about it. The weight. The texture. The way it completely traps my leg. And especially... the way you look at it.

I see that glint in your eyes. That hidden desire others wouldn't understand. I slowly glance down at my leg — the perfect white plaster hugging me so tightly… the flat toe plate jutting out, with my toes painted deep red, just for you. And you know… I can only move them. Just my toes. Watch — see my little toe twitch?

That’s all I have left. That tiny motion.

And somehow… that makes it even more arousing.

I imagine you kneeling down in front of me. You don’t have to do anything. Just look. Feel the roughness of the plaster, see the worn scuffs on the toe plate, the way it holds me perfectly still. And I’m just watching you, teasing you… moving my big toe once. Just once. For you.

You realize I didn’t put a sock on it for a reason, right? I wanted you to see. To want it. To need it in your mind, over and over...

[plasterllwc1983]

[plasterllwc1983]

Sexy slwc!!

[plasterllwc1983]

Hello, you have a great page, may I ask when you first felt attracted to seeing women with their leg cast in plaster of Paris ?

Hello,"Casts have excited me ever since I was a little kid."

[plasterllwc1983]

[plasterllwc1983]