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"So, are you ready?"
"Excuse me?" He had become lost in his thoughts, and then realized that his eyes were again fixed on her breasts. He quickly looked away, his face turning red.
"Are you ready to donate your sperm?"
"Ummm, well." This did seem a little weird. How do you talk to a pretty nurse about sperm? And right there in the waiting room! In public. He only briefly met her eyes, and then pretended to be looking off in some other direction. "The hospital is out of sperm?"
"Silly boy," she responded. "The hospital doesn't take sperm. Of course not. It's for the lab, for research." Madeline pretended to suddenly realize that she must have made a mistake. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You're here for a blood donation." She put a hand to her mouth, feigning embarrassment. "I thought you were our 3:30 sperm donor. We are in fact very low, and he had scheduled an appointment for 3:30 and it's now 4:00 already." She glanced around. "Oh, I'm going to be in such trouble."
With her eyes averted he was able to return his attention back to her, back to those breasts that towered above him. "Trouble? Why?"
"It's not your worry. You wait for your call."
"No, please, tell me."
"No, no, I shouldn't have bothered you. I'm really sorry. I will leave you alone."
She turned to go but he said, "No, no, it's not any bother." He realized that he really didn't want her to leave him. She could talk about the weather and still be good company, particularly in the tedious boredom of a waiting room. "I've got nothing to do. Tell me."
She hesitated, as if she was very reluctant to trouble the young man further, but then said, "Well, it's just that I've failed to get any donations today. The last three appointments never appeared. Oh my, this could mean my job, and I really need the money so badly."
A sperm donation? Why not? A gentleman does not deny a young lady in distress, and certainly not a young nurse. It might also make for a pretty good story to tell his friends back at the fraternity. His penis swelled further. If this pretty nurse with such big tits wanted what he had, how could he deny her? Heck, he could probably wack this out in a few minutes, quite literally so, and still have time to give blood.
"I'll do it. I'll make a donation," he offered.
Her eyes lit up. "You would? You will? Really? Oh my, that's so wonderful! My hero!" She leaned back down and gave him a polite hug, only just brushing her cheek against his, her breasts barely brushing against his chest, but it was tantalizing nevertheless, coupled with the delicate, wistful scent of her flowery perfume.
She held out her hand, "Here, come with me. We have a special room for the sperm donations."
He took her hand and followed her out of the waiting room.
Madeline glanced around her as they were leaving, her heart racing as they crossed the room, and then decelerating when they finally cleared the crowd. The room had been filled with quite a few persons waiting to donate blood, accompanied by a number of nurses. She wasn't overly worried about getting caught. Blood donation is staffed largely by volunteer and student nurses. It would not be at all unusual to have someone there that was unknown to you. Still, she could not help feeling at least a bit nervous. She had done her best to keep her back turned to the supervising doctor, who would assume he knew everyone who would be working that evening, and would certainly be familiar with the nurse with the tight uniform and bursting breasts.
But, once they cleared the waiting room she breathed a sigh of relief. They would now be largely on their own, and she proceeded to lead the young man down a few corridors.
"Isn't this the new wing for the medical center?"
"Yes, yes," she explained. "The examination rooms are not quite finished yet, so they're letting us use them for our study."
Timothy was a little surprised at how far away the donation room was located, although as he thought about it, it did make sense. They would want to have the sperm donors to have considerable privacy. Still, though, the long walk with the pretty nurse, holding his hand, was a bit awkward. He hoped his growing erection wouldn't be obvious. This was certainly much more awkward than giving blood.
"Have you ever donated sperm before?"
"What? Um, no, no, actually, I haven't."
"It's really not difficult. Don't worry. I'll help you through the first time."
He didn't quite know how to react to that. On the one hand it sounded a bit erotic. On the other hand, it sounded a bit infantilizing. But, clearly she wouldn't really be helping him with it, the actual donating part.
She added, reassuringly, "It won't hurt that much."
Well, he sure hoped that it wouldn't. How could it? Actually, what an odd thing for her to say: 'Hurt that much?' Why would it hurt at all? He was beginning to have second thoughts about this. Surely this would only be jerking off into some cup, or something. He wondered if she would provide him with some magazines. He heard they did that, or at least they always did that in television depictions. It could though be rather embarrassing for her to hand him some magazines. It would be like his mother offering him magazines when it was masturbation night. Geeez, that would be a bit awkward., to say the least. He suddenly panicked at the thought of her asking him what kind of magazines he preferred. The fact was he preferred magazines about women with big boobs, and there was no way he was going to tell her that.
Once they arrived at her destination she turned the slide indicator adjacent to the door from "Open" to "Occupied," and then led him into the room.
The room was a bit cramped. There was the traditional examination table, a sink and counter, cupboards, and a stool. It was really quite sparse. Well, perhaps that was not surprising. It was, after all, a room for laboratory research, and such rooms tended to be rather thin on amenities. "Yes, okay, well," he said, "Um, is there some sort of cup or something?" He now just wanted to get this over with.
She smiled at him. "Don't be so impatient, young man. Goodness, you're feeling a little randy aren't you?"
He didn't answer.
"Yes, yes, but first, I must get some information. My goodness, I don't even know your name. Here, sit here," she said, gesturing to the stool. She sat up on the examining table, providing a brief, teasing exposure of her very nicely shaped legs. It was though a surprising choice. He would assume that he would be on the examining table, although he was also assured by the fact that she wasn't about to examine him. She picked up a clipboard and asked, "Now, yes, what is your name?"
"Timothy J. Edwards," he replied, sitting down on the stool.
"What a nice name! I'm Betty." She looked down at her name tag and thrust out her left breast. "Nurse Betty Sizemore."
He only glanced at her tag, for to do so would be looking explicitly at that large, thrusting globe. Even the brief exposure though stirred his balls. "Yes," he said, glancing away. "Good to meet you." He kept his eyes fixed on a corner of the room.
She proceeded to gather basic demographic and health information. Some of it was rather personal, such as STD's and other transmittable diseases, but understandable for what he was about to donate. However, the interview did at times take a few surprising turns.
"Do you masturbate often?"
"Excuse me?" He looked up at her. Sitting on the stool placed him considerably lower than her, which only further accentuated the prominence of her peaks, as well as providing a nice vantage point of her white stockinged, shapely legs.
"How often do you masturbate? We need to know this to estimate sample size, plus it's for basic scientific research."
"Well, um." He really didn't want to tell her the truth. Frankly, he masturbated every evening, or at least every evening in which he had sufficient privacy. He would at times even masturbate beneath the covers of his blankets when his roommate was in the bed next to him, but he would only do that if he felt he was asleep. He would try to be as quiet as possible, but masturbating did have some rather tell-tale sounds, particularly in the quiet silence of night. "I guess a few times a week," he lied.
"Oh, goodness, you don't have much testosterone?"
"Have you ever squirted yourself in the face?"
"When you ejaculated? When you reached orgasm? Has it ever squirted you in the face?"
This was really getting quite personal, if not odd. "Is this really necessary for the donation?"
"Oh, I know, I know. It's a bit personal, but a lot of this has to do with the research study." She uncrossed and then crossed her legs the other way, providing for him a very brief but tantalizing glimpse up her skirt. He noticed that she was wearing panty hose rather than thigh high nylons. He was a bit disappointed, but then realized that any such feeling or expectation was not really appropriate.
"Well, um, yes, yes, I guess I have," he acknowledged. Actually, that should really be a good thing, shouldn't it? It suggested that he came with considerable force and virility. Didn't it?
"Have you tasted your sperm?"
'C'mon!' This was really too much. But, then, he had recalled in his introductory sociology course how helpful and informative the national Kinsey survey turned out to be, and their questions must have seemed pretty personal and provocative back then. It would probably be good for society, for their emotional health, to realize that some seemingly dirty things were really quite common. "Well, yes, yes I have."
"Do you pick your nose and eat that too?"
His eyes widened in shock at that.
She giggled at his reaction. "I was just joking, just teasing. It's good to lighten things up with a bit of humor. Now, let me see, where was I? Oh yes, did you like the taste of it?"
"Well, no, not really." That was in fact true. He had been hoping that he would like it, and then he would work on trying to blow himself, but once he realized that he didn't like it, he kind of lost interest.
"Oh, that's too bad! I actually really like it myself. I think it's very, very tasty."
His balls began to stir once again.
"Have you masturbated with your finger up your butt?"
That was an easy one. "No, no, I haven't done that."
"Really? You're quite the innocent young man, aren't you?"
He wondered if they would provide him with a consumer satisfaction questionnaire when this was done. Her jokes and editorial commentary weren't very helpful in putting him at ease. He was beginning to wonder if those large breasts and pretty face were really enough to overcome her bedside manner.
"Have you ever ejaculated into your pants?"
That wasn't an easy one. He had done that, a couple of times. In fact, more than just a couple of times. "Well, yea, I guess that has happened."
"How did you do that?"
"Well, it didn't just happen when you were walking down the street, did it? Or, did it? Does it just happen because of the friction of your clothes?"
"No, no ma'am," he replied. "It was when, one time, when I went, you know, to an adult theater."
"You masturbated in your pants watching dirty movies at an adult theater?"
His face turned beet red. This was really very embarrassing. Couldn't they ask these questions in a less intrusive, less humiliating manner?
"I didn't really know that they still had such things, you know, with home videos, dvd's, and the internet, and all that. Is there something about the experience of actually going to an adult theater that makes you excited?"
Actually, he had done it because he really couldn't get access within his frat room, at least not with the privacy that he wanted, needed. It was common to hang a sign on the door to indicate you were with a girl, but he felt rather uncomfortable hanging a sign that indicated that he was watching pornography and jerking off. So, yes, he had gone to an adult movie theater and jerked off into his pants. Is that really so bad? "No, no, actually it was a little embarrassing." It was indeed. He had felt like he was a dirty old man long before his time, or at best some sort of a pervert. Everyone was sitting as far apart from one another as possible, and he thought a couple of the customers were in fact homeless persons, as they appeared to be sleeping. Plus, the movie wasn't even really that good, although it was in fact good enough to get him off. One of the girls had really, really big tits, and that part with her was pretty darn good, particularly when the guy got to fuck her between her boobs and cum all over them.
"What kinds of things do you think of when you masturbate?"
His face instantly turned red. "Um, well, girls, of course."
"Silly boy. Of course you think about girls, although it would be fine if you preferred boys. But, no, I mean, what in particular do you enjoy the most? What do you dream about, fantasize about, when you masturbate?"
You would think that donating sperm would be an enjoyable experience but leave it to Templeton College to turn it into something unpleasant. There was simply no way he was going to admit to his fantasies about large breasts, not to this nurse. "Nothing really special, nothing out of the ordinary."
She smiled knowingly down at him. "Now, Timmy."
His name was 'Timothy,' or 'Tim,' if she wanted to drop the formality. Not 'Timmy,' but he led it slide. Still, though, nobody had called him 'Timmy' for many, many years.
"I'm a nurse. I have seen and heard many things that would make your face blush. You don't have to be uncomfortable with me." She again uncrossed and crossed her legs, back to the original position, smiling down at him, fully aware of the effect her teasing thighs was having on him.
He swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, "Breasts, large breasts. I think about large breasts." He felt so deeply embarrassed, even ashamed, at his confession of his preference, his interest, perhaps even his perversion, particularly having to do so when two of the largest he had seen in person were towering over him.
She smiled sweetly down at him, like a teacher who discovered that her student had a crush on him, or a mother who just discovered that her son had his first wet dream. "Well, that's really very sweet of you, Timmy. Does your girlfriend have large boobies?"
His face became redder. "I don't have a girlfriend," he admitted. 'Please don't say it's probably because I watch dirty movies,' he thought. 'Please don't say that.'
"Well, it's probably because you just haven't met the right girl yet."
He sighed with relief.
"And perhaps you really shouldn't go so often to the dirty movie theater."
He had actually only gone there once. Well, perhaps a few times, when they had a special big boob feature. Those were really difficult to resist.
"Alright then, that's all of the questions. Let's get started." She slipped off the examination table. "Stand up and take off your pants and underpants now."
"Oh, yes, I need to examine you, you know, for STD's and such."
"But, I just told you that I don't have anything like that."
"Yes, yes, but you must appreciate that we do have to check ourselves. We really can't just take your word on it, although we also actually can't rule them out with a visual exam, but we will lose our license if we fail to at least make the attempt."
That did make sense. With a deep sigh he undid his belt.
"You should get your shoes off first."
He hesitated. At this point he wanted only the quickest 'slam, bam, thank you hand,' that he could provide. He didn't need to take his pants off to do that. But, he doubted that he would win this argument. He removed his shoes and then undid his belt, unclasped and unzipped his slacks, and then pulled them down, along with his underwear. He so wished that he had worn better underwear. His mother had always said to wear the underwear you would want the whole world to see. You never know when you might get into an accident. Well, she was essentially right about that. His worn white jockey briefs even had a bit of a skid mark. It was an old one, just a stain really that didn't ever seem to come out. Still, it was awfully embarrassing.
Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice it, or at least she was polite enough not to comment on it. She even helped him to step out of his slacks and jockeys.
"Oh, you should wipe yourself more thoroughly, Timmy."
He felt like he might faint. This was so dreadfully embarrassing. Only his mother had commented on that, and he had made it quite clear by his reaction that he never wanted her to comment on it again. He did try though to do better. He tried real hard, but he kept getting the skid marks. He even went out and purchased new underwear, replacing his used ones in an effort to keep it all hidden from his mother. He considered explaining to the nurse that it was an old one, but he really preferred that the subject just change..
Once he had stepped out of his clothes, the nurse instructed, "Okay, very good, Timmy. Now, stand still while I examine the little man."
He always felt uncomfortable when he disrobed before a nurse. On the one hand, he would be worried that he might develop an erection in her presence, particularly if she was as attractive as this one. On the other hand, he was worried that he would be at his most shriveled state, and the worrying seemed to have that precise effect. One time he tried imagining the nurse without her uniform, hoping that he would swell up enough to make him look larger, but not too much to make it seem like he was getting an erection. It didn't work. It's actually rather hard to will an erection when you're all self-conscious and nervous.
He would want to explain to the nurses that he was in fact normally bigger than what he currently appeared, but he doubted that they would believe him, and it would only draw their attention to its size, or lack thereof. None of them though ever commented on it, thank goodness, except for this one.
He looked the other way while she began to examine his penis for lesions and sores, although perhaps he should in fact look down. Those breasts would provide a nice backdrop for his penis but, obviously, it was too late for that. Imagine getting an erection now?
"Hmmm," she moaned, "You smell very nice, Timmy."
"What?" Now he did look down.
She looked up at him with those large, pretty, round brown eyes, her breasts beneath them jutting out her uniform. "I so enjoy the scent of a boy, of a man. He is so earthy, so pungent, so musky. It's like it's some sort of pheromone. I just enjoy it so very deeply, so instinctively, so viscerally." Nurse Betty pressed her nose against his penis and breathed in deeply, sighing with profound pleasure and satisfaction. She pressed her nose into his penis, around his penis, and into his balls, caressing, rubbing, and massaging his penis and balls with her nose.
It was rather surprising, and perhaps odd, to say the least. But, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was rather nice. He wouldn't actually ever ask a girl to rub her nose against his penis, and he certainly doubted that he would ever meet a girl who was into such a thing, but if a woman tolerated his penchant, if not fetish, for big breasts, how could be begrudge this one's interest in his manly scent? And, besides, when does a boy not enjoy a woman caressing his penis with her face, even if it's her nose rather than her lips and tongue.
But, she stopped, pulled back and said, "Whew! That was quite nice. Alright then, well, you appear to be a very healthy young boy, or, I should say, young man. Now, let's take your temperature." She reached into the deep pocket of her uniform and pulled out a thermometer. It seemed a bit on the large size.
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"Turn around and bend over."
She smiled, reassuringly but rather playfully as well.
"We must have an accurate temperature, you know, and the rectal probe is really the optimal procedure."
He had last heard that when he was a little boy, as his mother always preferred doing it that way. But, as a young man he came to believe it was really just a mother's myth. Perhaps his mother was right? He turned around and bent over.
The nurse softly gripped a cheek with her left hand and pulled it open, exposing to the light, and to her eyes, his puckered butt hole. Madeline smiled. She did find young men's butt holes to be kind of cute. She imagined that other girls might not share her appreciation, but she didn't mind. What's really wrong with enjoying all of the personal private parts of a boy's body? And, besides, it was so sensitive and ticklish. She lightly flicked at it with the tip of her finger. He did appear to be quite clean.
Tim squirmed, his anus puckering reflexively.
"Just trying to get the feel of the land," she explained.
As Tim had gotten older he began to balk at his mother's insistence to obtain a rectal temperature. Heck, she at times even did it just for a routine household, family check-up. She called it proactive holistic medicine. He figured that she was just trying to tease him.
He squirmed again as he felt her apply some sort of lotion to his anus. Actually, the feel of her soft finger lightly caressing his curly sphincter, circling around and around, working the lotion into his so very sensitive, tingly skin, did feel kind of nice.
But, he grimaced as he felt the pleasant, teasing tingling being replaced by the thick cold thermometer getting stuck up into his butt.
"Now, you hold it in there for awhile," she said, patting his bottom reassuringly. "We need to get a good reading."
He looked around, again wondering if this was some sort of practical joke. He knew he looked terribly silly, bent over the examining table, a thick thermometer sticking out of his naked butt, and he felt considerably worse.
She asked, "You're not going to get an erection just by me doing this, are you?"
Now, that was an understatement, to say the least, and he wasn't so sure he appreciated the implication that he would find his embarrassing predicament to be arousing.
She added, now softly caressing his fanny. "You do have a very pretty little bottom, though. I bet all the girls tell you that."
It was a rather mixed compliment, to be sure. Still, her soft, feminine, nursing hand did feel rather nice on his ass. It was as if she was actually trying to get him aroused, feeling all around his butt, lightly drawing the tips of her fingers up and down and inside his crack, providing little flirtatious squeezes and pinches. He wondered if he might get an erection, but he quickly squelched that thought.
She reached in between his thighs and lightly felt his balls.
He flinched again, squeezing down hard on the thermometer.
"And, oh my, yes, these testicles do feel very healthy." She continued to lightly handle his balls with one hand as she fondled his bottom reassuringly, affectionately, flirtatiously, with the other.
Yes, he would indeed get an erection if she kept this up. "Wait, wait," he said, trying to provide some sort of signal as to his predicament, but without actually saying what it was.
She pulled the thermometer out and cleaned it off.
And gave him a little smack on the ass.
"That's good. You can stand back up now."
He was glad for that, and he shifted away from her, feeling now quite aware of the fact that he was so exposed in front of this nurse, his penis unsure if it wanted to swell with arousal or shrivel with embarrassment.
"Well," she said. "Perfectly healthy and normal." She tucked the thermometer back into her pocket and then suddenly stepped up against him, closely, very closely, pressing her breasts into his chest to reach around him. "This room is a little cramped, isn't it."
This was a little awkward, standing there only in his shirts and socks, the nurse pushing her breasts deep into him as she fumbled around behind his body for something. He would have been happy to have just moved out of her way, although that other part of him was also quite happy to just stay there. In fact, he was probably very happy to stay there, as her breasts were pressing so wonderfully against his chest.
She kept blundering around behind his back, trying to find something, all the time thrusting and rubbing and grinding those big soft mounds into him. She didn't seem to notice how provocative this was. Perhaps nurses become desensitized to the body, to the effect of their own bodies. They must see so many naked bodies throughout the day, and must do so many things with so many of them.
Timothy, though, was not desensitized, and his senses were being quite wonderfully stimulated: the feel of her breasts, the scent of her perfume. He could in fact feel himself, or more accurately, his penis, beginning to stir. This would not be good. "Excuse me, here, I'll just get out of your way," he offered.
She stopped her searching, but kept her breasts firmly pressed against him. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry. This must be a bit awkward for you, with your special interest in large breasted women." With her pretty face just inches from his, her perfume so delightfully tickling his nose, she said, "Here it is, I found it," and then stepped back to present to him a small plastic cup.
"Here we go, and now all we have to do is to fill it up."
She giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as she held out the cup with the other. "Oh no, don't be silly. We don't really have to fill it up. My goodness, you would have to have the testicles of a bull or a horse to do that." She reached down with her left hand and lightly clasped his testicles with her fingers. He lurched back at the very personal, intimate touch. "I don't think they're quite as big as that, do you? They're more like a squirrel's than a bull's, wouldn't you say?"
His exclamation, though, didn't really concern the word, 'full.' He was more troubled by the word, 'we.' "No, I mean, well, I don't think, I, uh, well, yes, that's fine." He probably misheard her, and he didn't really want to acknowledge that, for a moment there, he thought that she would help him provide the donation.
"Now, you hop up onto the examination table, and we can begin."
He had heard correctly! This just didn't seem right. He looked around, as if there might in fact be other persons in the room he was unaware of, as if perhaps someone was playing some trick on him. Was this a prank of his fraternity buddies? Did they hire some hooker to do this, or something? Was he being filmed for some stunt?
"Don't you usually do this privately?"
"Oh, don't be embarrassed, Timmy. I've done this many, many times."
He hopped up onto the examination table, his legs hanging off the side. "I can do it myself, really."
"Oh, but Timmy, I'm really quite good at extracting sperm."
"It's my job, Timmy, to withdraw, to gather, the sperm. Really, it won't hurt, not much at least."
There's that reference to it hurting again. She wasn't going to like insert a syringe into his testicles, was she?
She stepped back and thrust out her chest. "You don't think my breasts are large enough?" She looked sincerely disappointed. "Timmy, it would be so terribly embarrassing for me to put that into the report, that you didn't find me sufficiently appealing."
"Oh, no, no, it's not that," he replied. He really didn't want to hurt her feelings. And, frankly, she was indeed very, very appealing, particularly her breasts. Well, she was also really very pretty, but he did have his particular preference. The combination was quite intoxicating.
She began to undo the top buttons of her uniform, and his eyes widened in surprise, and pleasure. This was one unusual nurse.
He then realized that there really wasn't a good reason not to let, not to want, a nurse to jerk you off. What had he been thinking? He remained silent and still as she undid the top half of her white uniform. Well, he didn't remain entirely still. His penis was certainly stirring, and swelling.
She undid the top five bottoms, all the way down to her waist, and then pulled the dress back to reveal the cups, the very large cups, of her brassiere.
Her dress might be innocent, but her brassiere was not. She was wearing a pink, lace
deep-plunging, push-up brassiere. The cups were huge, and her full pink lacy roundness stood out so dramatically against the white uniform. It was like two big, round luscious fleshy beach balls had exploded out of her uniform in an erotically provocative display. This was a very nice fashion statement.
She asked, in a very innocent, demure voice, "Do you like?"
He nodded. He did like it very much.
She looked at his lap or, more precisely, his swelling penis. "I suppose I didn't really have to ask, as your penis does appear to like them."
He wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed by that or not. His instinctive reaction was to apologize, as he normally would, of course, apologize to a nurse for becoming aroused during an examination, but this was now clearly much different.
"Now," she instructed, "You sit back and let Nurse Betty extract that sperm."
He did as she instructed, resting back on his hands and sliding his lap to the edge of the examination table to provide her with easy access. This was turning out to be much better than he had hoped, and certainly much better than he had feared. He did, though, furrow his brow in concern as he watched her open a counter drawer. 'Please don't be reaching for a syringe,' he thought.
Perhaps though she was just going to put on some latex medical gloves. He did always use protection when he had sex, how infrequent that might be. But, of course, he never wore latex gloves when he jerked himself off, nor did any girl ever do so. Still, it wouldn't be surprising for a nurse to do so, and it really wasn't very appealing.
She pulled from the drawer a plastic bottle of lotion. "I find it is much more pleasing to the patient to have your hands be as slippery as possible. Don't you think?"
He wouldn't argue with that. His dick continue to rise, like a snake rising up for its meal.
"Although, it's a little cool right now. We wouldn't want to give him a chill, would we?"
He shook his head.
She squirted globs of reddish pink lotion down onto her cleavage and into the valley of her breasts, and laid the bottle onto the counter. She then smiled at him as she grasped each globe with her hands, and softly rubbed and massaged her breasts, working the lotion into the deep, nurturant warmth of her healing nurse's breasts. Timothy's eyes were transfixed. His dick yearned to be embraced, engulfed, by that slick, hot, wet cleavage. It strained to be released, to leap onto her body and dive deep down inside that valley of slippery wet boobs.
She let go of her tits and reached down inside the warmed gooey valley, spooned up a large gob with her fingers, and then applied it to his cock, now fully stiff and erect. He sighed with pleasure at the contact of the warmed lotion, and even more deeply as Nurse Betty worked it into his skin.
Nurses did indeed have a soft, warm, healing touch. They knew how to make a patient feel at ease, to feel good, to feel healthy and alive. Timothy leaned back farther and gazed with pleasure at the sight of the big titted nurse working the lotion into his cock, into his taught, tight, hard skin. As she did so with one hand, she gathered more and more of the slippery lubricant from her breasts with her other hand.
"Isn't this nice, Timmy?"
He nodded in agreement, the scent of strawberries drifting into his nostrils.
Her fingers worked his shaft, his bulb, in every manner possible. She worked her palms, fingers, and thumbs all over every inch of his swollen cock. slipping, sliding, squeezing, stimulating and scintillating every centimeter of his so very sensitive skin.
"Yes, very nice. It's like your hard, stiff cock is deep within a cunt that's filled with wiggling and squirming fingers." She looked up at him and smiled. "Wouldn't it be so nice if women had lots of wiggly fingers in their tight little pussies?"
He just nodded, his cock feeling bigger than it had ever felt before, his eyes switching between those big lacy round boob balls thrusting out from her white uniform and her slippery hands working so hard on his stiff cock.
"Very good for extracting hot, sticky semen."
It was very good for that, indeed, and he gasped as he felt his balls constrict and his cock twitch in anticipation.
Suddenly, she wrapped her index finger and thumb around the shaft, just below the bulb, and squeezed hard.
"Yikes!" he yipped, at the unexpected intense pressure, and pain. This must have been the pain she was referring to. She had warned him, but he certainly hadn't been expecting it.
"Just relax, Timmy. You were about to ejaculate, weren't you."
He gasped, "Yes, yes, isn't that the idea?"
"Oh yes," she said, continuing to squeeze hard on his shaft. "But not so soon. We must cook up a good batch of semen. We don't want to be satisfied with just the first course." She smiled up at him as she released her grip, resuming her massage and said every so sweetly and seductively, "You want to donate as much as you can, don't you, Timmy?"
"Yes, yes, I do," he sighed.
"So many charities seem to have no appreciation over how to extract large donations, but we have studied this quite thoroughly and it really isn't that difficult. You just have to provide the right motivation."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
"Now, let me see how I can motivate you further." Nurse Betty then parted his legs, slid the stool in between his knees, and sat down. She inched forward, the lovely large pink round globes sliding up his legs, up his thighs, and then resting in his lap, like they wanted to go to sleep there, like two lacy pink pets. She then pulled back and bent over to give the tip of his cock a very full, wet, sloppy and sustained kiss, right on the tip.
The kiss of a girl is so lovely, so sweet, so affectionate, so wonderful. But, it is even more so when applied to the tip of one's cock, where it is far more meaningful, stimulating, and arousing. She is placing her lips, with which she smiles, speaks, and tastes, onto one's most manly part, that with which one pees, fucks, and spews one's spunk.
And, it does help that it also feels so very terribly wonderful: the softness of her lips against the softness of one's swollen bulb. She looked up at him with her large brown eyes wide open as she stuck her tongue out and licked and licked and licked the head of his cock, always keeping her eyes on his.
"Strawberries," she said. "I put strawberries in the lotion. It's such a wonderful flavor, don't you think?"
He nodded. "Yes, I do." He did like strawberries.
"And they're good for you to. They have quite a bit of calcium and potassium." She gave him a big lick, "and vitamin C and vitamin A," and she then continued her tasting of his strawberry-flavored cock.
It was such an intensely satisfying coupling of vision and touch, and she intensified it even further by bringing in her fingers, just the tips of her two index fingers, caressing the tip of his cock with the tips of two fingers as she continued to lick and lick and lick.
It would not be long before he was ready to, once again, provide his donation.
She helped him along by swallowing the bulb into her mouth.
She vigorously applied her tongue as if she was attempting to heal his swelling through the ministrations of her licks, lapping, and caressing. It was a treatment that he sorely appreciated, the treatment that only a great man would deserve, but yet here he was, being nibbled and suckled by this ever so considerate nurse. He gave himself over to her ministrations.
He gazed down at her pretty face, bent into his lap, her lips wrapped around his shaft, the room filled with the slurping sounds of her licking, lapping, and sucking. There had been girls that had done this for him before, but none were as devoted, as skilled, and as enthusiastic as this nurse. He momentarily wondered if she had in fact been trained for this, had taken a class in oral healing. But, of course she had not, it just seemed like it must be so. She was so very good at it. He moaned his appreciation and subtly shoved his pelvis out, encouraging her to take more of him, to swallow more of his shaft into her warm, wet, loving mouth, to take his load deeply into her mouth, into and down her throat. His balls pulled tightly against him.
She pulled back and once again squeezed his shaft, just below the bulb. He groaned in frustration. As she had said, it was not a lot of pain; really not much at all. It was more of a discomfort, a distraction, that sharply broke his rising tide of arousal. There are times when nurses have no choice but to cause their patients some discomfort. They don't enjoy doing it. They in fact abhor it. It goes against their very nature, but at times it can not be avoided. Some examinations, some medical treatments, do require a bit of discomfort.
Once he had regained control, she resumed her task, slipping her mouth back onto the bulb, while this time using her right hand to slide up and down his still slippery shaft, the other hand softly snuggling his nuts, caressing and squeezing them as she sucked on his knob.
There is perhaps nothing better than a girl stroking your shaft as she sucks on your crown. She is so evidently trying, even wanting, you to cum into her mouth, to receive your sloppy, thick, wet gism. She is not trying to put it off, she is not trying to avoid it, she is doing everything she can to get it to happen, because she wants it to happen. She wants you to squirt and spurt your sticky, sloppy gruel into her mouth, to receive you, to taste you, to swallow you. It's a lovely time, a lovely moment, and one in which Timothy basked in pure bliss.
Madeline plunged her fist up and down the length of Timothy's cock, pumping him like she was dying of thirst, desperate to get this well to gush forth its life-sustaining, life-giving, life-promising gruel.
He so wanted to, yet he also appreciated the value of being patient, of waiting, of building to an even better and bigger and best climax possible. And, besides, did he really want this to end? Would he ever have a better blow job?
He felt her fingers tickling his balls and he again stiffened, his legs sticking out and his toes curling in.
She pulled back, and squeezed him again, harder this time as the damn was weakening and the well was beginning to burst, wanting so much to obtain relief, relief from the pressure, pleasure, and pain.
She looked up at him, an expression of sympathy and concern on her face. "We are very close now, Timmy. Not too much longer." The way she was talking it was like he was getting an enema or a prostate exam, trying to help him maintain his composure, to relax and withstand the discomfort. But, this was no prostate exam. It was far from it. It was simply so thoroughly wonderful, yet so very frustrating.
And she resumed her attack on his cock, this time diving down into his lap with her face, sliding her lips up and down his shaft, milking him with her lips, fucking his cock with her face and mouth, licking and lapping his shaft as her lips held tightly onto the hard slick stem as she slipped and slid her mouth up and down its length.
This was a blow job with force, with an energy, with an unadulterated, uncensored abandon. She bobbed her head up and down in his lap, the room filled with the sound of the slurping and slushing of her saliva as it spilled from her mouth onto his shaft and down to his balls.
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She massaged and squeezed his balls with more urgency now, trying to churn his gism within their oven, trying to work his nuts into a frenzy to gush for their seed, all of course for the sake of research, of science.
To hasten him further, she slipped the fingers of her right hand further down, beneath him, under his butt cheeks.
He slid out further, providing her with more room, trying hard to be the accommodating, the cooperative patient, but he was not at all sure what she was up to.
It didn't take long for him to find out.
She slipped a finger up in between the cheeks of his ass. It wasn't difficult for her to find what she was seeking. She was, after all, a skilled nurse, with a full understanding of anatomy. She quickly found his puckered anus, his tight squiggly brown star, and she proceeded to tickle him there with the tip of her finger as she pulled back on his cock and tickled him there as well with the tip of her tongue as she let go of his balls and tickled him there as well with the tips of her fingers.
It was a most unusual and intensely stimulating set of sensations. He had never fully realized, and certainly never appreciated, the sensitivity of his anus. Guys spend considerable time exploring the many nerves that saturate their penises and testicles, yet they ignore this other location, as if it was entirely devoid of any potential pleasure, even though they seem to be so fully invested in obtaining, experiencing, the most intense sexual pleasure they could attain. There was probably some reasonable explanation for that, but at the moment it escaped him.
And, then he discovered it. She plunged her face down on his shaft and pushed her finger up into his rectum.
He almost leaped off the table, or at least his butt lurched up and then fell back down, right onto her finger, which slipped in further. It was a very odd, disconcerting experience, strangely intrusive, and yet accompanied at the moment by one of his most intensive states of sexual arousal. He would never admit this to his friends. He wasn't entirely sure he would tell them about it at all, or at least he would leave out a lot of the details, and he would never tell them the fact that he did indeed enjoy it, the finger jammed up his ass while his cock was sucked and his balls were tickled.
"Oh my gosh!" Timothy exclaimed, his eyes opening wide at the exhilaration that overwhelmed him, and Madeline even escalated it by sliding and wiggling her finger in deeper and deeper until she reached it, the little notable mound of his prostate, and lightly massaged it, sending him far over the edge of no return.
He fell back on the table and his dick jerked from her mouth and sprung up, and then splatted her face with a big load of wet, globby cum, followed by one splat after another. He had indeed built up a lot of cum, and it was unloaded all over Nurse Betty's pretty face.
"Oh my gosh!" Madeline exclaimed, but she didn't run, she didn't hide. Instead, she leaned back and received his stuff. It was not like Madeline was averse to receiving a load of cum on her face. In fact, she very much enjoyed feeling the hot spray raining down up her, splatting and splashing every nook and cranny with gooey, warm wet gism. She even turned her face left and right so that he could provide full coverage.
Timothy enjoyed it as well, and that was certainly putting it quite mildly. In fact, he had never cum on a girl's face before. None of his girlfriends, well, actually the two of them with whom he had sex, had ever let him do that. Yet, this nurse actually seemed to be enjoying it. His initial reaction was to apologize. She couldn't have been expecting that. Not too many nurses seemed to want you to cum on their faces, at least it didn't come up very often. This one though was actually smiling as his cock spurted and spewed its stuff all over her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her lips. One splot even got her right in the corner of her eye. It was such a visually delightful accompaniment to the base, fundamental physical pleasures coursing through his body, his waves of orgasm sweeping through his brain and loins. No man deserved an orgasm as good as this. It was so very, very nice.
When it was done, though, there was a bit of a problem, but Nurse Betty moved quickly. She grabbed the plastic cup from the counter and caught the drips from her nose and chin. She even scooped up the large globs that had gathered on her face into the cup.
It was still a pretty good donation, despite the missed target. Timothy smiled proudly, exhausted, but deeply satisfied. It was right to provide charitable donations. It always left you with a good feeling of satisfaction.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dr. Lowenstein crossed her legs, and subtly rubbed her thighs back and forth. She was sitting at the traditional psychoanalytic location, behind the head of the patient who was lying down on the couch. This was a suggestion of Freud, a way to avoid patients observing the doctor as they recount their life story. Patients will at times misunderstand a therapist's frown, grimace, or smile, or perhaps even just an innocent gesture. Dr. Lowenstein was naturally concerned that Madeline might similarly misunderstand the squirming of her thighs, and the heaving of her breasts.
She wondered if perhaps there might be an appropriate cosplay involving a therapist and patient. She did practice psychodrama (see "There must be something wrong with me"). It might indeed be useful for the treatment of this young lady to perhaps dress in some costumes together. What better way to explore a fetish than to act it out, to literally walk in the shoes of the patient, to plumb the depths of her fantasy, to explore where it naturally leads. Her heart raced as she considered the possibility.
It was Madeline's voice that brought her out of her thoughts, her speculations, her fantasy.
"It's just that it's really absorbed my life."
"Excuse me?" The doctor realized that she had not been listening to Madeline for awhile, and she cursed her professional lapse.
"It's about all I do. It just governs my whole life."
This was a common concern of a fetishistic paraphilia. Life begins to revolve around the fetish. The fetish begins to mean more to the person than any fuller, deeper relationship. You begin to love the fetish, rather than the person.
"I mean, like, I kind of liked the Timothy boy. He didn't have a girlfriend or anything, and when it was done I thought of calling him up."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I was a nurse with him. I couldn't always be a nurse for him. Heck, what would he say when I became a cheerleader, or an elevator operator, or a saleswoman, or a policewoman."
"You've been a policewoman?"
The doctor was quite intrigued. She could not imagine playing the role of a policewoman. Actually, she could imagine it, and would enjoy imagining it, but it would certainly help her imagination if Madeline described it for her. "Tell me about one of those times," she suggested.
Police cosplay can be difficult on a number of levels. There were lots of police costumes available on the internet that were incredibly sexy, but none were terribly convincing, to say the least. On the other hand, the most convincing police officer's uniform is not terribly sexy, at least on a woman. Well, some persons would find the tough, rugged, authoritative uniform to be very sexy on a woman. Madeline did not.
Madeline wasn't suggesting that toughness on a woman wasn't necessarily sexy. Sexiness is so very personal. What is sexy to one person can be boring, even repugnant, to another. In fact, some persons might find cosplay itself not to be the least bit stimulating. Some might find reading about cosplay boring or perhaps even repugnant. As such, Madeline was never judgmental of those who preferred costumes she did not like, as she hoped that they would likewise respect her own choices, her own preferences. Why berate someone simply for what they personally enjoy?
In any case, it took some time for Madeline to develop a good policewoman's costume. It was, of course, dark blue. The long-sleeved blouse had an American flag on the right arm, three stripes on the left arm, button down pocket over the left breast, badge over the right, and shiny, silver buttons. Nevertheless, Madeline did not use the rough, hard nylon fabric of a typical policeman's uniform. It was instead a nice soft, touchable cotton, that clung well to the curves of her breasts.
A tricky part was the matching skirt. She just couldn't go for the slacks. The whole game was to be sexual, and she wanted to feel, to appear, sexy. Slacks were out. On the other hand, she could not wear a skirt that was too obviously sexual. Not like a seductive lingerie or party costume. So, she wore a rather matronly skirt that came down to her knees, but it did wrap well around her bottom. She did still wonder though if the skirt made her look more like a meter maid than a policewoman. But, even if it did, very few college boys, perhaps none, would challenge a meter maid. Would they?
It also didn't help that she was so short. There were no longer height restrictions for being a police officer, but not everyone knew that. Plus, her petite frame was not itself very intimidating or authoritative, particularly when wearing a skirt. Her large breasts were certainly intimidating, but probably not in the manner that police would prefer.
However, her belt did help. She wore a belt that reeked of law enforcement. It was heavy 1.5" black nylon, with attached flashlight, baton, black leather gloves, keys, handcuffs, radio, chemical spray, stun gun, and, of course, holster with gun. It wasn't a real gun, but as long as she kept it hidden in the holster nobody would notice. In any case, the belt did command respect as she obviously had a lot of things that could put a suspect down.
The uniform was, of course, topped off by the blue cap with the matching badge and black plastic visor. Caps on costumes could be a problem for a woman, as they can undo what is otherwise a very pretty hairdo. Madeline though had long wavy, brown hair, and she could easily wear it pulled back, or even pinned up. In this case she did indeed pin it up.
To give it a nice sexy touch her blouse was quite tight, with the top few buttons undone. It looked like her breasts were trying to burst through her uniform, or at least out through the top, pushed up in part by her brassiere, which was perhaps itself a size too small. She liked the effect of her tightly packed breasts appearing to be bursting, from her blouse, the buttons straining to hold together. Her boobs were seemingly exploding out of her uniform like two balloons squeezing out through the small opening of a pressure tank.
Police officer cosplay was also difficult because the risk of such a uniform was rather clear. Impersonating a police officer was not only wrong, it was a crime, and a pretty serious one at that. Her heart would pound whenever she went out in public wearing her police uniform. It was one of the more exciting and stimulating cosplays.
She went to the Templeton campus library.
The campus library appeared to be a reasonable, if not an excellent, choice for this evening's game. There were many students to choose from, yet many scattered into corners and alcoves that allowed for private conversation. Plus, campus security was unlikely to stumble upon her within the library. Security focused its attention on the buildings that were closed and darkened.
Madeline parked her car as close as possible to the library, discarded her coat, and proceeded to the library.
There was always a rush of excitement when she first ventured out in a costume. It would stir up so many emotions. She felt the excitement of danger, glancing to and fro for any signs that she might get caught, that she might get into trouble. She also felt the excitement of anticipation, wondering what might happen that night, what new experiences and adventures she would encounter. And, there was the excitement of the role. For this brief period of time, she was a police officer. She was assuming a new role in life, a new identity, a new state of mind and persona. Her heart raced, her thighs tingled, her nipples stiffened.
As she entered the library she attempted to display an image, an aura, of authority and command. She strode confidently and assertively, despite her petite frame and bulging breasts. She looked around her. She was looking in part for any student who might know her, who might recognize her. If recognized by a friend she could say that she was trying out a costume for a party. All of her good friends knew of her skills at making costumes. She was a very big hit at Halloween parties. There was then no real danger in being recognized, but it would effectively end the game.
More importantly, she was looking for persons in authority who might question her presence, her own authority. That could be serious trouble. But, she conveyed the opposite impression, that she was the one looking for signs of trouble, looking for persons who might be causing trouble, for persons who perhaps needed the hand, the command, of the law. She conveyed a confident expression, an expression that challenged anyone to dare to question her, to defy her. She thrust her bulging chest out proudly and strode through the library.
She did draw quite a bit of attention. The students rarely saw a police officer enter the library. As she proceeded through the cavernous reading rooms she left behind a trail of whispers and murmurs. What was she doing here? Who could she be looking for? Who was going to get into trouble? Did you see the tits on that cop? Well, only the male students were whispering that. But, the girls did notice them as well. One would have to be blind not to notice them. You just didn't expect a cop to have such obviously big, jutting breasts, particularly ones that were bursting from her blouse, jiggling and quivering with her commanding, authoritative strides.
She strode quickly around and through the first floor. She did not waver or delay. Any hesitation could be met with questioning, and could also provide a closer, more critical inspection of her uniform. She did not in fact have a legal badge. That would be going too far. The badge did say Templeton (it actually wasn't that difficult to get through Ebay), but it was an antiquated, obsolete badge. Few students though would notice the difference.
She did not find a likely suspect on the first floor. She proceeded to the second.
The second floor was considerably less occupied. She would likely meet with success here, and she soon did.
There was one boy, a rather thin, short, bookish and nerdy looking boy with dark-framed glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He was studiously focused on an opened book, sitting quite alone at a back corner table. He appeared to be a boy who would likely be intimidated by a person in uniform, even if she was a girl who might in fact be shorter than him. Her heart beat faster as she realized that he would be her mark. He would be her partner in crime, in policewoman cosplay.
Her thighs warmed as she marched up to him, striding as if she knew what she was doing, as if she knew precisely that he was the young man she was seeking.
He did not notice the police officer approaching him. He was too busily engaged within his biology text. He was indeed a very serious student, a biology major, studying hard to become, someday, a doctor.
When she reached him she spoke with considerable authority and command. "Young man, what is your name." Her heart stopped as she waited for his response, waited to hear whether or not he would be defiant or compliant, whether he would accept her as a cop, or question her.
Joseph Jamerson looked up to see two large breasts jutting out over his face and, above them, the face of a very pretty girl, a lovely girl dressed in a police uniform. His nostrils breathed in deeply a very lovely fragrance. Few police women probably wore perfume, but this was clearly not your ordinary police officer. Joseph was quite nonplussed.
She tried to speak more authoritatively. "I am Officer Johnson, Brenda Johnson. Your name, young man? And don't make me ask you a third time."
"Oh, yes, sorry. Joseph, Joseph Jamerson."
"Let's see your student ID."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. Was he in some sort of trouble? He could feel his heart racing as he withdrew his wallet and fumbled through it, trying to find his student identification card. Where was it? He didn't know. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but he never before had any need for it. Nobody had ever asked to see it, not since registration, and so he had little idea where it was. He eventually just poured out all of his cards onto the table. What if it wasn't there? Not having your ID in your possession while on campus was a violation. He grimaced at the sight of the coupon for a free trial membership to a pornographic web site. He had placed it in his wallet to consider the possibility of actually using it, but he had forgotten that it was there. He so hoped that the police woman hadn't seen that. And, finally, he found it. "Here it is," he exclaimed and quickly handed it over to her.
He looked at her face for any sign that she had seen the embarrassing coupon, for any sign of anything. But, she was expressionless as she studied his card.
"Joseph Jamerson, that's your name?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
"Well, Joseph, we've had some reports of male students exposing themselves on campus." She had to suppress an urge to smile.
Joseph could feel a wave of overwhelming anxiety sweep through him. His mouth went dry, his palms became moist, he felt dizzy and confused. He had been caught! That girl who discovered him and Bree, when Bree was jerking him off, must have reported them and provided his description (see "Fives steps to Delta Nu"). It had been some time since that incident, and even since the one that followed with Emily Kay (see "Must be something wrong with me"). He had thought that he was in the clear. He had been very circumspect the first few times he came back to the library, studying on the first floor, near an exit, just in case. It was so much more difficult though to study there, as there was considerably more conversation on the first floor. There was even cell phone usage (Julie Hall was particularly annoying in that regard). But, eventually he grew more confident that he had gotten away with the incident with Bree, and he eventually returned to his usual spot on the second floor. It was so nicely quiet and secluded here.
He realized that he hadn't said anything for some time. "Yea, well, I haven't seen anything, honest."
"No, Joseph. I don't think you understand. The description we received matches your general body type and appearance. I think you should come with me."
"Am I going to jail?" He panicked. He had never been to jail before. What would his parents say? Imagine getting arrested for indecent exposure! This was bad. This was really, really bad. He thought of those scenes in 'To catch a predator,' when the person first realizes the seriousness of the trouble he was in. For a moment he even felt sorry for them. And, now, he was himself experiencing that moment.
Madeline could see that she had chosen well. She had captured a very compliant, submissive prey. "No, no. Not now, not yet. I believe though it would be better to go to a place that is more private, unless you would prefer that I interrogate you here, in front of everyone."
Joseph glanced around. As usual, there were only a few other persons nearby, but this officer was not whispering, and the people that were in eyesight were obviously extremely interested in what this cop was saying to him. Yes, he would be very happy to go to some place more private. "Sure, sure. Anything." He quickly packed up his books. He knew that at this point it would be best to be fully cooperative. No, no! That was perhaps the mistake that lots of criminals make on that show 'Cops.' Never say anything. Demand to have a lawyer present. Some of those criminals just buried themselves unnecessarily by fully confessing even when they didn't have to. But, if he wasn't cooperative she would probably take him down to the jail, and he would then have to call his parents to get a lawyer. He would have to cooperate if there was any chance of getting out of this.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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Posted by ATCFNM at 12:48 PM