At 11:45 on the dot, the door opened, and Becky slipped into the room and locked it behind her. “We have about ninety minutes,” she almost whispered as she passed my bed - her arms filled with a bowl, flannels, and shaving implements - and made her way to the basin against the wall to the right of my bed. She was practically trembling with anticipation. Her mind had been filled with images of what she wanted to do to me since our appointment was set that morning, but as the hour drew nearer, she found herself having more and more doubts… what if she had misread my signals, or what if I was only harmlessly flirting with no desire or intention to follow through, or – worse – what if we both went as far as she wanted but were caught? That wasn’t just a sackable offense; as a person in a position of power over me and a moral obligation towards me, any sexual advances she made towards me would be seen as sexual assault by a court of law, maybe even rape. There was a genuine threat of prison time if she went through with this. But no matter how much her urges – and their consequences – scared her, they excited her more, and as the bowl filled with warm soapy water, her inner conflicts seemed to be leaning more and more towards fulfilling a fantasy she had never realized she had.

In only a few minutes of pregnant, apprehensive silence – on both our parts – the water bowl was full, the flannels, cloths, and towels were ready, and Becky – in a manner that was more professional than I expected – made her way over to my bed, lowered the guard rails and pulled back the sheet.

“Alright then, sweetie,” she said with a smile that in no way hinted at the mental images she was still projecting, “We need to get your gown off, so I’ll need your help.” If it weren’t for the ESP, any hints I may have picked up on in the conversations leading up to this would have instantly been forgotten. There was no hint in her demeanor or tone of voice of the plans she was still harboring for me. I nodded nervously.

My gown was one of those open-back things, where the thin material covered everything in the front but left your ass exposed to the breeze and was only held together by a pathetic overreliance on a thin piece of string… that and a whole lot of optimism. However, as she explained the task to me, I started to appreciate the insistence on this particular garment. “Right, so I’m gonna roll you over, and I need you to use this hand…” she stroked my right arm, “… and hold on to the guard rail on the other side of the bed, hold yourself there for as long as you can while I undo the string and give your back a bit of a wash, then we can lay you back down. Any pain or discomfort, let me know. Is that ok?”

I nodded again. It would seem that my powers of speech had deserted me at this crucial time.

“Excellent.” Another brilliant – albeit thoroughly professional – smile brightened her face, “Alright, here we go.” With an impressive display of strength, she put both of her hands underneath my right shoulder and pushed – or lifted – me into a roll. As instructed, my right hand grabbed hold of the guard rail on the left-hand side of the bed as her hands moved to my back and waist to steady me. Once we were both satisfied that I was steady and in no real pain, she used only her one hand to deftly undo the strings on my gown, flip the loose side over the front of me and reach for a flannel.

My whole body flinched as the first touch of the warm wetness touched my back, eliciting a cute giggle from this siren of a nurse. Contrary to the comedy sketches I had seen on tv where a nurse basically scrubs and scours a patient's body until they were red raw, Becky’s touch was delicate, soft, almost affectionate, as she gently rubbed the flannel over the exposed skin of my back, all the while cooing and whispering soft words of reassurance and encouragement. I couldn’t tell you why they were needed. Maybe she assumed that I was in more pain than I actually was, maybe it is what she did with all her patients, but no matter how unnecessary they were, they helped to calm the nerves that had sprung in my chest since the first time I had read her thoughts. This would be a make-or-break moment for me, if anything other than a wash and a shave happened here, it would be proof positive that the voices in my head were hers… and not mine.

My mind was yanked back to the moment, and my whole body shivered as she removed the warm flannel from my skin and dropped it back into the bowl, the cool breeze instantly contrasting the new heat of my back. She giggled again. “Sorry about that,” she purred, “let's get you back to a more comfortable position.” Slowly – and following her instructions – I was lowered onto my back again, taking a deep breath and looking up into those dazzling green eyes, eyes which were dancing playfully in their sockets as she beheld my nervous face.

“Ready to show me what you’re working with, handsome?” she asked, her voice thick with sultry double meaning. She was obviously looking at and referring to my chest, or at least the top part of my body, but the entendre was so obvious that nobody – not even me – could miss it.

“No pointing, no laughing, and no flash photography,” I replied, trying my hardest to take Jimmy’s advice about confidence and humor to heart, my ability to speak surprising even me.

“I’m sure that you will be more than enough to keep me busy.” She giggled with a wink, reaching into the water bowl to get another flannel. Her empty hand reached up to my collar, grasping the thin material as it rested against my neck and – now that it wasn’t secured behind me – started dragging it down my body, agonizingly slow, eventually bunching it up between my navel and my groin. I made the mistake of looking down at it and the situation under the sheets a little further south.

Any horniness on my part, any flirtatiousness, any humor, or the remotest feeling of happiness, vanished in an instant. My chest, my belly, my arms; they all looked like something out of a horror film with deep, angry-looking scars – some with the stitches still attached – crisscrossed almost every inch of exposed skin, the deformities of damaged muscles and broken bones created bumps and recesses in my skin which not only weren’t there before but made me look like the stunt double for the hunchback of Notre Dame. My wide eyes, pale-faced expression, frantically flicking eyes, and the loud gasp of surprise and horror pulled Becky out of any revelries she may have been feeling.

“Oh my god!” she said, almost choking on the lump in her throat, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” She quickly reached down for the discarded robe, making to pull it back up to cover me before I stopped her with my hand, my eyes never leaving my own body. “Is… is this the first time you have seen them?” she asked softly, “Your scars, I mean.”

My powers of speech failed me again, although for entirely understandable reasons this time. I could only nod and try to blink the tears out of my eyes.

“I know it doesn’t look like it at the moment,” she said with a strangely effective reassuring smile, “but they are healing really well. They will hardly be visible at all by the time you go home.” She wasn’t lying, at least not according to her thoughts; given the scale and severity of my injuries, these scars were actually pretty minor considering the damage that they belied. And given that I was still alive, breathing, conscious, fairly mobile, and cognizant, I had gotten off fairly lightly in comparison to others she had seen after similar accidents. If her thoughts were to be believed – and I had no reason to doubt them at all, assuming that they were, in fact, her thoughts – I should be considering myself pretty lucky.

I managed to pull my eyes away with a force of effort that surprised even me, flicking them up to the concerned face of my beautiful nurse. I nodded weakly, in one gesture accepting her reassurances and giving her permission to continue.

She dipped the flannel into the wash bowl, squeezing off the excess water and bringing the cloth onto my chest. “This one…” she said softly, tracing the scar that ran vertically up my chest before disappearing from view beneath my chin, “… is from the surgery to repair your ribs and stop the internal bleeding.” I had expected her touch on such raw and angry-looking skin to hurt or at least be uncomfortable, but the warmth of the cloth and the delicateness of her ministrations felt nothing short of exquisite. If I closed my eyes and ignored her commentary, nothing I felt would indicate that there was anything wrong with me. “The ribs feel like they’re healing nicely,” she continued, retracing her route back up the scar. “No bruising or tenderness, and the stitches have already dissolved.” She smiled while she re-wetted the cloth.

“This one…” she started again, this time following a jagged-looking scar on my right side, “was where the glass from the car window cut into you. It was the glass that caused most of the internal damage,” her hands felt like they were not washing me as much as they were caressing me, and despite my shock at my appearance, her touch was starting to have a very visible effect. “No, bumps or objects under the skin; it looks like the surgery to remove the glass was successful.” She smiled again as she moved the flannel over my ribs to repeat her actions on the opposite side of my body, one of the few places with no obvious scars, or at least no visible ones. Her tongue wetted her lips, making my manhood twitch. Becky noticed; her thoughts told me so and she was more than happy that I was enjoying myself, but she was happier still that it was her that was having that effect on me. Her outward expression, however, showed nothing. I was starting to understand why I had been so unlucky with women; I seemed completely incapable of picking up on the physical, non-verbal clues that they gave off. Even now, knowing what I was looking for and knowing that the signs were there, I could see nothing.

“This one…” she said, bringing my thoughts back to the moment as she lifted my right arm, “…was from the surgery to save your arm. The car hit the tree right on the driver’s door, so your right-hand side took most of the impact. Two broken fingers…” her fingers laced the flannel between my digits, there was something distinctly erotic about her actions, especially considering the context they were given in and the running commentary to go along with them, “… a broken wrist…” she moved the flannel up my hand, and onto the wrist, my whole body trembled, “… broken radius…” her hand stroked up and down my arm below the elbow, “…badly broken humerus…” same treatment for my upper arm, “… and a broken collarbone…” her hands moved up over my shoulder and onto the nape of my neck. She caressed there for a few moments before retracing her route back down my arm, turning it over to show me the clean and straight-looking scar running up almost the entire length of my arm on the outside edge – the side of my arm not visible to me without turning it over. She leaned in and placed a soft, delicate, and affectionate kiss on the scar… “almost completely healed.” She finished with a smile.

She repeated her actions with the other side. Apparently, there was only some bruising and a bad sprain on that side, but I was hard-pressed to hear her exact commentary as, to reach that arm, she had to lean her whole body over mine, giving me a beautiful and unobstructed view down the top of her scrubs. Her glorious c-cup chest encased in a seductive black lace bra displayed for my viewing pleasure. Again, her thoughts told me that she knew I was looking, she was happy that I was looking, she had moved into this position to allow me to look, and she had hoped I would accept the invitation. The skin above her bra rippled with goosebumps as her excitement level went up a few notches. But again, I would have gauged none of that from her outward appearance.

“Was I really that dense?”

“Yes, Pete… Yes, you are!”

Her hands started to move lower, slowly back over the scar on my ribs, over my abdomen, around my navel, and onto my belly – which, even to my eyes, looked a little more muscular than I remembered, not that I had looked at it that often. She remained silent as her hands moved around my belly button, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her cheeks flushing slightly. I had never been particularly ticklish, but the parts of my belly that would have been ticklish in most people became highly sensate erogenous zones when I was horny, my whole stomach flinching and my cock jumping as she found the first one. Her eyes sparkled, and she seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to find more.

By this point, the bulge in the sheets had grown into a full-blown tent, prominent enough to film an episode of Game of Thrones in it. Each time her hand found a sensitive spot, or each time her fingers brushed further south than normal, each time just shy of the area that would confirm my suspicions, it would twitch a little more, eliciting another smile and another seductive lip bite from my assailant. She was teasing me now, and she knew it.

“Normally,” she said, her eyes fixed squarely on her prize, “We aren’t allowed to wash a patient’s ‘private areas.’” Her eyes rose up to meet mine, the mischief and hunger in them impossible to miss, even for me, “In fact, I could get into a lot of trouble for even offering, but considering you aren’t able to do it yourself…” she paused for a few seconds with me hanging off every second of her drawn out question. “Would you like me to.. err… give you a quick ‘freshen up’ down there?”

“As long as you are comfortable with it,” I breathed, “I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“Moment of truth… if there was ever a time for her to back out, this was it.”

She looked up at me with a wicked grin, her eyes dancing with desire and determination. For her, it was my last chance to back out, and I had given her all the permission she needed. Her mind was singing with excitement and eagerness. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she winked.

“My lips are sealed.”

Her hand, which had never stopped its search for my belly’s sensitive spots, started to slide further down, brushing aside my discarded and bunched-up robe and pushing the sheet away from her prize. She was very happy with what she saw.

I suppose it is relevant for me to mention here that I am not what most people would consider to be ‘well endowed.’ I am not small by any means, but I am probably a little over average. I had measured once, years ago, in the time before my failure with girls had sapped me of my confidence, and had been thrilled to find that at six and a half inches. I was officially above average in size. It was impossible to measure girth with a ruler, but, to me, at least, my package seemed to be well-proportioned. I had no reason to be self-conscious about what I was packing, and so, I never was.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Becky, on the other hand, had, by her approximation, been quite unlucky in her choices of lovers over the years, not that there had been many. But my manhood, straight, hard, and proud, standing at full attention a few inches away from her wandering hands and hungry eyes, was at least an inch or two bigger than the most ‘gifted’ of her previous lovers. Mine wasn’t the thickest she had seen, but my girth wasn’t lacking by much… Besides, Becky had always been firmly in the camp that said size wasn’t quite as important as knowing how to use it, but she had always hoped to find a man with both attributes.

“I will see what I can do, my dear.”

Her hands moved lower, her fingers just edging into my pubes before pulling away – this was no time to abandon a good tease, after all – and moving over my hips, washing every inch of skin on my pelvis and upper legs. Her commentary had stopped as her hands moved inexorably towards her goal; my thighs, especially the insides of them, were apparently deserving of some special attention, with each movement up towards my groin stopping painfully close to my balls and causing another twitch or increasing hardness in my manhood, which in turn never left her hungry eyes. Even from my angle, I could tell that her entire concentration was focused on my dick’s reaction to her ministrations.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, her newly wetted flannel made contact with my pubes, never actually touching my shaft but instead reaching down to wash the crevice between my balls and thighs, my nuts resting happily on the back of her hand as she worked. After an agonizingly long wait, she finally turned her hand and cupped the jewels, simultaneously drawing a throaty groan from me and confirming all my suspicions in a single touch. I had been following her thoughts for the entire time, counting down the time between movements, picking her next target, and drawing out the tease for as long as possible. She wanted me ready to blow before she… well… blew.

Her flushed face turned back towards mine as my groan died down in my throat. The hunger in her eyes had turned into a look of pure need, way past the point of being accurately called desire. Everything that she had wanted, every fantasy that had kept her fingers busy and her pussy wet for the past few days, every hope was a few moments away from realization.

Her hands cupping my balls slowly – very slowly – moved up, her delicate yet powerful fingers circling my shaft and climbing my pole with such slow deliberation that I almost begged for release. She knew exactly what she was doing, both to me and to my cock. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the tip, holding it there for a few seconds before lowering her hand to pull back my foreskin and ‘washing’ my sensitive head thoroughly, albeit slowly and seductively, before retracing her route back down my shaft and starting again.

After a few ‘pumps,’ she turned her head back to mine, her bottom lip firmly caught between her teeth, and her cheeks flushed. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” she smirked, gesturing down at my organ, still being held by her expert hand. “We definitely aren’t supposed to continue if the patient becomes aroused, but… err…” This was it. Her mind was screaming, the absolute last chance for either of us to back out. If I said anything other than ‘stop,’ I was hers, and she would do with me as she wished.

“I would definitely appreciate the help.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

Her smile widened, her breathing instantly became noticeably heavier, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. She leaned down, her head millimeters away from my ear. “Just to be clear,” she whispered as her hand started moving again, more deliberately this time. “You want me to make you cum?”

The change in her demeanor should have shocked me, and it probably would have if it hadn’t been for the thoughts that had been screaming at me since she entered the room. “Yes.” I growled, the pleasure from my cock becoming almost blinding as soon as she started moving. “Please!”

She giggled, “Anything for my favorite patient,” she whispered again. “Just lay back and enjoy.”

Her movements, if deliberate before, now became focused on its sole mission of bringing me to release and my god! This girl was good. I guess medical knowledge helps when deciding exactly where, when, and how much pressure to applyy because, in all my years of masturbation, I had never come close to giving myself this level of pleasure.

Within moments, the clear fluid of my pre-cum started bubbling slowly from the tip, not enough to start dribbling down the sides – I had never been one to over-secrete – but easily enough to make itself known. Her hand cupped over it on one of her upward motions, collecting it onto her palm with one deft movement and then spreading it over the head and down the shaft as her hand made her way back down to the base.

By the time her hand had made its way back up, there was another secretion waiting for it. Her eyes flashed back to mine, her spare hand coming up to her lips with a single extended finger, “shhh” and, with a smile and a mind full of delirious levels of sexual excitement and hunger, her head quickly moved down my body. Her hair fell over her face, intentionally obscuring my view, but the gasp I let out when I felt her tongue on the sensitive underside of my helmet told her that I felt everything, even if I could see nothing. She flicked the tip of her tongue over my tip, licking up the waiting nodule of precum, swished it around her mouth, moaned in approval, and then – sweeping her hair behind her ears to finally give me a good view – moved lower. Her tongue made contact with my balls, lapping around the sensitive skin before dragging the flat of her tongue slowly up the shaft, punctuating the movement with soft yet passionate kisses as she went.

Her eyes, far from what I had seen in porn, never left her task. If she couldn’t see what she was doing, she closed them, her entire concentration dedicated to making this not only as pleasurable for me as possible but enticing me to repeat performances in the future. This may not happen again at work, she thought, but it was certainly going to happen again somewhere.

With the only exception to the eye discipline, she looked towards me with an expression of hunger and amusement at my look of anguished pleasure before engulfing the head of my cock in her mouth, shutting her eyes again, and pushing down.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! She’s going for it; she’s trying to get as much of me in her mouth as she can! Holy fuck, this feels good! Urgh, what the hell is this woman doing with her tongue?!? Fucking hell, she needs to quit her job! She would make a fortune giving classes on how she does this.”

With each slow bob of her head, she took more and more of me into her mouth. On the fifth or sixth descent, she achieved what I had always thought to be impossible outside the adult art studios. With her lips pressed into my pubes, her tongue working furiously on my shaft, and the short, labored breaths ticking the skin on my thighs, she became the first woman in my life to attempt – and succeed – to deep throat me. My groan, louder than it probably should have been, annunciated my approval as she slowly brought her head back up, sucking hard the entire length before repeating the action. It was almost too pleasurable to cum!

This continued for another few minutes, although I had no real concept of time by that point, before she pulled off, her hand slowly working me in place of her vacant mouth. “Fuck, you taste good.” She mumbled as if she was speaking to my cock and not to me. “Now, I really shouldn’t be doing this, but I need you inside me!”

With a quick, deft motion, her scrub pants were pushed down and flicked off her foot, her top disappointing me by instantly falling down to obstruct my view of her womanhood, but the scent of her arousal immediately made itself known as it filled the room and caressed my nostrils. She hoisted a knee on the bed, pulled herself up, lifted her other leg over my waist to straddle me, and her hand reached down to grasp my cock, aim it at her entrance and push it home as she slowly sank down.

If there were ever any doubt at her level of arousal, the incredibly wet tightness of her sex would have instantly dismissed them as she slowly impaled herself on my dick. “Big…” she breathed breathlessly – if that’s even possible. “so fucking big!” she held herself still for a few seconds allowing her pussy to acclimatize itself to the new intruder. Her mind was howling in pleasure, small, almost undetectable orgasms rippling through her body as the sensations she had been envisioning for so long finally came to life.

Finally, she came to her senses, no longer completely consumed by the feelings emanating from our coupling. Her eyes flashed at me, a look of desire, awe, and, strangely, gratitude. Even though I was almost motionless in her efforts so far, I was allowing her to live out a fantasy that she had never considered until meeting me. Living out her fantasies, I quickly learned, was not something that any of her previous lovers had shown much interest in. Of course, there was no way I could normally have known that and there was no way that she knew that I was aware of that now, but the feeling was there, and neither of us was going to argue with it.

She lifted herself up, almost removing me from her sheath, before dropping back down with a wet slap. “Oh fuck,” she muttered to herself. She repeated the motion again, another “fuck!” escaping her lips, each “fuck!” becoming more breathy with each bounce and each bounce becoming increasingly enthusiastic as she allowed herself to be consumed with the pleasure that, up until now, only I had been privileged with. Bounce, slap “fuck!”, bounce, slap “fuck!”, bounce, slap, “Fuck!” Faster and faster, harder and harder, each bounce down met with a thrust up from me, her eyes flashing open on the first one and clenching closed again as her first orgasm approached rapidly.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she whispered as loud as she dared, “oh fuck, make me cum, makemecum, makemecummakemecummakemecum… Uuuurrrggghhh yes!” her whole body tensed up, her chest flushed a bright hue of pink as she arched her back and her pussy started clamping rhythmically around my cock. She took a few moments to compose herself before she started moving again, this time grinding her pelvis into mine, her clit rubbing against my pubes and never breaking contact.

Becky had never been multi-orgasmic. She usually came once – if at all – and that was it, so as far as she was concerned, the rest of our rut would be her working to get me off. With another devilish grin, she lifted her scrub top up, for the first time exposing the thin patch of well-groomed hair above her slit, and tossed it aside. Reaching behind her back, her bra quickly followed. I had to clench my groin as hard as I could not to cum right there; her tits were stunning. Large C-cups of teardrop-shaped perfection, topped with dollar-sized, goose-pimpled areola and rock-hard, pencil eraser-sized nipples jutting out into the warm air. She noticed me staring, giggled – and also warmed by my appreciative gaze – took both of my hands and placed them on the promised land of her chest as her grinding intensified.

I groped her tits, squeezing the soft, pliable flesh with wanton need, and pinched her nipples, not hard, but hard enough for her to notice and elicit another guttural groan. Her thoughts telling me that I could go a little harder than that if I were feeling brave… I was feeling brave, so happily obliged, her mind melting under the combined pleasure from her nipples and pussy yet singing in the knowledge of her finally finding someone who knew how to fuck properly. She closed her eyes.

You would normally think that a woman’s mind drifting to another place while you fucked would be off-putting, especially if you could see those thoughts, but the visual imagery coming from Becky’s mind was pure erotic filth! She had known from the start that I would never be able to give her what she truly wanted in my condition. It was simply not physically possible, but what she truly wanted was something to behold!

The images came thick and fast. A bedroom I didn’t recognize with a large double bed, her laying on her back on the edge of it, her legs spread as wide as she could hold them, me feasting on her cunt – her word, not mine – and standing up, her juices spread across my face. She would pull me down, kiss me hard, licking the remnants of her pleasure off my stubbly skin – “she likes stubble, I’ll have to remember that” – then lining myself up with her dripping hole and pounding into her as hard as I could. She would scream and howl in pleasure, pulling her legs back as far as they could, almost behind her own ears, as I pummeled her dripping sex, I wouldn’t cum in her, she loved the feeling, but she wanted it dirty! I would whip out my cock at the last minute; she would dive off the bed and onto her knees in front of me, engulfing me to the root in one motion and, once again, tasting herself on me. I would roar out my orgasm just in time for her to pull me out of her mouth. She would close her eyes, keep her mouth open and accept everything I had to give her, letting it land wherever it landed. She wanted to be covered. She wanted it all over her face, her tongue, and in her hair. She wanted to be able to smell me on her skin for as long as she could.

Her body trembled as another small orgasm crested in her pussy, the contractions on my cock pulling me out of her fantasies. By the time I had gone back in, they had changed; now we were in a kitchen, she was cooking food, and I came over unannounced. I walked up behind her. She was wearing a skirt, I lifted it up and flipped it over her back. Of course, she wasn’t wearing panties… she never wears panties at home.

I spanked her hard. Her knees were trembling in anticipation as I fished my monster cock out of my pants. I hadn’t come over to be romantic. This wasn’t a date… I was there to fuck! To use her cunt for my own pleasure, and she was grateful to be along for the ride; she was already wet, and she could feel her juices dripping down her leg as I lined my dick up and rammed it in. She wanted it hard! She wanted it so hard that her pussy ached the next morning, she wanted to be sore! She wanted me to fuck her until her legs gave out, but this wasn’t about her. This was about me! And she would take whatever the fuck I gave her! But I gave her everything. I pounded into her, harder and harder, faster and faster, both of us speeding towards our mutual release…

Another orgasm crashed into her body, ripping us both out of her fantasies. Her eyes glazed over as a silent scream escaped her lips, and my groin was bathed in warm fluids. When her eyes refocused, they looked down on me with awe. She had found her man, and she was going to make sure he came back for more. “Don’t cum in me,” she whispered breathlessly, “I want it in my mouth!”

“I’m getting close.” I replied through gritted teeth. I was honestly surprised I had lasted this long. Her fantasies alone would normally be enough to send me over the edge but coupled with the pulsing ripples of her climaxing pussy, they were enough to get me within a hair’s breadth of finishing.

“Fuck, you feel good!”

She leaned forward, her pendulous tits rubbing against my chest as her lips pressed into mine, her tongue demanding access to my mouth to wrestle mine for a few seconds before she lifted up slightly. “Does that feel good, baby?” she purred, fully sated and amazed that I hadn’t exploded long ago, “Does my tight little pussy feel good?”

I could only nod.

“Do you like fucking my slutty little mouth and my dripping wet cunt?”

“Oh fuck.” I whimpered, my cock twitching at the use of the expletive,

“Does my cunt make you wanna cum?... I am going to take it all in my mouth! I am going to swallow every last drop!” she tormented me, annunciating every syllable.

“I’m there!” I announced with barely a second to spare, “I’m gonna cum!”

She moved faster than I ever thought possible. In a flash, she was back on her feet on the side of the bed, her mouth attaching itself to my cock and engulfing me in a single breath. My toes curled, fireworks went off behind my tightly shut eyes, my back arched, and my cock expanded as I took my last breath… and then released. I didn’t cum. I erupted! Eight long weeks without release, nothing like this in the twenty years before that, visions of this sexual goddess’s fantasies echoing through my mind all culminated in rope after rope after powerful rope of cum exploding from my cock and into Becky’s mouth. An appreciative moan purred from her throat as she took as much as I had to give… and I had a lot to give. She held me between her lips, her tongue playing on my head as the aftershocks of my orgasm flexed my cock, depositing the last of my seed into her mouth.

Her hand came up, gently squeezing my balls for the last of my essence, circling my shaft, and dragging it up my length and onto her tongue. She savored me, her mind a blaze of pleasure and satisfaction as she allowed herself to taste me; not just let me cum in her mouth, but really taste me. Her tongue swirled around my cock, not to give me more pleasure before I became too sensitive but to move my semen to different parts of her tongue, so each of her taste buds was bathed in my scent. She allowed it to fill her nose. She wanted to be reminded of this feeling – and our coupling – for as long as possible. She wanted to bury her fingers into her thoroughly used and well-sated twat as soon as she got home and still be able to taste me while she was doing it. A man’s cum was the most intimate part of him, and drinking it, making it part of you without the biological function of procreation, was the most intimate act a woman could give to that man… that Becky could give to me.

It was only the softening of my member that prompted her to swallow. In one large gulp, it was gone, her mind reeling in delight at the aftertaste and the promise of its longevity. Her eyes, no longer consumed with their task, flashed up to me, both them and her lips smiling in euphoric happiness.

“That was incredible,” I breathed, still waiting for my heart to stop pounding in my chest.

“For you and me both.” She grinned. She looked down at her feet, found her top, and lifted it up to check the time. “I’ve got about ten minutes to get back,” she sighed, giving my flaccid cock a gentle kiss before tucking him back under the sheets and making to dress herself. “I’ll leave the beard trimmer and razor here for you. We aren’t allowed to use razors on patients…” We both burst into laughter at the absurdity that that was the rule she chose to follow.

It took another few minutes for us to repeat the roll maneuver again so she could reattach my robe, make me decent for any visitors I may have later, and check her own appearance before she sauntered back up to the bed. “That was amazing,” she beamed. “If you ever need more help, make sure you let me know.” With a wink and smile, she sashayed out of the room, the seductive sway of her ass not as intentional this time, just a side effect of the glow that filled her very being, a glow that she had not felt before but instinctively knew was the glow of being thoroughly well fucked. It was a glow she had every intention of getting from me again.

As the door swung shut, I slumped back into the bed.

“So, Pete… it turns out that you can read people’s minds. You should probably be far more concerned by this fact than you actually are. On the upside, you have just been fucked senseless by the hottest chick you could ever have hoped to score in the old days, so there’s that. Guess we’ll have to see where that leads you. In the meantime, better get shaving… and don’t forget the stubble.”

I picked up the trimmer and mirror and got to work.