Desire (10 page)

“That’s so good, Jim,” I told him, pulling him up by his hair. His face shone with my juices, and he looked pleased, like a kid who’s just been given a gold star by a teacher he has a crush on. “But I’d like you inside me now.”

I let go of Jim’s hair, turned around so that I was facedown on the hood of the car, and eagerly anticipated his fleshy spear. The fumbling of Jim’s fingers on his belt buckle bought me some time to calm my pulse and make furtive eye contact with Paul. His dick quivered in his fist, and he was stroking himself real slow, tugging at his balls. I know he always does this when he’s trying to keep himself from coming, trying to eke out the pleasure, and I was satisfied that he was enjoying this experience as much as I was. I felt the soft warm tip of Jim’s prick poking around at my thighs, trying to locate my opening. He jabbed at my ass, which felt delicious, and any other day I’d have loved more of it, but right then it was my hungry cunt that needed to be satisfied. I raised my hips a little, spread my legs as wide as they would go, and when I heard him gasp, I knew he’d seen the pink hole, ready and waiting for him. My tits were pressed down on the hood of the car, pleasantly squashed beneath me when Jim finally penetrated me. It was bigger and fatter than I thought—the first cock, apart from Paul’s, I’d had inside me for years. I could hear Jim’s high, tight balls slapping on his thighs and mine as he pounded my pussy, screwing his dick all the way in, pulling it out, skewering me again, until I felt overwhelmed with the fullness of it.

Confident now, Jim pulled me back by my hips, ripped his dick out of me mercilessly so that it tugged my tender flesh, flipped me over, and threw me back down on the hood. We were face to face, and I could see Jim’s dick for the first time. His jeans were only down as far as his hips, and his cock was the crowning glory of an almost unbearably perfect body. Jim was like an ancient Greek ideal of male physical perfection: long, lean, and athletic, with hips that tapered in at the tops of his thighs. His cock and balls were the same light tan color as the rest of his body, his full bush the only patch of hair—even what I saw of his legs was smooth and hairless. For some reason I found this an incredible turn-on. I was enjoying the view too much to look at Paul, but I wondered what he was thinking as he saw the two of us. Was Paul horny for this fit young man, or for me, or for the dynamite combination of both of us?

Jim’s expression was deadly serious. His hands were on the inside of my thighs, forcing them as wide apart as they could go. I knew he could see a dripping slit and an eager, erect clit both competing for his attention. He bent down to play with my breasts, not suckling or gently cupping them as a man of greater experience would have done but frantically shaking them, mauling them, transfixed by the way they moved like jelly on a plate. It felt exhilarating, but I needed him inside me. I reached up to Jim, placed a hand on each of those snaky hips, and pulled his pelvis toward mine, guiding his pulsing hard-on toward my sopping gash. He slid in easily this time, and penetration was twice as delicious and intense the second time around, because this way he was at just the right angle for the top of his dick to massage my clit. He banged harder at first but soon worked out from my moans and my reactions that the way to get me off—and to stop him coming too soon as well—was to exchange this pounding for a slow twist and grind of the hip bones. These gentle undulations did more to propel me toward orgasm than anything else. I felt the preorgasmic convulsions rock my body and I relaxed; it was going to happen.

Seconds before I came, I turned my head toward Paul again. I wanted to heighten my climax by watching him. I saw his dick in one hand and his camera phone in the other, filming the action. He was not bothering to slow himself down anymore. He was tugging his own prick fast and furious, and his whole body shook as he approached the point of no return. I breathed deeply, allowing the climax to wash over me, lifting me up, waves of pleasure enveloping my body. When I had my orgasm, I made a point of keeping my eyes wide open, looking straight into the camera as I wailed and moaned like a wild animal. Paul moved toward us as his spunk shot across the hood of the car and decorated my face, neck, and tits.

At the sight of Paul’s come all over me, Jim couldn’t hold back. Ripping his dick out of my hole, he took it in his hand and gave himself one final squeeze before he unloaded a jet of warm, white liquid on my belly and the hood. I rubbed the liquid into my skin, mixing Paul’s spunk with Jim’s, massaging myself as though it was an expensive body lotion.

 

 

 

The experience
was so intense that we were all lost for words. We dressed, got back in the car, and continued our journey, each of us lost in our own version of the experience we’d just had.

We drove in silence for a few miles. Eventually Jim, looking far younger than his twenty-odd years, fell asleep in the backseat. Paul and I whispered excitedly together.

“I can’t believe we did it!” I said to him.

“You were so hot,” he whispered back. “I can’t wait to get back and watch the video I took of his dick in your hole and my spunk all over your face. Christ, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.”

“It’s almost a shame he’s still here,” I said, lowering my voice and glancing back at the sleeping student. “Funny, now that I’ve fucked him, I kind of want to get rid of him.”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “But what can we say? We used you—now please find your own way back home? A promise is a promise.”

“You’re right,” I replied, giggling. “Although he might not mind. I mean, he’s got a great story to tell his friends now, hasn’t he?”

Eventually we got a little sleepy and decided that we needed a coffee to perk us up for the rest of the journey. We spotted another service station (a fully operational one this time) and pulled up to stretch our legs and refresh ourselves before the last leg. As the car braked, Jim woke up.

“Oh, fuck,” he said sheepishly, embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep. “Sorry. Are we there yet?”

“Just stopping for a coffee,” said Paul. “Do you want one?”

“I’ll be okay with a can of Coke,” Jim said. The three of us ambled over to the café, where Paul and I ordered coffees while Jim bought a Coke and drank it sitting outside. We took advantage of his absence to snuggle into a booth and replay as much of the video on Paul’s phone as we dared. I felt a fresh seep of moisture between my legs as I watched myself remove my bra, teasing the poor young student.

“God,” said Paul, sensing my arousal, and slid his hand between my legs. “I can’t wait to get you home. I’m ready to go again.”

“Oh! You’re like a young man of twenty, now!” We both started laughing.

When we finished our coffee and returned to the car, Jim was nowhere to be found and his backpack was missing from the backseat. Underneath the windshield wiper was a note.

“Thank you for the best experience of my life,” it read. “I will never forget it. Met some girls who are traveling to my campus and I’m going to hitch back with them. But I will be thinking of you.”

I folded the note into my pocket as a reminder and slid into the driver’s seat. Paul climbed into the passenger side and we drove home.

N
o real nurse ever dressed like this, with stockings and garters under a miniskirt that barely covers her modesty. As I squeeze myself into my costume, I catch myself in the mirror: a nymphet nurse from a slapstick film pouts back. I’m not used to showing this much leg, and I’m certainly not used to wearing stockings and a garter belt. It’s rather ridiculous and highly impractical, but I can see why so many people find it sexy. The tight, satin belt is restrictive, and the fact that my legs are encased in nylon net up to the thigh but that the air can caress my ass and inner thighs, leaving my most private areas exposed, is really rather thrilling. I slip my feet into stupidly high, black patent shoes and smooth down my frilly white apron. I love costume parties, but I’ve never had an outfit quite this attention-grabbing and sexy before. I hail a cab and climb in, a sexy nurse speeding through the city streets on the way to what promises to be a fabulous party.

Lucy’s party is in the penthouse bar of a huge entertainment complex on the river. I follow the banging music blaring out of the rooftop suite. Just to make sure I have the right venue, I also follow a gorilla and Char-lie Chaplin up the stairs.

The party is buzzing, and Lucy is dressed as Cleo patra.

“I’ll have to introduce you to my colleague, Jay,” she says and points across the room to a man in a white coat with a stethoscope slung around his neck. He can take my temperature any time, I think. He’s gorgeous, with thick dark hair that falls just below his neck and straight black eyebrows, a strong nose, and a full mouth.

“I’m glad you’re here,” says Lucy, looking around at all the very drunk people dancing in the middle of the floor. “I’ve got a feeling there are going to be some casualties tonight.” Some more guests arrive and she’s off, screeching hellos.

I’m too shy to introduce myself to Jay without Lucy as a go-between. It’s nuts, because our matching costumes mean I’ve got the perfect excuse to go and speak to him, but I just can’t bring myself to. I down a glass of wine to give me courage and light a cigarette. Then I hear a voice over my shoulder.

“I’m afraid that as your doctor I must recommend that you stop smoking.” Without seeing his face, I know it’s him, Jay. “Not only is it very bad for your health, but it sets a terrible example when members of the medical profession smoke in public.”

I laugh, turn around, and see that up close he’s even sexier than he looked from across the room. He’s taller than me but not too tall, and his face is gorgeous: deep green eyes set in pale olive skin but with high coloring in his cheeks and lips like two petals, more feminine than masculine, contrasting beautifully with the trace of stubble on his chin. Under that shapeless white coat I can make out broad shoulders and slender hips. I take in all this in a second.

“I do apologize,” I say, “but I’ve had a terribly hard day at the hospital, and this is the first chance I’ve had to relax. You doctors may be able to boss us nurses around on the job, but here you have no authority over me.”

He laughs, too, and says, “In that case I’ll join you,” as he whips a pack out of his pocket. “Hang on, I know I’ve got a lighter in here somewhere,” he says, fumbling.

“Allow me,” I say, offering him my box of matches. When he leans in I can smell him for a split second, and he smells good, sweet and creamy, the way some men do. He pulls away to drag on his cigarette, and all I can do is think about how I can get him to lean in close again.

“I’m Dr. Jay,” he says. “Thank you for the light.”

“Nurse Leila,” I reply. I notice that he’s holding a white plastic briefcase with a red cross on the front. “So what’s in your bag?” I ask.

He smiles and then flips it open. It’s a children’s toy medical case with dummy plastic blood-pressure kits, a molded-plastic toy syringe, and a reflex hammer made out of soft rubber. Looking closer at the stethoscope around his neck, I see that that’s fake, too.

“I never travel without it,” he says. “You never know when someone with a mysterious illness will need to be diagnosed.”

“Oh,” I say, returning his sexy smile. “And do you think there’s anything the matter with me, Dr. Jay?”

“Well, Nurse Leila,” he replies. “At first glance, you appear to be a specimen of rare physical perfection in robust health. Apart from your evil smoking habit, of course.” He sips his beer and takes a drag on a cigarette as he tells me this, and I giggle, blushing, because he called me perfect.

“But of course to make any kind of real diagnosis, I’d need to do a more thorough hands-on examination of you. Will you allow me?”

“Of course,” I say.

“You must come into the light first,” says Jay, leading me over to what is perhaps the darkest corner of the room, a little alcove with a picture window that looks out on the river. He begins by breathing on his stethoscope. “To warm it up,” he says. “It can be very cold, and I’d hate to make you jump.” It’s not cold; rather, it’s warm to the touch as he slides it down between my breasts. His fingers close over it as he pushes it deep into my right breast, hooks it into his ears, and pretends to concentrate. His fingers on my flesh are warming and arousing. The flesh of both my breasts begins to tingle, and my lips buzz; I know that if this carries on, my pussy will start to throb, and then I’ll be in real trouble. I clear my throat.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I think you’ll find that the heart is on the left side of the body.”