Nun Is Better

“Who is the next patient, Nurse Ratchit?” I asked.

“That’s Cratchett, Doctor Livingston. You know that,” the crone replied. “Next you see Sister Agatha. She wouldn’t tell me what her problem was. Please explain to her that I must know these things. And don’t take too long with her. It’s the end of the day; all the other staff and patients are gone. You have hospital rounds still to do.”

Battle-ax Cratchett was the main female in my life. My wife had suffered terribly leading to her early death too years before. This being 1957, the town doctor just couldn’t up and start dating. All the eligible women were my patients. I was too busy to travel up the interstate to a bigger city, and knew better than to try the truck stop hookers. Celibacy was my only option. After a few breast exams, my cock would stretch my pants so tightly I often had to retreat to my chart room to jerk off. Perhaps I should succumb to the fine tradition of doctors marrying their nurses.

It was never Cratchett that featured in my masturbatory musings however. White starched linen and support hose just never did it for me. My late wife had been a nurse in training when we met, but it was never her uniform that excited me. It was knowing that she wore the skimpiest panties underneath. Or, horror of horrors, nothing at all.

That had been decades ago, in the Roaring Twenties. A sixty-year-old professional ought not to have such thoughts in the Fifties. The Cold war had frozen morals.

The next patient arrived.

Sister Agatha’s shyness had offended Cratchett. Agatha was the 40-year-old virginal sister of the parish priest. She had recently returned home from the convent to assume a teaching post at the St. Onan’s Academy for Wayward Boys.

She had struggled with returning to society after 20 years of contemplative living. I had provided several sessions of counseling to calm her fears. In the course of those sessions, she had confided a terrible secret. Her Mother Superior had sent her out of the convent after Agatha has been caught ringing a hunchback’s bell. Shamefully, her confession had caused a surge of blood to my loins. My eyes had bored in on her heaving shelf of bosom. At that moment, I had really just wanted to ask, “What sort of bra is that? One of those new Jane Russell models?”

I had restrained myself, but my cock was hard as mahogany. I had insisted on Agatha leaving the consultation room before I stood. Fortunately, I was able to stroke myself to orgasm quickly, so was not late for hospital rounds. No one suspected that sweet Agatha now was the star of my fantasies.

I entered the exam room to find Agatha lying prepped on the table, feet in the stirrups. Cratchett was present, as usual. “What seems to be the trouble?” I asked in my best doctor voice. Instinctively, as I had for thousands of exams in forty years of medicine, I squatted on my stool and slid under her skirt. Unlike most patients, Agatha’s panties remained in place. These were no baggy bloomers like I expected. Instead, they were skimpy silk briefs, with tiny red roses. Exactly what my wife wore the night we took each other’s virginity. Cratchett heard my sigh.

“Yes, Doctor?” she prompted. “If it’s the panties being on, she insisted. I assured her you needed to see her naked, but the very word shocked her. Modesty is fine, I told her, but not time wasting, especially your time. I mean, I would never do that.”

Cratchett would also, I assumed, never wear silk panties. I was sure her generous rump kept that smooth curve with the help of a serious girdle. Not that I ever copped a feel to check. The very thought made me shudder. Her shelf of bosom must benefit, I knew from one of those form flattering ‘iron maiden’ bras favoured by chesty matrons. The ones they thought combined support and discretion, but which actually screamed ‘look at these’.

I shuddered again. Oh well, I thought, maybe I could negotiate a celibate marriage with Cratchett, and fuck Agatha on the side. Not likely. The thought, however, made my mouth water and my groin tighten.

I covered up by asking Cratchett for a better light. To her horror, none was set up in this room. She huffed out, looking for a porter to torture. Since Agatha was exposed, she gently slammed the door. The explosive bang startled me. I jumped on my stool. My nose buried itself in Agatha’s crotch. It was a pleasant smell. “Rosewater?” I asked before thinking.

“Yes, Doc.”

“You never did say why you are here.”

“I waited. I’m so happy you sent that nurse away. She is such a nosy bitch. If I had to talk about VD with her here, I’d die. Well, I might die anyhow. Can you die from syph, Doc?”

I recovered from my shock from her blunt talk to explain how modern medicine offered a cure if VD was caught early. “But, you, how…” I stupidly asked.

“Tommy More, the quarterback. That boy has a cock as big as a horse. At first, he was happy just to have me suck him, like I used to do for the sexton of the convent. But after awhile, I gave in and let him fuck me. Huge mistake. Now he’s got a drip. And I’m all itchy.”

I pulled Agatha’s panties aside. Even without better light, I saw that the rash was abrasions, not VD. I reached for some salve. “This should cure you. But you need to be more careful.”

“I don’t know how to rub it on Doc. Will you do it?”

“We should wait for Cratchett, let her do it.”

“I will not have that woman touch me. She looks like the dykes at the convent, Mother Superior’s pets, always trying to fondle me, having their way with the novices. It was disgusting. Every time they licked my pussy, I went hunting for a nice hard cock to suck, to make sure I was still straight. I so wanted to try fucking one, but that was how I got sent to the nunnery in the first place. It was the last stop. Getting kicked out of there, I’d end up at the truck stop; my daddy told me when he sent me there. He’s probably right. Who would want a whore like me?”

Without more prompting, I stood and folded the sheet back, exposing Agatha. I worked the ointment around Agatha’s privates underneath the panties. The rustle of the silk reminded me of my wife. My cock stiffened. I kept my eyes on Agatha’s groin; I feared that eye contact would reveal my arousal. My thumb pressed dangerously close to Agatha’s clit. I grazed it, as if by accident. It popped out of its hood and stiffened. My behaviour shocked me. Cratchett might return any moment. As unlikely as it seemed given her bawdy talk, Agatha might scream to cover up her unchaste nature. I could be destroyed professionally. All for copping a cheap feel. I stopped rubbing momentarily, my fingers grazing Agatha’s vagina.

The rustling of silk did not stop though.

Looking towards the sound, I saw Agatha had opened her blouse. Her breasts were displayed in a red silk lace bra unlike anything I had seen on any woman before. I was so aroused, I don’t know what point I stopped massaging in cream, and resumed stimulating Agatha’s clitoris. My cock grew so large the buttons popped off my pants, bouncing around the room.

Agatha by this point was panting loudly, her feet pushing against the stirrups. She reached out, and grabbed my erect cock, pulling it towards her face. A woman’s touch was too much. My cum exploded all over Agatha’s face. As it did so, her tongue darted out to catch a few drops.

My fingers thrust fully into the nun’s pussy as she humped up off the exam table. With a single scream, I felt what I knew was am orgasm crescendo through her loins. Quickly, she gasped. “Is that what they call cumming, Doc? I’ve never felt anything so good in my life. I love sex more than God.”

I had no chance to reply to this blasphemy. Cratchett burst into the room. “I heard a scream,” she said. Looking around, she quickly sized up the situation. Suddenly, without warning, she did something that redefined her character for me forever after.

Cratchett slapped Agatha across the face, and used rubber gloves to tie Agatha’s arms to the table. “He’s mine, you slut. I always knew that your goody two shoes routine was just an act.”

“Yes, nurse. I deserve to be punished.”

Cratchett responded by ripping her white uniform blouse open, her buttons going to hunt for mine in the far-flung corners of the room. She wasn’t wearing the iron maiden bra I expected. For the second time in the day, I was aroused by a presentation of soft pillowy bosom in lace. Cratchett shoved herself between Agatha’s widespread legs, leaning forward. “Lick my tits like you lick cock, slut.”

Agatha may have disliked the dykes at the convent, but they had disciplined her well. She swallowed Cratchett’s right nipple like a thirsty newborn, then buried her face in the valley between the mounds, finally rolling the nurse’s left nipple in clockwise circles with her tongue.

Cratchett reached behind herself. Her right hand found the side of Agatha’s thigh where it spilled off the examining table. SMACK. Cratchett spanked the naughty nun. SMACK. She slapped her other buttock. Agatha strained against the restraints. “What do you say for yourself, slut?”

SMACK again on the first side, now reddening brightly. Silence. But then, Agatha’s mouth was full of Cratchett’s tit.

SMACK.

“Who does Doc belong to?”

“No one. First cum, first served.” Agatha had guts. For this, she received a slap across the face. “I’ve had enough of being told what to do.”

Cratchett slapped Agatha one more time, but then, her hands started fondling the Sister’s pussy. Cratchett kissed her way down Agatha’s body. The punishment was not yet over. Cratchett grabbed a clamp off the instrument tray, and squeezed it around Agatha’s engorged left nipple. Agatha gasped, and then moaned. The pain was perhaps muted by Cratchett nibbling Agatha’s upstanding clit. “Mmmmmmmmmm. That feels better than Doc’s salve.” Agatha murmured. Cratchett silenced her by a swift hard bite on the labia, then a clamping of the right tit.

“Must admit it tastes fine too. The salve is minty. And you don’t taste skanky. But you still are an upitty tart.”

SMACK. The sound rang off the walls.

“Ouch. That hurt. Do it again, please.”

SMACK. Cratchett spanked the other buttock.

My cock responded by suddenly stiffening. I automatically stroked myself, watching this strange mixture of catfight and stag movie. Without conscious thought, I took the step or two needed to reach Cratchett. From behind her, I lifted her sensible cotton skirt, slowly, not interrupting her laving of Agatha’s swollen pussy. Underneath her clothes, her expansive ass looked unbelievably firm. The garters holding up the support hose were not affixed to the expected latex. Instead, the garter belt was dainty and transparent, topping a pussy swaddled not in a sensible girdle, but by fancy lavender silk decorated in a floral pattern. I ran my hand appreciatively over the silk and moaned.

“Like those, Doc? French. I order through a shop in Hollywood. They also mail me these special half corsets to hold my tummy tight.” Pausing from her attention to Agatha, she ripped the rest of her uniform off. I saw the garment she described cinching her midsection. It was a shocking scarlet, trimmed in black lace. My late wife had owned a full corset. The only thing which had got me harder than seeing her in it was helping her out of it. I started untying Cratchett, as she dove face first into Agatha.

Agatha mewed kittenishly.

My cock responded even harder, begging for more attention. I stroked it slowly a few more times, fondling Cratchett’s pussy through the silk. She was damp before I touched her. My first caress of her loins released a torrent of wetness. My fingers slid effortless inside her. The silk was suddenly sodden, ruined and just a nuisance. I ripped the panties off brusquely. Cratchett moaned, unable to speak with Agatha’s clit half way to her tonsils.

I rammed my cock into Cratchett’s waiting wetness in a single solid stroke, driving her face against Agatha’s pelvis. “Ouch,” Agatha exclaimed.

“Hush, slut.” Cratchett tapped Agatha harshly, but, strangely tenderly, on the rump. Agatha caressed Cratchett’s head, knocking her nurse’s cap free. Cratchett’s hair fell out of the bobby pins. We quickly found a rhythm. I timed my strokes to allow Cratchett to explore Agatha, wandering away from her clit as the nun steered her tormenter to all the tender spots. Occasionally, Cratchett would spank Agatha gently, almost as a reminder. We continued for several minutes. My earlier orgasm increased my staying power. After a short session of furious fucking I pumped a small but spermy load deep inside Cratchett’s cavity.

I backed out of Cratchett, leaving her to finish Agatha. I quickly phoned the hospital to get my rounds covered until morning. I leaned against a supply cabinet, watching Agatha’s hips jumping off the examining table, restrained by the stirrups and the improvised ties. Cratchett gave her one more hard spank and she screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Agatha collapsed on the table, satiated.

We all caught our breath. Cratchett untied Agatha. They approached me, holding each other’s hand, grinning. Each grabbed a hand, and led me to the table. Before I could protest, they had me tied to the table. Cratchett began licking my moist limp cock.

Agatha slipped her disheveled habit completely off, then removed her wimple. She released a cascade of shimmering auburn hair that flooded luxuriously down her back. She stepped around to my side. I stroked her hair, her back, and her sides. Just as I started fingering her pussy, Cratchett spoke, “you haven’t tasted Doc yet, slut. Bend over here and take a taste.”

Agatha obeyed. First she licked up, down and around my shaft with her tongue out of her mouth and flattened, as Cratchett held my cock upright, while tickling my balls. Then Agatha swirled her tongue completely once around the head, finally teasing the slit at the tip before swallowing my member deeply into her throat. I started to stiffen an amazing third time. Despite my compulsive masturbation, two years of celibacy apparently had trained my hormones well. I felt as fertile as a teenager.

Cratchett’s spare hand joined mine in caressing Agatha’s mane. She however did not caress Agatha’s body so much as tease it. Tweaking a nipple. A light spank on the bum. A sudden pinch of the tummy. Agatha bobbed excitedly on my organ.

Just as I really relaxed in the restraints and started to enjoy this, Agatha lifted her head and spoke to Cratchett. “This is yummy. I love your taste. You haven’t cum yet, mistress, that isn’t fair.”

“And you haven’t been fucked yet. All good sluts deserve a good fuck after they accept punishment. Since Doc is tied down, you climb on his cock, and I’ll sit on his face.”

I began to speak, but wisely decided not to. I realized I really had no say in the matter.

Agatha’s pussy was tight as a teenager’s despite Cratchett’s oral activity. I could tell she had only taken a few cocks inside her. She rode me like pony. I contributed by bouncing my hips up off the table. Occasionally, I felt fingers around my cock and balls, or caressing Agatha’s clit, but could not tell to whom they belonged. My view was obscured by Cratchett’s pussy planted on my face. I had eaten my wife many times, but had never tasted her after I came. The aroma took getting used to, but once I got past that, the taste was delicious. My access to her inside was aided as she leaned towards Agatha. I could hear Agatha occasionally squeaking in shock, so I guessed Cratchett continued to tease her with jolts of pain.

Cratchett slid her pussy feverishly on my tongue. It was impossible for me to stay connected to her clit, or any other one part. I simply licked quickly wherever I could reach. An outer lip here. Vaginal wall there. A quick slurp of clit. I varied my pace and direction. Cratchett’s exuberant moaning suggested I was getting it right.

Agatha came first, followed shortly after by a huge roar from Cratchett. They both collapsed on top of me.

“So who does Doc belong to, slut?”

“He belongs to you mistress. But if I’m a good naughty slut, will you share him with me?”

“Terrific idea, actually. I’m ovulating right now, so Doc had better marry me right way, in case he scored a direct hit on his first try. Then, when the school term ends, you resign your orders. Our hiring you as nanny will seem like we took sympathy on you.”

“Hey, don’t I get a say on this?” I asked.

“No,” they replied in unison.

This story began as a “Gloveslapping exercise” in the Author’s Hangout of the Literotica Forum, and a shorter version was posted there. Thanks to perdita for the slap and bridgitkeeney , editor extraordinaire.