The Nurse

I flicked channels. Up one took me to the French news channel that I couldn't understand. Even so I paused briefly, my gaze flicking between the two news anchors, wondering vaguely if they had ever fucked. No, I decided. He was too old for her, and she looked... not unattractive, not boring, but... too professional. But then again, this was France. Who knew how they did things here.

I flicked channels again, up to the pay-per-view channel. Posters for various French films that I didn't recognise went past on the screen, while the number to call flashed at the bottom. Only seven euros per film. I flicked again. Back to the news. And again. Back to the pay-per-view. The hospital's tactics were obvious. Patients had to pay through the nose for the films, or be content with nothing but news for the duration of their stay. I stared sourly at the television, unimpressed. Even if I could afford seven euros per film, I couldn't understand French. It was going to be a long stay.

Earlier that day I had been on top of the world. Literally. I recalled the phenomenal view that we'd had from the top of the mountain that morning, and the feeling of crisp snow under my skis on the first run of the day. My wistful smile quickly vanished as I recalled panic seizing me when a snowboarder cut across my path; desperation as I swerved wildly to avoid the collision; pain as my shoulder slammed into a tree on the side of the piste; different, more intense pain as my ski caught in netting as I fell, and my knee twisted hard and horribly.

I'd been airlifted off the mountain straight to hospital, and now, several hours of operation later, I was settling in to the recovery. My shoulder had merely been dislocated, but my knee was fucked up something serious. The French surgeon had been unable to convey to me in English exactly what was wrong with it, but he had managed to get across that I wasn't going anywhere for a while. A week and a half of bed rest in hospital, and then most likely several months on crutches. It was bad.

Since the surgeon's briefing, no one had come in to my room. It had been about an hour, and already I was getting restless. Should've brought a book, I told myself. I looked at the clock on the wall. I had been told I could eat at 9pm, and it was now almost 9.30. I heard a knock on the door, and it was opened by a young nurse with long black hair. She was a pleasant change from the two rather miserable-looking day nurses who had come in with the doctor earlier.

"Bonsoir!" she said breezily, wheeling a small trolley into the room with food and water on a tray.

"Bonsoir," I returned lamely.

"Français?" she asked. I shook my head and made a face. "OK. I try to speak English for you. My name is Danielle," she told me cheerfully. Her accent was distinct but not too thick and her friendly, melodic voice made me warm to her. I smiled at her as she brought the trolley over and she smiled back. She was really very pretty, with big, dark eyes and full lips, both of which were made all the more attractive by her lovely smile. Her simple nurse's outfit revealed little of her figure, but I could see that she was slim, and as she came around the side of the bed I saw elegant legs below her white skirt.

"So", she began haltingly, as she searched for the right words. "You have uh... pain?" I shook my head. She pointed to two pills on the tray. "For if you have pain, you take these." I nodded.

"If you need uh... pipi, if you need toilet, then you do not try to move." she looked at me sternly. I tried to look obedient. She took something from the lower shelf of the trolley, and laid it on my bedside table. It looked like a kind of flat jug that tapered into a thinner tube. Clearly this was my toilet.

"You take this, and use it for pipi," she instructed me. I looked at her doubtfully. How was I going to hold the jug and aim with one of my arms in a sling?

"Sorry, but..." I gestured towards my left arm in its sling. She immediately grasped the situation.

"Ah oui, sorry, sorry." She pointed at the button on the side of my bed which would call a nurse. "You need toilet, then you call for me. I will help you." I nodded my reluctant assent. This was going to be awkward. Oh well. Better her than one of the disdainful nurses from earlier. At least Danielle was friendly. I had been needing the toilet for a while as well.

"So. You eat. I come back in twenty minutes to wash you," she said, and turned to leave.

"Wait", I said, and she turned back expectantly. Dammit she had nice eyes. God knows I wanted her to like me, and yet here I was, about to ask her to help me take a piss.

"I need to go now," I said. "To the toilet." I saw comprehension in her eyes, and something else, possibly apprehension, or even anticipation. She came round by the side of the bed again, and delicately pulled back my bed cover on the side opposite the injured knee, down to below my groin. I was wearing nothing under my hospital gown, and, embarrassed, I reached under and grasped my limp cock with my one good hand. She had got the strange jug thing and, pushing the covers back further, she put it between my legs.

I resigned myself to the utter lack of privacy, and pulled my gown up so I could see what I was doing. I pointed my flaccid cock towards the opening of the jug, and she brought it closer, so that the head of my dick was just inside the opening. The proximity of her hand to my dick suddenly hit me, and I glanced up at her, regretting it even as I did it. She was not looking at me, however; her eyes were fixed on my cock.

This thought turned me on. Certainly I had nothing to be ashamed of down there, and had received compliments from girls before about my size in the past. Why shouldn't she stare. My cock twitched in its awkward position on the lip of the jug, and I was brought back to reality. She wasn't staring in arousal. She was simply making sure I didn't piss all over the bed. I cringed, hoping that she hadn't noticed the twitch, and concentrated on trying to pee.

I realised in horror that I was no longer flaccid, however. My cock was growing. I stared into the far corner of the room, concentrating, trying to force away the arousal and the thoughts that were on my mind, thoughts of her hand on my cock and my mouth kissing her soft lips. I felt her adjust the position of the jug as my cock grew, and closed my eyes, mortified. Luckily, at that point my body realised its need, and I began to pee into the jug.

The only sound in the room was the steady tinkle as I emptied my bladder into the jug. I kept my eyes fixed on the far corner of the room until I had finished, and didn't move them even then. She didn't take away the jug, however. What was she doing? I was too embarrassed to make eye contact with her, but I slowly turned my gaze back to my groin, in time to see her gently dab the end of my cock with a piece of paper towel. I gasped quietly, surprised at the unexpected contact. She finally removed the jug, and quickly replaced my gown and bed covers over my now rapidly swelling cock.

My dignity vaguely restored, I at last had the courage to look her in the face. She smiled at me, cheerful as ever and apparently unfazed, though I think I caught a hint of humour in her eyes this time, and her face was possibly a little flushed. Or was I imagining things again?

"OK. I come back in twenty minutes to wash you, yes?" I looked down and mumbled my assent. She made sure that I had my food in front of me, and then left briskly. I sighed. Shit. If I thought that was bad, wait till she was washing me. I tried to concentrate on my food, which was not nearly as bad as I'd expected, and then simply sat waiting for the knock on the door. It was a little after 10pm when it came, and Danielle breezed into the room with another trolley, this time piled with towel, flannels, and a bowel of steaming water.

I looked at her rather apprehensively, and she smiled encouragingly at me, still cheerful, still breathtaking. Even more breathtaking than before, in fact. Her eyes looked even darker, even more alluring. I saw that she was wearing eyeliner and mascara, and wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. Because she hadn't had it on before, I realised. Or definitely not that much of it.

She pulled my bedcover down to my waist, and reached behind my neck to undo the button of the hospital gown at the back. As she leaned over me I saw that the top two or three buttons of her top were unbuttoned, and all of a sudden I was looking down her top at the swelling curves of her breasts, contained in a black bra. They looked flawless, round and smooth, and big enough without hanging heavily from her chest. I gulped, and they were gone again, as she folded my hospital gown and laid it on the trolley.

I breathed out, calming myself. As she drew close again, this time with a wet washcloth, I smelt her fresh, enticing smell, mixed with the clean smell of hot water and soap.

"If it is too hot, you tell me, yes?" Her dark eyes fixed on me expectantly. Transfixed, I could barely nod. She began to wash my upper body, starting with my neck and shoulders. I couldn't stop my gaze from straying back to her, where it lingered on her silky hair before inevitably being drawn to the space down her top, and the swinging mounds that were barely centimetres from my touch. She was concentrating on washing my body, and seemed oblivious to where I was looking.

I realised too late, however, that she was going to have to wash the rest of me as well, and that the bedcovers were now hiding a much more substantial semi-erection than the one she had witnessed before. Again I fixed my eyes on the far corner of the room and tried to think boring thoughts. Even without visual distraction, however, the soft massage of the warm, wet towel on my body continually brought my thoughts back to the fact that a beautiful woman was intent on washing my completely naked body, and that it was only a matter of time before she pulled back the sheet and exposed the evidence of my arousal.

God that warm water felt good on my skin though. It was almost as if she was trying to give me a slow and gentle massage with the washcloth, at times using both hands to massage my shoulder and chest muscles through the washcloth. She leaned over the bed to reach my far shoulder and side, and I felt the weight of her breasts brushing against my chest. My cock twitched violently, pushing against the bedcovers so much that its outline was visible between my legs, the covers tight around its straining form. I prayed that Danielle was still concentrating on my upper half, and threw myself with renewed vigour into thoughts of cabbages, mathematics and the names of different types of pondlife.

It seemed to be working. Maybe the thoughts of pondlife were doing their job, or maybe I was just becoming accustomed to her touch, but my cock was not quite as hard as it had been a second ago. It was deflating, slowly but (I hoped) surely. Now she was washing my stomach, however, and I knew I had little time left. She peeled back the covers a small amount to avoid getting water on them as she passed over my navel with the wash cloth. She must have noticed the bulge only a few inches from her hands.

She stopped washing me. What was she doing? She reached back to the trolley and handed me a large and fluffy towel. Was that it? Was she not going to wash any more?

"So that you are not cold," she told me with a smile, and proceeded to unfold it for me and wrap it around my damp upper half. Then she took hold of the bed covers and pulled them down to my ankles, exposing my whole lower body from the navel down. She froze as she saw my cock, which lay, (thankfully) no longer fully hard, but still hugely engorged and very obviously aroused, across the top of my right thigh. She looked from my cock to my face, and I immediately looked away, apologising.

"Désolé," I mumbled, using one of my only French words. I heard a gentle laugh, and braved a look up. She was giving me another of her mind-blowing, cock-hardening smiles. Clearly she was neither angry nor disgusted.

"C'est pas grave... it is not a problem," she said. "It makes the washing easier." She laughed again, and then turned to the trolley to get her washcloth out of the hot water again. I contemplated her ass as she was turned away from me, and wondered what it looked like under the unflatteringly long and loose skirt. I heard her wringing the washcloth out, and she turned back to me, moving the whole trolley a little further away from the head of the bed so as to have better access to my lower half.

As she prepared to get to work, I noticed that another button on her shirt had been undone. I started, and my cock twitched involuntarily, but I was surprised. When had she done that. It could only have been when she had turned away briefly there to get the washcloth. I barely had time to process this before the warm moistness of the washcloth was again massaging my skin, starting with my thigh, and I was using all my self control to stop my cock from hardening again.

I had not forgotten the additional button, however, and was nursing a mild sense of outrage that Danielle should be deliberately making herself more sexually attractive while she had me with my cock out. As if it wasn't difficult and embarrassing enough for a beautiful woman to be washing my aroused genitals, she had to go and give me a clear view of her tits to ogle. And a clear view of her tits was practically what it was. As she leant over me, the washcloth going from one thigh through my pubic hair to the other thigh, I had a full view inside her shirt, of the mass of smooth flesh contained in the sexy black bra.

My God her tits looked good. My cock was inexorably growing again, hardening again, becoming more rigid with each heartbeat, and within twenty seconds of her washing me was again completely hard and standing erect and upright from my groin.

"You see, much easier like this!" she said laughing, and washed the area of my thigh where my cock had been lying before it had grown erect. I ignored her levity and cheer, annoyed by my knowledge that she was teasing me, and my inability to do anything about it. She bent away from me to wash further down my legs, and I finally had a chance to see her skirt pulled tight around what looked like a phenomanal ass, which was happily positioned right in front of my face.

I was distracted from the sight by the feeling of the washcloth moving over my sensitive inner thigh, rubbing and massaging me as it went. She bent low over me and told me to lift my good leg up slightly so she could wash underneath it. She worked up slowly, and then she was washing my ass cheek, massaging it as if she was a sports therapist. She turned away to rinse the washcloth again, and I had a few seconds to recover.

I needed them. My cock was throbbing, sticking out ridiculously prominently from the rest of my body, hard as rock and leaking small amounts of precum onto my stomach. I couldn't believe she was still carrying on with the washing, as opposed to breaking down in laughter or leaving in disgust.

She turned back, and again leaned down over my crotch. I felt her exhaled breath on my thigh as she attended to my ass cheek again, and was trying to relax again when suddenly I felt the washcloth, or more accurately, a finger covered by the washcloth, stroking over my asshole with surprising pressure. I started, and my cock jerked violently and powerfully, smacking the lower side of one of her tits, which were positioned in just the wrong place at that moment.

She straightened quickly, a shocked expression on her face, but I saw a barely concealed sparkle in her eye and twitches of a smirk in her mouth.

"Ah, I am sorry!" she said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It is very sensitive?"

"Quite sensitive," I answered curtly, breathing deeply. I was sure she had been deliberately sudden in her ministrations in order to provoke a reaction, as if the one that was throbbing in front of her face was not enough.

"OK, I am more careful, yes?" She bent once more over my throbbing erection, this time from the other end of the bed with her ass pointed away from me. Then she began, this time much more delicately, to wash the area around my asshole, before moving on to the perineum, which again caused my cock to twitch uncontrollably. She touched my balls with her hand, seemingly to lift them out of the way so she could wash under them, but the contact of her fingers had me breathing heavily. She let them drop and got a new wet washcloth from the trolley before setting to work on my balls themselves.

The sensation of the hot water on my balls made me lean my head back and close my eyes in pleasure. I barely cared about the embarrassment any more, this just felt really good. She put the hot washcloth flat over her hand and then used it to cup my balls, squeezing and kneading them ever so lightly as I quivered silently under her touch. Then she took hold of my rock hard cock with her other hand, pulling the skin of my balls tight so she could wash them again, now with long, slow strokes from the base of my cock to just under my balls.

She was holding my cock just under the head, and the sensitivity was driving me crazy. I had now leaked a veritable lake of precum, which was pooled across my stomach, and it meant that the skin of my cock that she was touching was slippery and lubricated. She was not holding especially tightly, and her cool fingers moved against my wet cock every time that it twitched, or every time that she stroked down with the cloth, pulling on my cock with every stroke.

I was breathing heavily now, my mouth open and my eyes fixed on her. She had given up on the lightheartedness and was focusing hard on her task. She lifted my cock to a more upright position, till it was almost at a 90 degree angle from my body, taking the opportunity to rub precum all around the head and massage it in.

She took a firmer grip on the head of my cock, and slowly led it round in a circle, keeping my cock pointed in the opposite direction to the washcloth, with which she carefully massaged and washed all around the base of my cock. When she had gone all the way around, she again changed her grip on my cock, sliding her fingers over it almost teasingly.

I let out a tiny moan as her finger glided over the very tip of my cock, and saw a sizable drop of precum flow out onto her thumb, which she quickly rubbed over the whole head of my cock.. With her other hand she moved up the warm washcloth and wrapped it around the shaft of my cock, her hand grasped tightly around it.

The warm, soft pressure around my shaft combined with the slippery massage that her other hand was giving the head was too much for me and I emitted another quiet moan of pleasure. She turned her gaze from my cock, where it had been intensely fixated, and met my gaze for the first time in a while. I saw the lust in her eyes, and the satisfaction at the control and power she had over my pleasure.

Pleasure that I had given up on trying to hide. My breath was coming short and fast now, and I looked back at her with desire and passion. Her own breath had sped up so that I could hear it from where I was, and was now coming in regular, quiet pants as all pretence of professionalism faded from her.

All traces of humour were gone from her face now, and she held my gaze as she dropped the washcloth and took hold of my shaft with her bare hand as the other continued its attentions to the head of my cock. She then started using both hands to smear the copious amount of precum that was leaking out of my cock down the whole length of my shaft. It felt heavenly, and I gasped with pleasure. Again I saw satisfaction in her eyes, and she sped up her stroking. Still she did not look at what her hands were doing but stared intensely into my eyes as my pleasure rose and rose.