Ok, those of you who have been following the "Uniform" know most of the characters and where the story has been, you may even have an idea as to where it's going.
To my first-timers, welcome.
This is a story about doctors and nurses, and a few other people. It is a long story, a complicated story and a fucking horny story, even if I do say so myself. It was horny to me writing it and I hope it will be as horny for you reading it.
I am planning to present the story to Lit in a series of parts over the next few months, so you will have something to read as we go through autumn. I wonder how far we will have got before winter sets in?
If you have come straight to this part, I would strongly suggest you read Part 1 first.
The story revolves around sex in many forms. The theme of it is how a doctor treats people who are, in one way or another, sexually dysfunctional, so on one level it is a medical story. All the characters in the story who are not his patients, however, are as equally sexually dysfunctional somehow, so on another level it is pure erotica. On yet another level the story looks at how clothing promotes, influences, affects and conditions sexual behaviour; there are lots of descriptions of sexy nurses uniforms and ladies panties.
I really hope you enjoy what may well be my magnum opus and possibly my last submission to Literotica. Do let me know won't you?
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Chapter 1
It had been Mike who had put the idea in Sammi's head. She had told him that she wasn't sure she could do what he wanted in the role-play therapy, but that she was thinking about it.
"Tell you what," he said, "I have to go to Saudi in a couple of weeks time to tie up the details on the deal, why don't you take a holiday and think everything all the way through."
"Ok thanks, that sound a good idea."
"If you would like I could arrange for you to use a friend's house in Barbados, it really is lovely, and it would be free."
"Really?" Sammi replied, a little suspicious and getting the feeling it might be some form of "persuasion."
"Yes, this friend has Barbadian residence for tax purposes, but spends most of his time in Australia so he needs the house to be occupied and the gas and electricity used to show the authorities that he's there."
"He's not though, if I use it."
Mike laughed. "Don't complicate things, ten days in Barbados for the cost of your air fare, why worry about Brad's tax problems?"
Sammi phoned her closest friend, Mel. She had bucketfuls of money, plenty of free time, loved the sun and had, how had Emma described her, oh yes, the sexual morals of an alley-cat; just the sort of girl to go on holiday with, Sammi smiled as Mel said that she would love to come with her.
The ten days in Barbados with her old friend were fantastic. As it turned out it was also somewhat of a watershed on her life. Not only did she finally make her mind up about the new therapy and job, she also found the pleasure of being fucked by a big cock; a big black one as well come to that and a big, black one that was on an older man.
She had always preferred older men. Why? She had no real answer to that, simply assuming some form of father complex, but she didn't try to analyse it further. Why bother when she was happy with it and got more pleasure from sex with forty to fifty year olds than she did with guys her own age. That's not to say she didn't dabble now and then with young guys and, in fact, in Barbados on the second evening, the two of them met up with a couple of Dutch guys ending up in their beds.
Mel was her oldest friend. They had known each other since they were five or so and they totally confided in each other. Whilst they were incredibly close, trusted each other implicitly and probably loved each other there had never had never been any form of sex between them. Not between them, but when they were teenagers they had had sex in the same car with two guys and once on holiday in Ibiza a couple of years ago, in the same bed with two guys. But much to both pairs of blokes chagrin the two of them hadn't "played." It was just not what two really close girl friends did. It was different with Roni, Sam felt; she wasn't a real intimate and such an old friend, almost sister, like Mel.
"Yes on balance, I think I would do it if I were in your position." Mel had said when Sammi had explained the situation at the clinic and the new therapy. "I mean it is, after all, medically sound, isn't it?"
"Oh yes, without a doubt."
"Even the uniform?" Mel had said smiling referring to the white coat that she had seen Sammi in.
"Well that's not really Mike or the clinic, that's Emma and La Crème, and that's different." Sammi said, the fantastically erotic, black dress and white apron Emma had modelled for her, flashing into her mind.
"But she's going to run the placed isn't she?"
"Yes but for a different company, not the agency."
"Oh well as will maybe. If it's a proper thing, then why not take the money and fuck. After all what's the difference between that and paying for dinner at the Ivy or a night at Tramp by opening your legs."
Sammi smiled at her friend's vulgar, but probably true analogy.
"You don't think that getting money for sex is immoral."
"What's that?"
"Ok I get the point."
"And talking about sex," Mel said, "those Dutch guys over there have been giving us the eye for ages."
Mel's advice was the clincher for Sam. She respected her friend, not just because she was bright, but also because she was sharp and worldly-wise with a pragmatic view on sex. She also got on well with her for Mel was probably even more selectively promiscuous than she.
She had also done quite a lot of research on the net, at the BMA and in the Royal College of Nursing library. Mike was absolutely correct in everything he had told her other than he was not quite the leading pioneer and luminary he had implied. The movement in reactionary counselling, as it was also called, was, not surprisingly, the Swedes, where sexual neuroses caused suicides were, per capita, the highest in the world. A couple of eminent psychiatric groups in the US had taken it up and were now actively promoting and using it with, so they claimed, amazing results. She read quite a lot about the moral dilemma of the trained medical staff that were required in the role-plays and that was reassuring, in the main. Just how she would feel, though, when she kissed a woman or a bloke fucked in front of Mike, she couldn't imagine.
Her mind made up she put all of those concerns to one side to enjoy her holiday with Mel, catch up on all the gossip from back home, get some sun and, hopefully, get fucked a few times.
By the fourth day she had achieved all of the first three, but only part of the fourth. The Dutch boys had fucked 'em and left 'em, the bastards.
Chapter 2
As Sammi was sunning herself and getting laid in Barbados, Mike was in an even hotter place and was not likely to get laid. He was In Riyadh. It was around one hundred and ten each day and, or so it seemed, around one hundred and nine each night.
In the hotel, where he spent most of his time as usual waiting for meetings that had been scheduled for certain times to happen, there were no women. None of the staff and none of the guests were female, other than Arab wives all covered up looking a little like penguins, he thought. Other than the odd expat wife, again all covered up and closely accompanied by a husband or a "bodyguard" from the company that employed their husband, he saw no women, not in the shops, along the streets, on the buses or driving cars. There were no bars, obviously, no cinemas or theatres, nothing entertaining at all. You couldn't even access porn or girly site on the Internet, the miserable sods.
"What a fucking dump" he had thought several times and gave his thanks for the regular phone sex he had with Claire.
His last trip, which was his first, all the other meetings about the funding had been in Düsseldorf or London, had been the same. There was the minor excitement of discovering this new culture and the mild expectation that it couldn't really be as bad as most said and that surely, somewhere you could find sex, even if you paid for it. It was every bit as bad, if not worse and as far as he could see, you certainly could not find sex.
In some ways meeting Emma had been awful.