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
Roni was depressed. Nothing that unusual in that, for she was often depressed, some would say she was always depressed. But this was different; it was not one of the usual topics that was depressing her. It wasn't her lank, mousy hair, her droopy 36 d tits, her sturdy thighs, biggish bum or podgy tum. It wasn't the fact that she couldn't find a real boy friend and that she had a series of short-term relationships, usually ending with them ditching her. It wasn't even the fact that Sammi had gone away, although she would willingly have scratched the eyes out of her scrawny, flat-chested, posh best friend. It was, oddly enough, because she had landed a part.
Roni had slept with or, had given blow jobs to most of the BBC TV and other TV production companies casting directors, the male ones that is; the female ones hadn't wanted blow jobs. And to a large extent that had got her nowhere. Sure a few bits and pieces here and there, the odd play in out of the way reps, walk on parts in TV commercials and several non-speaking extra parts in TV films and some soaps. But in the main her "self-promotion" hadn't met with much success. Then out of the blue a part, a real part, a speaking part, in a soap, a national soap. Ok it was afternoons, the viewers were probably mostly brain dead and fully of eighty year old Aunty Mavises and Uncle Humphs, but it was a pukka part.
So why had that depressed her? She had seen the fucking briefing sheet sent out to agents when she attended the audition.
"Plump girl going to seed" was how the writer described the requirement.
That's what got to her. Not long ago she had been a sex goddess, now a plump girl going to seed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, she had screamed, when she put the phone down on Allen Green her dodgy, seedy agent.
As she usually did when depressed, Roni went on a bender and got monumentally pissed. That was for about two days. After that she needed something different, something more. Sammi was away with the titless bitch so a fuck with her ideal woman wasn't on, so she phoned Preston Marcombe.
He was a forty something, not very successful "Shakespearian" actor who never actually got any work doing the Bard's stuff. He had got really lucky in a bit part that had led to a TV series where he had made stacks of money, for it was a worldwide, one-off hit. To him, though, it was a derisory series and was nowhere as high brow as he considered himself to be, but he invested the money well, and had hardly worked since, but then he didn't need to for one of his investments had been in a dotcom company that had also made him a fortune.
He was probably married, but refused to talk about his personal life, so Roni wasn't sure. She didn't actually care, though she pretended to, for his sake. Being the "successful actor" he considered himself to be and how he portrayed himself, Preston had a country home, in Gloucestershire, near Jilly Cooper and Prince Charles he would say, and a flat in town; actually quite a nice one, in Hampstead, of course.
It was there that he shagged Roni, there that he abused and demeaned her, tied her up, spanked her and did all manner of things to her that most reasonable women would have objected to. Roni, not being a reasonable woman, took all he could give and came back for more. Just as she was now.
"Come round at nine this evening wearing that grey dress I bought you when I took you to that party and gave you to my friends to fuck," he told her.
"Yes Preston," she meekly replied. "Anything else?" Meaning any other instructions or arrangements.
"No, just shoes, be totally naked under it. I assume you can still get into it?" He asked rubbing salt into her wounds of excessive flesh.
Roni had been seeing Preston for a couple of years after meeting him at an acting workshop he gave. He captivated her with his mature, thespian looks and assuring, confident manner and fucked behind the stage with his long, thin dick, less than an hour after they had met.
He wasn't actually that good shag, she often thought and, going further, sometimes felt he wasn't that interested in penetrative sex. Often, especially in the early days when they saw each frequently, he would lick or finger her to a climax then have her suck him off or he would cum on her big juicy tits. He liked that, but then so did she. Slowly, though, their experiences got weirder, or more adventurous dependent on your viewpoint. Adventurous, if you think that is him making her cum in restaurants and weird, if you feel that him making her pick up a guy in a bar and giving him a BJ as Preston looked on, is a bit pervy.
With sex, Roni had come to see, you pays your money and you takes your choice; it was all part of being an actress, well a fairly unsuccessful one at least. So she had taken her choice with him and that's why she had dressed up as a schoolgirl, bent over when he told her, let him roll her short skirt up and her full white knickers down and then squirmed, moaned, cried out and finally cum as he spanked her bum. She had paid her money when he tied her up and ran feathers over her until she nearly, but not quite, climaxed. Then he had wanked on her tits and had left her there sticky and smelling as he went out to dinner.
There had been many other incidents similar to these. Incidents that many, most really, women would hate, but which for some reason did a lot for Roni. She was, she had concluded a clear submissive with a very high need to be abused and demeaned. She was also, she often smiled, a perfect example of a patient for Sammi's flash doctor; there were only two issues with that. Firstly she couldn't afford him and secondly it didn't worry her.
So she pulled the pale grey, silky dress out from the back of her wardrobe. It was a simple dress. Vee necked, buttons all the way down the front, three inches above the knee, pulled in, tightly at the waist and flowing nicely over the flair of the hips and bum. Well that was the theory and how it used to be, Roni thought looking at herself in the mirror in the hall where Sammi dried her hair. It was a vastly different vision when she looked this time though. Gone was the demure, golden blonde clad just in a towel. In its place was an overweight, straggly haired woman in a too tight dress that fitted her badly. Between each button there were gaps where the lapels pulled apart and through which Roni's skin was on view. Her tits were spilling out of it and her cleavage looked like a deep crevice that a man could lose his face in. The material moulded itself round each breast riding over her, always, pronounced nipples, but which now were so evident, and yes of course, she said to herself, were hardening as she looked at herself. Fucking exhibitionist as well, she smiled, cupping her tits and running her hands over them. She knew she would wank before this fitting was over.
Her arse didn't look too bad, big sure, but a good shape, it was her tum. That bulged, sod it, sod it, sod it, she thought, wishing she had stayed on that diet, but then realised she would have not got the part if she hadn't been a plump girl going to seed would she?
So she said, "fuck it" took the dress off and masturbated looking at herself in the mirror.
As it happened, and Roni was completely aware of this, Preston liked bigger women. He had shown her some photos of what he termed BBWs. Against them Roni was a mere whisp of a woman.
She was on her way to the flat by bus wearing a light coat over the dress when she got a call on her mobile.
"Make it The Crown in Haverstock Hill instead," Preston said, not introducing himself, saying hello or goodbye.
She walked into the pub. It was crowded, but then it was Friday night. She couldn't see him so went to the bar and ordered a vodka and water. Although she was a ballsy girl and used to being single, but then plump girls going to seed are, she was always a little embarrassed in pubs. After all they are good pulling joints and in Hampstead you did sometimes get working girls and Roni didn't really like being mistaken for one.
"Where the hell is the sod?" she asked herself looking around, sipping her drink and feeling the warmth of the pub getting to her. She wished she hadn't worn the coat, but then she had to, she couldn't possibly take it off.
Nothing happened for ten minutes or so, apart from her finishing her drink, having two guys offer to buy her one, another couple making eyes at her and her becoming hotter and hotter.
Her phone rang.
"Warm are you?" Preston asked.
"Fucking boiling, where are you?"
"I told you to just wear the dress."
"I am."
"No you aren't."
