The Worup

I had arrived at 702 to work up a new admit, Albert K, 19. It was 14:42. I know because I'm a professional and therefore fastidious about marking the time on the top sheet. My first impression was, 'meh', to be honest. The chart said pituitary tumor and the prognosis was good. They are usually benign. But what I noticed was that he had good balance. There was little to indicate illness. Just greasy hair, sallow skin, some extra weight.

He was up and out of bed, which was unexpected. He looked out the window, which meant I could see the bare curve of his bottom through the gap in the gown.

I put on my 'patient voice'. Hello Albert, I'm nurse Kat, I'm just here to get your details. Doctor S will be by later to talk you through the procedure."

He had turned, but I wasn't sure he had heard me, his focus was somewhere below my eyes. This happens and I'm used to it, even if I don't like it. But, of course, I kept it professional. "Ahem, Albert. Did you catch what I said?"

His gaze, which had arrived at my hip, slowly made its way back up, over my stomach and my chest and finally arrived, about an inch below my eyes.

"Al," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

"Al. No one calls me Albert except to make fun, its just Al."

"Oh, ok Al, I'll make a note for the others," I'd said as I flipped to sheet two. "I need to ask you your details. It's quite extensive. There's history, allergies, contacts, a whole list. It could take some time. Would you like to sit back in the bed?"

"I'm ok", he'd mumbled. "At least you are pretty, prettier than the other one."

I was a bit offended but also confused and didn't know which to act on first. I was for sure the first to arrive, so I went with responsible nursing: "What other one, has someone been to see you already?"

"Not here," he'd answered. "At the last hospital."

Now I was upset. I riffled the pages of the chart. No prior history, no operations, no hospitalizations. Who the hell assembled this chart in the first place? This was not a professional charting job. "Look," I said, "I'm missing any mention of a prior hospitalization, lets step back and start from the beginning. Can you tell me when you first..." And about then is when things changed.

I couldn't say what and I couldn't say how, but my notes from that point are weird, and frankly embarrassing. NOT professional. I didn't even mark the time of exit.

"Relax," he'd said. I'm pretty sure he'd said. I think he said? But either way, I relaxed. Like completely. My back, which had been aching from standing straight on the hard floors, even in my Cloves, just... stopped hurting. My arms which had been holding the clipboard up extra high to hide my breasts from Al's gaze fell low. Even my 'patient smile' fell slack.

"You might want to sit, "he'd said. I'm pretty sure he'd said. I think he said? But either way, I sat on the bed. "You know what you want to ask." he said. Or I thought. And I did know.

"How is my uniform," I asked? I definitely asked, because his answer is right here on the chart: Not to my liking. Scrubs show off nothing. And light blue is not a good color for you. Let's try, something more candy-striper.

And on reflection, for a greasy and frankly fat 19 year old, this kid was throwing around some serious big dick energy. I mean, what the fuck? But I wrote it down. And, since I'm sitting here in fucking fishnets and a too-short skirt, not to mention my tits spilling out of my top, I guess I listened and complied.

"Preferred schedule?", I'd asked.

"Schedule a wake up blow, an evening fuck, and this might surprise you, but I love to go down on a lady, so lets have a taste of you at mid-afternoon." It's all here on the form, so I definitely asked and he almost certainly answered.

And frankly, that is a lot of time to devote to one patient. One patient who isn't nearly my sickest. But "patient care is our number one priority" the sign behind station 2 says. And I'm a professional. So here I am.

"Ok, well it's about 2, so cunnilingus now?" I asked, going for the most formal word I could conjure.

"Look, I prefer a bit of a slut. Not like running around topless and sucking off strangers. Well, not all the time. But, you know 'eat me', 'stick your tongue in my fuckhole', something on that order of magnitude would be fine," Al said. I think. I'm pretty damn sure he said, because SLUT is circled in red pen here on page 3.

"And no," he continued. "It's been a day. I'm tired. Just blow me, maybe ride me. Get me off now and come back later when you are properly dressed and I can eat you out then. We can change to the normal schedule tomorrow." And here it is, bottom of page 3 -- normal schedule day 2.

The next is a blur, a dream. Oh god, I hope it's a dream. And I also hope it's not. What would it say about me if this was my dream? I mean, I remember it, I remember a lot of the details, but I DO NOT get what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted to remain professional.

I know for sure I got off the bed and got on my knees. I know because my knees are sore and red -- those floors are fucking hard, and you can see them through my fishnets. I remember too that his penis wasn't hard when I'd gotten the gown out of the way. Not yet, not then. But it was small. "He must be a grower," I recall thinking. I think. "... with the kind of asshole attitude he's been throwing around."

I looked up from his soft penis and he said something like, "You know what to do. This isn't your first time. I hate first timers, its like fucking a puppet."

And I did know, of course, what to do. But why in god's name would I? Why in god's name did I?

I reached to the table for the box of latex gloves -- standard procedure. But he said, "not necessary" and I dropped the box back down and moved to the Vaseline. I had two fingers in the jar when Al said, "uh, that's going in your mouth," with that annoying teenager-y upward pitch at the end.

"It doesn't taste great, but it's safe for consumption," I answered. Or I thought? And I scooped out a glob with my left while I worked his penis with my right. After a time, not sure how long. It's missing from my notes, he became erect. Not huge, but not quite so small as I first thought. Here it is. Five point five measured by mouth. Completely average in my experience.

"I'm going to apply this jelly to your penis," I'd said, and he arched his brow. "Oh," I blushed, "I'm usually more professional," I apologized, and re-phrased: "I'm going to apply this to your cock."

I guess it wasn't good enough, because he still held my gaze, a slight frown at the corner of his mouth. The kind of patient clue the best nurses notice.

Once more: "I'm going to smear this lube on your fucking cock till its slick enough to fuck it with my hand." I guess that was better as I got no rebuke. And I brought my jelly-filled left to his penis and worked it up and down.

I am nothing if not professional, so I was thorough. I took on the shaft first, moving my fist, smearing the jelly till it was well-distributed. Then I went to work on the head.

I'm not a virgin, ok? I've been with men before and the ones I know go crazy when I work the head. And I sure as hell was gonna give that little prick, with his sullen attitude, the best prickjob I could give. I did it all -- ran a finger round the ridge of the head. Rubbed his frenulum with the pad of my thumb while squeezing the base, used my nails as best I could -- they're short like policy requires -- to run from the point of the tip down the head and the sides of his penis like cracking an egg. I sandwiched his cock between two flat palms and rubbed it back and forth. I did the thumb and forefinger circle, jerking and twisting just under the head -- forward AND reverse grip. I even reverse gripped with my whole hand jerking fast and hard just under the head. And that is damn hard to do while kneeling on the floor.

I looked up from his penis. He was gazing away. Not frowning, but not panting. I would have to do better. I took my hands off his cock and lifted the top of my scrubs off, cross handed, over my head, thankful my french braid meant I wouldn't have to re-do my hair. My Under Armour came next.

I'd caught his attention. But as I put my hand back on his shaft I heard: "just a B cup? I hoped for more".

Well! I fucking never! "I'll have you know," I said, "real men like real breas... uhm boobs?"

"Its fine," he said with a sigh. "There's no point to implants -- I'll be gone soon enough. But later let's find another nurse with bigger tits and I can use hers while you blow me." I'm sure on this one, cause I have it here on page 4 -- Deborah -- big tits, 8 am.

I was about to tell him where he could fucking get off, when he signaled me with a lazy right hand. As if to say, back to work. So, I got back to work. I am a professional, after all. I took a paper towel from the table and gently wiped away the excess jelly. Then I rubbed his penis against my breasts. Slapping it twice on my left and then rubbing the spot under his head across each nipple.

A small noise escaped his lips now and looking up, his attention was fixed on me. "Ha, asshole," I thought, "who's too fucking small now." That's what I thought, but what I said was something dumb like, "Mmm, I love your hard cock, see the way it bounces off my tits? See how they ripple like a stone in the water?" I could tell he liked that because he started to slightly jerk in my hand.

"Ok," he said, "quit fucking around and get your mouth on it." I think he said. I definitely got my mouth on it. True to expectations, I did not like the taste of Vaseline. But that's fine. This was patient care, not Kat care. It was tolerable. I mean, the guy was clearly a douche, but I wasn't going to let that make me drop the quality of my care. Like I said, I'm a fucking professional.

So I sucked it. I licked it. I slurped it up and down till my saliva had washed away the last of the jelly. And then till it was pooling around the hand I had firmly gripping the base.

I can't get penises deep in my mouth. My throat is a no-go area. But for once, he had no complaints, cause I went to town with what I had. Did I lightly graze with my teeth? Yes I did. Did I flick my tongue back and forth across the very tip like a fluttering reed? I sure did. Did I push it as far as I could, till I started to gag, and then hold it and suck like it was an extra-thick shake. I think you know the answer.

I was vigorous. My neck was already aching from the whiplash. And on every third or fourth upward stroke, I would suck the head extra hard as I pulled off for that "pop" sound. I was bouncing up and down with my mouth on that penis so hard, so fast that, even with the rubber wheels, the bed moved back a half inch.

I remember looking up to his eyes and seeing them firmly fixed. Not on my mouth. Not on his penis, but on my breasts bouncing up down with each stroke of my mouth. "See, asshole," I thought.

He noticed me, noticing him. "Enough," he said and I let his penis fall slack from mouth, hitting me on the chin as it descended and then bounced. "Get up."

"Ok, here we go," I thought. Up, I stood. Down came the scrubs and undies in one go. Now I was standing naked but for my white Cloves.

"I told you those scrubs did nothing for you. You have a great ass," he said in what I was pretty sure his first expression of enthusiasm since I first entered his room. "Turn around and show it off."

I turned. I arched. I showed. I mean, I have seriously had it with leering patients, but if I'm gonna do a thing, I'm gonna do it, you know?

"Ok," he said, reaching out to lay a hand on my bottom, "tomorrow I want fishnet tights, crotchless, and no undies." That happened for sure, because, well, look at me...

Then he actually smacked me on the bottom. Do you know the last time someone even pinched my bottom without my consent, like not even a slap, just a grab? It was on the bus and I actually decked him. I thought I'd get arrested. But here I was, with Albert, fucking smacking me like a misbehaving child. And I did, well, not 'nothing', I helped. I arched back further. I wiggled my behind. I. Got. Wet. Like really wet. I lubricated like I was getting it on with Henry Cavill. And he noticed. I know because I looked back over my shoulder, past my arched back, and saw him smirk at me while he ran the flat of his hand up my vulva.

I felt that. I felt fucking liquid. And then smirked some more, looking me right in the eye while he licked from his palm to the tip of his finger. I guess he does like the taste of a lady. That will have to go in the notes.

Then he returned his hand to my vagina and rubbed up and down. It wasn't focused, but he grazed my clitoris enough that I was having trouble staying on my feet. My face felt flush and I think I started to pant. He pushed a finger inside me. A bit too hard for my liking. But it did the trick and I was definitely panting now. Then he withdrew with a slick squelch. The smirk was wider.

And I mean, what was that? Standing there in that yellow paper gown, with his hard penis poking up a ridiculous point, smirking at ME? But whatever. I was pretty much beyond caring anyway.

He went to the bed and fiddled with the controls. "Give it to me," I demanded, and I raised the head with a mechanical whirl. With the gown held to the side, he laid down and said, "get on." Not even a fucking please. But, I mean, at least that is normal patient behavior -- no one says 'please' anymore.

So up I climbed, knees to each side of his thighs, and started to scoot forward to get the angle of his penis right to enter my vagina. "I told you, you have a great ass," he said with a sigh. "Turn around." But the way he said it, like I was a stupid school girl, I think I must have blushed six shades of red across my whole body. I never let patients get to me. It's not professional. But I think a few unbidden tears escaped as I turned and lifted each knee over his legs.

He must have grabbed his own penis, because I felt it rubbing up and down against my vulva. And without so much as even a 'by your leave,' he pushed up and he was well and truly in me.

He wasn't huge. But even so, I need a minute with any penis. To adjust, to relax the muscle and make way. But his hands were at my hips, jerking me up and down before I knew which way was up. And I was full. I remember that. I felt like stuffed full of penis. And I was panting. I couldn't barely catch my breath. I must have hyperventilated because I was light headed, bouncing up and down on him. And it felt good. No, it felt a-maz-ing. It felt like every other time I'd had sex was a day dream and this was the real thing.

I am not a multi-orgasmic woman, never have been. And that's fine. But I swear he had me coming left and right. And quickly. It usually takes me a while to get there, if I even can from straight sex. I wasn't even touching myself, and I was like a firecracker. Just going off over and over.

But I'm a professional. I never lost my focus on the patient and even with the orgasms and him smacking my bottom over and over, I milked that penis. I flexed my pelvic wall and gripped him on each up stroke, I kept up the pace. I focused on him. I didn't grind down to maximize the pressure on my clitoris. I was up and down that penis, root to tip as fast and as smooth as I could manage. In short, I was a great lay.

My nursing instructors would be proud of me. Even if I was distracted by own enjoyment. Even if I really detested the patient. I gave him everything I had to give.

And he gave it to me. Or I assume he did. He smacked my bottom a last time and then grabbed and squeezed hard as he grunted, holding me down and himself inside me.

I wasn't entirely sure he came, because I was having the mother of all orgasms myself. It kind of snuck up on me and I could barely breathe. But when I came down to earth a minute later, he had pulled out of me and I felt a trickle of liquid pool down out of my vagina and on to his penis.

I slowly climbed off. My legs were shaky and as I scaled off the bed I caught sight of his face. Smirking again. Liquid was running down the inside of my left leg. "I know," he said.

"Know what?" I asked, but to be honest I knew what he meant and I think he knew that I knew, cause his stupid little greasy face actually winked at me with a loopy half grin.

And then with a little shake of his head, "you'll find it on the chart later, when you review the work up."

I haven't looked at page five. I'm scared to look, as silly as that sounds. But deep down I know. It's gonna be a chart of my orgasms by length and intensity. The orgasms that little fucker gave me. Like he owned my body.

He may have snapped and pointed, or that might just be my imagination, but I definitely cleaned the semen off his penis and testicles. And I did a proper job, no matter how I felt about him. A professional job. I licked up every drop till he was as clean as whistle.

I wiped down my inner thighs and my poor, abused vulva and bent to pick up my scrubs and dress. That's when he said it. That's why I'm hiding in here as far from 702 as I can get, instead of doing my rounds.

"I really do like that ass. Lube it up before you come back tonight."