A Chemotherapy Patient

The figure in the door was dressed in a loose blue dress, a blue kerchief around her head. The frame was wasted and thinner, the bones of the face more prominent, the dark tan faded...but the eyes were bright, and Zora held herself with a kind of quiet dignity. Sam, dressed only in her panties, felt strangely ridiculous standing before this woman whose face and body bore all the marks of suffering....no strand of dark hair strayed from beneath that kerchief, little muscle on that now-spare frame, and her breasts...

There were no breasts. The front of the dress hung flat, limp, undisturbed by the slightest bump.

"Double mastectomy," Zora said, her voice low but strong. "But it had spread, so the chemotherapy was necessary. It's in remission now, but I assure you...it has been a very long ten months."

She had a cane, a shaft of black aluminum with four feet at the end. Sam passed out of the way to let her enter, and swallowed hard. Her hopes of a sexy bombshell had been immediately dashed, and she felt terrible that she could not hide her disappointment—and first impressions were important. As she shut the door, Sam tried to tell herself it was okay. Zora was here because of the Fuckr app too; she wanted to get laid as badly as Sam did.

So what if she doesn't have any tits? Sam thought. She still has a pussy. That's all that matters, right? Hot, wet little slit...

There was a hiss. Sam looked up and saw that Zora had taken out a vaping device, and was inhaling a bit of smoke. Those dark eyes turned back to Sam, regarding her critically.

"Medical marijuana," she said. "Helps with the nausea...and my appetite."

Sam blinked. "Did you...want a something to drink? Or eat? I've got...snacks..."

Zora sucked in another mouthful. Her eyes devoured Sam's body.

"I want you, dear. Naked, on a bed," her face bent into a grin, little curls of smoke emerging from the edges. "Surely you want someone to worship your tits? Finger your tight pussy? It has been...so long for me..."

They went to the bedroom. Sam felt uneasy as she peeled off her panties. Zora undressed slowly. Unbidden, the profile picture came back to Sam's mind's eyes...and she could see the outlines of that once bombshell body. The lines of it were still there, though the curves had shrunk, the ribs and hip bones apparent through the pale bronze flesh, the skin hanging in places, muscles bare...and her chest...

The puckered pink scars cut across on either side of the sternum. The wounds had healed...the physical ones at least...but the flatness of that chest looked strange with those broad shoulders and wide hips, the flat belly with the hint of sagging skin. Sam's mother would have sat her down and made her eat a sandwich. The pussy, surprisingly, was shaved and waxed...or maybe that was the chemo. Sam wasn't sure how that worked, exactly.

The handkerchief came off last. There were a few wisps of hair left, but that only made the baldness worse, accentuated the eggshell fragility, the brows looking heavier without eyebrows. Zora sat on the edge of the bed...and then released her cane so that she could roll over, and with exaggerated care, crawl over to her naked playmate.

This close, Sam could finally smell her...the smell of hospitals and that odor of **** she associated with animal shelters, underneath a kind of chemical odor that rankled her nose, and the herbal skunk-smell of hash oil on her breath. Sam laid still as Zora crawled up next to her. One frail hand raised to cup Sam's left breast, the fingers cold...

"You have such lovely breasts," Zora said, eyes fixed now on Sam's mammaries. "I had lovely breasts, once. They were magnificent. My pride and joy...such a stupid thing to take pride in. Once the treatment is over, I can get implants. Bigger than before, if I want. But of course it won't be the same."

One crone-like finger teased Sam's small pink nipple. Circled the areola. Watched it stiffen.

"You should enjoy yours while you can, Sam," Zora said. "We both should."

Sam held her arms out to her side, and offered no resistance as the cancer-patient planted her lips against Sam's right nipple and began to suck. The whole situation...the smell, the touch of her cold fingers, the pathos...Sam had been wetter during her grandmother's funeral. She lacked all frame of reference for what to do. Patting Zora on the back seemed pathetic, not doing anything seemed ridiculous. The whole point of this situation was to get laid, and here she was, letting a bald, titless woman suckle on her titty like a newborn baby...and the only relief Sam could think of was that at least it was a dry well. Sam had never been pregnant and never lactated.

If Sam was at a lack for what to do, Zora was emboldened by the lack of resistance.

Her hand squeezed Sam's left tit hard. Lips slid over her teeth so that Zora could bite down on Sam's tit without hurting her. The bald woman slid closer to Sam....one leg slid over the prostrate woman's....and Sam could have fought it, but she let her leg be trapped, turned to the side, and brought it up until she felt something hot and wet press against her thigh.

Zora's right hand released Sam's left breast. The sucking at Sam's right tit continued...but like a spider, the hand crawled down her lover-of-the-evening's body. Sam shuddered again, gooseflesh rising as the cool fingers tickled her flesh, knowing in her heart where this was headed...nor was she disappointed as Zora's hand cupped Sam's hot and ready cunt.

Left without much of anything else to do, Sam moved her leg. Her thigh slid in between the thinner thighs of the cancer patient, rubbing against her cunny. Spidery fingers rubbed at Sam's pussy in little circles. They just...stayed like that, for what felt like a long time. Rubbing each other. Zora sucking on Sam's tit. The heat building up inside their bodies, no communication...it wasn't like any lovemaking Sam had ever done. It almost felt like she was a sextoy, being used. A horrible vision came through her mind of Zora, sitting on her chest as Sam slept, stealing her breath....

...eventually, Sam got wet. Constant stimulation will do that. She could feel Zora moving more forcefully too. The heat was building inside of them both, the apprehension, the expectation. With a suddenness that shocked Sam, the woman released her tit, the hungry mouth planting kisses along her collarbone...her shoulder...until her mouth clamped down and began to suck on Sam's neck, and the crabbed fingers shifted, pinky and forefinger pulling apart the curtains of Sam's labia while the two middle fingers plunged into the wet hole, fucking her cunt with hard, fast movements as Zora's bony hips bucked wildly.

Sam had never wanted to cum like this. Her whole body felt frozen with a mix of disgust and indecision. This diseased thing was clamped onto her, the tongue now in the hollow of her throat as Zora drank Sam's sweat, and yet somehow she felt it rise up inside of her, and no matter how she squirmed, how much she wanted to fight it, she couldn't...

"Aaah!" Sam cried out as her back arched, pussy spasming on the fingers inside of her...and that was Zora's clue to roll over, on top of Sam. She slid down Sam's soft thigh and laid her bony body against Sam's the flat chest pressed into her tits...and for the first time that night, their lips met.

It was how Sam had always imagined kissing a corpse...except a corpse's tongue would not slide over her teeth, would not reek of hash oil and chemotherapy, would not buck her hips and rub her dried-up cunt against Sam's leg, those dark eyes open and unblinking and...Zora stiffened. Something ran down Sam's leg, and for a moment she wondered if the other woman had peed...and then she realized what it was...and Zora collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, clammy body covered with perspiration.

"Th-thank you..." Zora said, her voice faint and wheezing...and Sam realized how much energy it must have taken for the women to do that much action.

Pinned beneath her, Sam couldn't even bring it upon herself to move. Politeness trapped her beneath this sick woman, this angel who disease had rendered a shallow mockery of her once bodacious self...and Sam felt sick that she was so superficial, so fucking shallow, as to be creeped out when she knew a better person would be grateful to share this moment of intimacy with someone in pain, to help them out. Charitable sex...pity fuck...call it what you will.

All Sam knew was she wanted it to end. Horny as she had been, and still was despite her little climax, all she wanted to do was take a shower and scrub the smell of Zora off of her.

"I don't suppose," Zora whispered, when she got her breath out. "You'd like to eat my pussy? We could...take turns..."

Against that pitiful voice, Sam's determination and will crumbled. She could no more say no to eating a cancer patient's pussy than she could drown a sack of puppies. With as much **** cheer as she could muster, Sam mumbled something like a yes...but then Zora shook and turned aside. There was a retching sound that reached down in Sam's guts and twisted them into knots...a foul acrid smell rose...and as she sat up, she saw the pale yellow pool next to Zora's mouth.

"O-oh God....I'm so sorry...all the excitement...the nausea..." tears rolled down Zora's face, and Sam knew sexy times were over for the night. It was time for changing the bedspread, getting Zora some water and her vape pen, and...Sam found herself shifting from the role of fuckbuddy to impromptu nurse with terrible ease. It was better, in its way, than more sex. The guilt ate at Sam even as she worked to take care of Zora...guilt, self-recrimination, and a sickening relief.