A fall, a fright, and a fellatrix

I wake up in back in the hospital bed. I turn my head, seeing no one in the room. I try to raise it, and stars explode behind my eyes. I let my head fall back onto the pillow; to my grateful surprise, the pain passes quickly.

After a moment, I become aware of two things. One is a duller throb of pain in the back of my neck. I touch it, moving gingerly, and find a welt there. I remember a sting . . . what was it? I wonder. The other is a faint crackling beneath me. This takes a bit of work—it turns out to be a piece of paper that someone managed to attach to the inside of my hospital gown with some sort of stickum. Still moving very carefully, I get it out and look at it. It’s a note, handwritten, from Nevaeh—but not in her handwriting. I don’t know why I know that, but I do. It reads,

John, someone tried to kill you—you were shot with a poisoned dart. Fortunately, due to some of your experiments, your neurochemistry is non-standard, so it didn’t kill you immediately. It still would have eventually, but we had the time to use scavenging nanites to clean it out of your body. More details when I see you again, but I’m starting to think this may be bigger than corporate espionage. That’s why this is on paper. Your room is guarded by a squad of Valkyries, as are the critical nodes in the hospital’s systems—power, ventilation, etc. Don’t be afraid to use the call button, as we have taken steps to ensure that only staff whose loyalty is beyond question have access to your floor. We own the hospital, so that wasn’t hard and required very little disruption. Don’t expect to see me right away; though I regret leaving you alone, I need to be in the office to coordinate our response to this assassination attempt. I am no longer confident that any task force composed of government employees will be willing or able to identify and stop the individual(s) behind this.

NHW

Not for the first time in the last . . . how many hours has it been since I woke up in this bed?—I wonder what the fuck kind of world this is.

Before I can press the call button or do anything else, a woman enters—a woman with shoulder-length metallic cobalt blue hair. How is that even possible? She has a delicate heart-shaped face, creamy skin, and stunning large violet eyes; other than the hair and eye color, she looks very much like this woman:

The resemblance extends well beyond the face, as this nurse is also short and very curvy—at least by my previous standards; she’s still tall and slender compared to Nevaeh. I find myself mentally estimating her tit size at 30J or 32I, which makes me wonder 1) if that’s at all accurate, and 2) how, if it is, I developed that particular skill. Her full hips offer the promise of a perfect apple-shaped ass; the way she swings them as she walks into the room offers the promise of a lot more.

The red-trimmed white nurse’s uniform she’s wearing seems designed to show off her body more than cover it. The scoop neckline would be low enough by itself to make it clear she isn’t wearing a bra, but from there, a zipper runs down the front which is unzipped most of the way down to her belly button. It’s probably a good thing it’s unzipped, since I don’t think her tits would fit in the uniform if she tried to zip it all the way up. The zipper is also unzipped from the bottom of the uniform, which would probably otherwise have covered her panties. As it is, I can clearly see her lacy red panties, complete with cameltoe, and matching garter belt, which holds up sheer red stockings.

Halfway to the bed, she pirouettes, making the bottom of the uniform—would it be a skirt if it’s a one-piece, or just a really short dress?—fly up, showing off a perfect bare apple-shaped ass with a scrap of red emerging from the top of her crack. I called that one, I tell myself. She comes up to the bed and gives me a smoldering look. “Hello, Mr. Doe,” she says, her alto voice a warm, sexy purr. “I’m your primary nurse this shift; my name is Morgan. I’m glad to see you’re awake. How may I . . . serve . . . you?” She slowly licks her lips and watches me with eager anticipation.

I don’t quite know what to say. In my experience—in the experience I actually remember, anyway—I’ve never really had women come on to me, and definitely never so blatantly. Even after the Wiki page, the sexual services from Nevaeh and Lotti, and the press circus—I mean, conference—it’s still going to take a while for my instincts to believe what my eyes and forebrain are telling them. Whatever anyone else knows, the last thing I remember before this hospital room, I was in disgrace.

“I’m not sure, Morgan,” I say uncertainly. “I’m not really sure what I need.” As I say that, I suddenly become aware that my prick is rapidly growing and swelling. My big head may not be sure, but my little head is.

She sees it immediately. “Well,” Morgan says, her voice a sultry purr, “I can see one thing that needs my attention. I think I know just how to deal with that.” She pulls back the covers; I have nothing on this time but the same kind of hospital gown I had for my appendectomy when I was 7. She flips it up with practiced hands, looking me in the eyes, radiating lust, then looks down. Her eyes go wide and she slowly licks her lips.

That at least is a reaction I’m used to. I’m not freakish, but I’ve always been well on the large side in both length and girth. It’s the only reason I had any luck with girls at all until I developed some social skills—starting college at 13 doesn’t make that easy. Fortunately for me, I had an experienced partner early on who thought my prick made it worth her time to teach me, sexual and social skills alike.

(I was 18, and she was the wife of a fellow med student. He was a workaholic and a cold fish; she was an extrovert with a very high sex drive. She saw me at a pool party and liked what she saw in my trunks. It was a straight-up porn scenario—she followed me inside and jumped my bones in the bathroom. I think some of the other students, or at least their significant others, figured it out . . . but nobody liked her husband, or had any idea why she put up with him. She taught me everything I needed to know to please her, and a lot of things that would please other women even if they didn’t move her needle much. She taught me a lot more about how to attract women—not just to know what to do but to actually do it. By the time her husband got his degree and they moved on, she was spending more time mentoring me in seducing other women than she was in fucking me herself. Oddly enough, she seemed to enjoy the mentoring almost as much as the sex.

(Of course, she occasionally got invited in for a threesome, which probably had something to do with that.)

Morgan moans softly. “It’s beautiful,” she says, her voice hushed. “I’ve never had one that thick before . . . and so long . . .” She strokes my glans lightly with one finger, and my cock jumps. She moans again. “So soft . . .” She bends forward, her lips part, and she delicately licks the bead of pre-cum off the tip of the head with a slim pink tongue, making my cock jump again. She curls her tongue around my purple mushroom—then extends it further, spiraling it around the shaft. That’s the longest tongue I’ve ever seen! I marvel. That’s amazing! I groan, and her eyes sparkle. She looks up at me with lustful pride.

“Is that good for you, hero?” Morgan coos. Hero? “I’ve wanted to do this for so long—at least since I took the Enhancement. Maybe ever since I first heard about it. But you’re even better than I imagined. I didn’t know you were so big . . . and you taste good, too. You must eat lots of pineapple.”

That was one of the tricks Saraiah taught me. I think she might have mentioned it that first day at the pool party, actually: cut back on garlic and onion, eat lots of pineapple, drink cranberry juice, avoid asparagus and broccoli, and the like. I’ve never made the taste of my cum the primary driver of my diet, but I’ve taken it into account ever since, and I know women always appreciated it—at least, the ones I remember blowing me certainly did.

Morgan closes her lips around my glans, sucking on it and licking it with feathery strokes. She pulls back and strokes it all over with her lips, still sucking lightly, then licks up and down the groove on the underside. She starts sucking on the head again and softly caressing my ball sack; even as she sucks, she sticks out that amazing tongue and licks up and down and all around my shaft. I groan loudly at the sensation; her eyes glow. “Fuck, you’re an amazing cocksucker,” I moan; the pleasure in her eyes is clear. “Your mouth feels incredible.”

“I’m just getting started, tiger,” Morgan purrs. She wraps her long, slim fingers around my rod and pumps me, dipping her head to take my balls into her mouth. She sucks lightly, pulls on them, and fondles them with her tongue, rolling them back and forth and licking all around my sack. She pulls back further, letting them spring free with a lewd, liquid “plop,” then seizes one with her lips and sucks on it before giving the other the same treatment. “Thank you for shaving,” she murmurs. “It makes doing this so much nicer.”

“It makes receiving it much nicer, too,” I admit; this was another lesson from Saraiah. “Especially from a woman with a magic mouth like yours.” Morgan hums in pleasure around my balls, having engulfed both of them in her wet warmth again; the vibrations make me groan. She wanks my rod with great skill, varying the speed, the pressure, and the length of her strokes in irregular fashion, and periodically cupping her hand over my cockhead to give it special attention and collect more pre-cum.

She pulls off and gazes at my aching boner for a few moments. “Such a beautiful cock,” Morgan murmurs. “That’s going to make my pussy feel so good . . . Let’s see how it fits.” With that, she abruptly deepthroats me. Do none of these women have gag reflexes? I gasp and stiffen up in surprise, then moan loudly when she waggles her head back and forth, swallowing hard several times, working my dick like I’ve never experienced before. Just as abruptly, she pulls off. “I love that monster in my throat,” she purrs, “but we can make this even better.”

Morgan gets off the bed, and a spike of disappointment hammers through me with almost physical pain. Then she reaches down to her thong, and I realize two things: 1) she has it on over her garter belt, and 2) it clasps on the sides. She undoes both sides, lets the front drop, and peels the thong out of her ass crack. Setting it carefully on the foot of my bed, she climbs on and straddles me on her knees, facing my feet. She shuffles back, bends down, and deepthroats me again—this time ending up with her nose between my balls. I groan at the sensation, then louder as she swallows, working her pussy-soft throat around my dick.

Unfortunately, Morgan is too short for me to properly return the favor—especially since I can’t really lift my head off the pillow; I want my little head to throb, not my big head. I can touch her, however. I have to maneuver a little to get my hands free, but as she starts bobbing her head up and down, throat-fucking my pole, I spread her big inner lips with my index fingers and take a moment to stare at the gorgeous pussy set before me. It’s the wettest I ever remember seeing, and one of the smallest, but quite deep. The floor of her slit is the hottest of hot pinks, shading all the way up her inner labia to a dusky pinkish-purple—except that from about the middle forward, that lessens, so that where the lips meet around her clit is much pinker.

Most strikingly, Morgan’s clit sits quite close to her flowing opening, allowing for greater than average clitoral stimulation during sex. I stroke it gently with one thumb and discover that it’s also quite sensitive—she makes some indescribable guttural noise around the cock stretching her throat, and her body shudders. I keep that thumb rubbing her pearl and try to stick two fingers into her hole—to find that she’s so tight, I can only get one in. Imagine my dick in a pussy that tight . . . I almost cum just from the thought. I probe her with my middle finger; when I find her G-spot, she shudders harder and her honeypot starts contracting furiously. She slams her head down, swallowing again and again, and I overload.

“Cumming!” I grunt. My climax hits me so hard I see stars and hear voices—though that may be partly the effect of the head trauma, I suppose. I fire blast after blast of cum right down her throat; a little voice in the back of my mind is amazed at how hard and long I keep cumming, but most of me sets that voice aside for later. Why second-guess bliss?