Use that....Please

Chapter 79 - Use that....Please

Nancy woke with a small, sharp jolt, the kind that snaps you out of half-sleep when something’s wrong in the room. Her head had been resting on the edge of the hospital bed, cheek pressed to the thin mattress, one arm dangling. She lifted it slowly, blinking against the low night-light glow, and her eyes found Mike’s face right away.

His breathing was off. Fast. Uneven. Shallow little hits of air through his nose like he was fighting something.

“What happened? Are you all right? Need something?” Her voice came out husky from sleep, still half-soft.

Mike didn’t answer with words at first. He just reached out, caught her hand, and dragged it straight down. No hesitation. He pressed her palm hard against the thick, hot bulge under the thin hospital gown. The fabric was already tented high, the long shape of his cock pushing up clear as day.

She felt the sudden dense heat of it through the cloth—solid, pulsing, almost burning against her skin.

Nancy’s eyes went wide. Pure instinct yanked her hand back like she’d touched a live wire. She stared at him, mouth half open.

“What… what is the meaning of this, Mike?”

His voice came low and strained, almost a growl under the hospital quiet. “Nancy, see, I am in pain. I want your help. I cannot get rid of it.”

Her gaze dropped again, traitorously, to the obvious tent under the gown. The long, rigid outline was impossible to miss. It shifted slightly with every hard breath he took. She stared at it for a full second—long enough to map the thick shape, the way the thin material clung to the head, the dark shadow of hair at the base—before she shook her head hard and stood up. One step toward the door. Escape.

Mike’s hand shot out and locked around her wrist. Not rough enough to bruise, but tight. Desperate.

“Nancy, please. You know I have liked you from the moment we met.”

She stopped dead. Color flooded her cheeks, hot and obvious even in the dim light. For a long moment she just stood there, wrist caught in his grip, the hospital corridor silence pressing in around them. Then she exhaled, slow and shaky, and sat back down on the chair. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. When she finally spoke, the words came out quiet, almost reluctant, but clear.

“Fine. Only this time.”

She didn’t look at his face when she said it. Her eyes stayed locked on the thick, insistent bulge under the gown, and her hand—still warm from where he’d forced it earlier—hovered for a second in the air between them before she reached out again.

Mike gave a tight, almost grateful nod. That was all the permission she needed, or maybe all she could stand.

Nancy’s fingers closed around the shaft through the thin hospital fabric first. Even with the gown between them the thickness hit her like a slap. Her expression slipped for a brief, unguarded second—eyes widening, lips parting—because the thing under her palm felt otherworldly. Thicker than anything she had ever held. Longer, too. The heavy, solid heat of it pulsed against her grip, living and urgent. She could feel every ridge, every subtle throb through the cheap cloth.

She didn’t give herself time to think. She slid her hand under the hem of the gown, skin meeting bare skin, and wrapped her fingers fully around the naked shaft. The heat was almost shocking—hotter than the rest of him, silky-smooth skin stretched tight over iron hardness. A thick vein ran along the underside; she felt it jump under her thumb. The head was already slick, a bead of precum smearing across her palm the second she closed her fist.

Nancy swallowed once, hard, then began to move.

Slow at first. Steady strokes from base to tip, the way a man strokes himself when he’s desperate and alone. Her hand looked small wrapped around that heavy length. Every upward pull made the gown shift and tent higher; every downward slide made a soft, wet sound as her fingers dragged over the leaking head. She kept her eyes fixed on what she was doing, refusing to meet his face, but she could hear the change in his breathing—sharper now, almost a hiss every time her palm twisted slightly over the sensitive ridge.

The hospital room stayed quiet except for the low beep of the monitor and the wet, rhythmic sound of her fist working him. Nancy’s cheeks burned. Her own pulse thudded between her legs, unwanted and traitorous. She tightened her grip a fraction, stroked faster, and felt his cock swell even thicker in her hand, as if it were trying to grow past what was already too much.

Heat built low and steady in her own body while she worked him. It started as a dull throb between her thighs, then sharpened every time her fist dragged over the thick, leaking head. Her nipples had gone tight under the loose dress; she could feel them brushing the fabric with every small shift of her arm. Mike’s free hand came up without warning and cupped one of her breasts through the soft material. Nancy jumped—shoulders jerking, breath catching—but his face stayed lost in pure, open pleasure, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open. So she let him keep massaging the soft weight, thumb circling lazily over the stiffened peak while her hand never stopped stroking.

Minutes stretched. The wet, rhythmic sound of her fist on his cock filled the quiet room. No release came. Nancy’s wrist began to ache, the muscles in her forearm burning from the constant up-and-down. Frustration tightened her features. She could feel how close he was—how the shaft kept swelling thicker, how the head flushed dark and shiny—but something invisible held him back. The system had blocked the climax. A simple hand job would not finish the quest. Only a blow job would unlock the healing potion.

Mike saw the tired look on her face and spoke again, voice rough and strained. “Nancy, use your mouth. Please.”

She looked at him for a long second. Her own breathing had already turned uneven, shallow little pulls of air that made her chest rise and fall under his palm. She climbed onto the edge of the bed, knees pressing into the thin mattress, and pulled the gown fully aside. His cock sprang free—heavy, glistening, the thick vein along the underside standing out in sharp relief. It looked even bigger now that nothing hid it, the head swollen and wet, a clear string of precum already connecting it to her still-slick fingers.

Nancy leaned in close. Her warm breaths brushed over the hard length and made it twitch harder, the whole shaft giving a visible, hungry jump. She could smell him—clean hospital soap mixed with the sharp, musky scent of pure arousal. Her lips parted. She didn’t look up at his face. She just opened her mouth and took the thick head inside, tongue sliding under the ridge as she sank down.

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