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When Mike’s father died suddenly he inherited a minor property portfolio, amongst which was a small gym. This was practically defunct, and when Mike talked to the manager he made it clear that he would like to get out of the business, and that he had only kept it running to please Mike’s dad. Now Mike, who was about thirty at this time, had spent some time in the Army as a Physical Training instructor, and had only resigned to sort out his father’s affairs. He therefore decided that he would take over the running of the gym and see if he could make a go of it.
The gym was sited in a small town, and Mike did some market research to try and establish what he could do to attract more business. The first complaint was that the place was too dull, and the equipment was shabby. He closed it down for a fortnight and spent sixteen hours a day redecorating the building and overhauling the equipment. He put the word around the local sports clubs, and, with the help of some introductory offers, the clientele enlarged usefully, enough to at least make the place break even.
Mike had been married a couple of years, and he got his wife to visit the local ladies organisations, and she came back with the suggestion that fitness training classes would be popular, so he put an advert in the local press, and was pleasantly surprised at the response, and he started weekly classes. These were basic exercise routines, designed to lose weight and firm up the general musculation, involving bending and stretching, sit-ups, etcetera.
Although a couple of men appeared, they were soon scared of being in a tiny minority in a crowd of women, and so it became an all girl affair — plus Mike, of course. The majority of the women were in the thirties and forties, mostly married, and who had let their bodies get a bit out of shape, often after having a family, and they came to the classes to try and regain some of their youthful shapes and lose the love handles that had appeared while they weren’t paying attention.
When it started, the women all dressed in a quite conservative way. Some had bought Lycra shorts and so on, but they were mostly dressed in tracksuits, and when they warmed up and took the tops off, they would still be wearing something like tee shirts over sports bras. Some even wore knitted pullovers and jeans, so, all in all, they weren’t a particularly alluring bunch, and not much make up and a bit of sweat didn’t add anything. However, after a few weeks, things began to change.
Mike was an attractive young man and some of his ladies began to try and lead him on a bit. Most of them used to meet for coffee or a drink after the sessions, and they decided that a bit of teasing wouldn’t come amiss. As a result, some of the ladies began to wear rather more revealing gear, and Mike became aware of a more feminine atmosphere. Nothing too exciting to start with, but tee shirts became a bit tighter, shorts shorter and so on. As the feminine charms came more into view, so Mike moved in the opposite direction, and he was finding it necessary to wear loose track suit trousers to conceal the fact that he was getting a bit aroused at times, and he didn’t want it to show. He even took to going into the toilet for a quick wank to ease the pressure a bit.
Christmas was approaching, and the last session of the course was to take place on Christmas Eve. As the ladies arrived there was a lot of giggling and chattering going on, and Mike became a little suspicious. When they started to emerge from the changing room his fears were fully justified, and he watched with some horror as they paraded past him. The range of clothing varied from the suggestive to the extremely revealing. The tee shirts and sports tops were either very tight or very loose, and, while normally most of the girls wore either tights or tracksuit bottoms, tonight they were all wearing shorts, and these were also either very tight or very loose, and he could already imagine just what effect these clothes would have when the exercises started.
He followed into the gym and took a good look at the horror before him. Everywhere he turned he was faced by visions of uncontrolled boobs, big ones, little ones, bouncy ones, saggy ones. None of the girls was wearing a bra, and, when they started exercising, that fact became even more obvious, as the friction woke up their nipples, which were soon pushing out through the flimsy material. When they progressed to floor exercises, things got even worse. The tight shorts got pulled up into the arse cracks when they bent over, and into the vulva grooves when they were on their backs. The loose shorts were even worse, and he was presented with views varying from quick glimpses to downright full views of pussies, some shaved, some hairy, but all enticing.
Mike soon had a raging hard, and his loose tracksuit bottoms didn’t cover the fact, despite him taking up a semi-stooped posture. The girls were all quite aware of the effect that they were having on kızılay escort him, and did their best to make things even worse. Breasts popped out from over and below tee shirts, and a couple of girls who were wearing tight shorts were displaying wet patches at their crutches, showing that they were really entering into the spirit of things.
At last the session was finished, and the crowning glory was when all the girls rushed up to wish him a happy Christmas, giving him sexy open mouthed kisses and rubbing their boobs against him. Finally, after turning down all the offers of further entertainment that was made to him, he was able to get rid of his tormentors and close up the gym. He leaped into his car and drove home at highly illegal speeds, all the time sporting a monster erection.
When he got home it was now fairly late, and the house was in darkness except for the light in the hall and a dim glow from their bedroom. He rushed in, closed the door, and galloped up the stairs, panting with lust and ripping his clothes off as he went.
Now, gentlemen, take my advice, don’t try this at home. It may work in bodice ripping novels or porn stories, but, believe me, it’s not a wise course of action, and fraught with the risk that all you’ll be lusting after is the nurse in Accident and Emergency at your local hospital.
Not that nurses are what they used to be. I mean, have you seen them? The way they dress with white coats and trousers it’s a job to know whether they are nurses or decorators, no hats, hair all over the place and wearing plastic aprons as though they’re just going to do the washing up. Instead of learning their trade on the wards being taught by sisters they spend three years in university and know everything about medical machinery and bugger all about human beings, in other words, patients. Sorry, some of them are OK, but really…
My mate was in hospital recently and he was due to have an enema. In marched this figure in white overalls carrying a bucket and a collection of brushes, flexible wire probes and various other bits.
“Christ, you aren’t going to give me an enema with that lot, are you?”
“No worry, I’m not a nurse, I’m from Dynarod to fix the blocked basin waste.”
“Oh well, you might as well do it, you’d probably make a better job than the last nurse. She trolled in, all hair and finger nails, never seen a patient before, I shouldn’t think. She said ‘I’ve never done one of these before, sister says you’ll tell me what to do’. So I told her, and she screamed and ran off to find her union rep and the last I heard she was having counselling for damage to her sensitive little mind.”
Now, when I was young nurses were real nurses. They didn’t only spend time actually nursing instead of machine minding, they also dressed properly. Tidy hair was neatly contained in a cap, plain for the juniors, more and more ornate for the seniors and sisters. They wore dresses coloured according to their status, and always a starched white apron, pinned to the dress. And then, the piece de resistance — the stockings. Usually black stockings, worn with low-heeled lace up shoes of a matching colour, and real stockings with seams, not tights, that invention of the devil. In those days, stockings had to be held up, so suspenders were needed, attached to belts or roll-ons, elasticated to hold in the more mature tummy.
Of course, as the dresses weren’t too long, when the nurses were leaning over the bed to attend to a patient there was always the chance that the skirt would ride up, giving a tantalising glimpse of stocking tops and perhaps a flash of naked thigh or even a suspicion of knicker leg. The plumper the nurse, the better the chance of a good view, and many a man has been released from hospital early as a result of the psychological uplift from these happy events. Mind you, some left feet first, but at least they went with happy smiles on their faces.
And, if you were lucky, some of the girls had a very broad interpretation of what comprised nursing attention. When I was in my early twenties, I had a motorcycle accident, which left me in hospital with one leg in plaster, and one arm immobilised in a suspended position. In those days treatments were rather slower than now, and after a couple of weeks I was getting very fed up and rather frustrated. I’d see the pretty nurses and catch the odd glimpse of stocking top, which only made things worse. Then, for a reason which was never clear, I was moved to a private ward where I was on my own, and even more miserable.
One night, as I tried to get to sleep, a student nurse called Pam came in to check my pulse and temperature. She was a most attractive girl, brunette, only nineteen, nicely rounded in all the right places, and very new to the job. Normally she would not have been working on her own, but there had been a flu epidemic and a lot of nurses were off sick, so sister had told her to do her best at general nursing, though not to give any ankara etlik escort drugs or do anything at all technical. She was very chatty and tried to cheer me up. Then she came up with a suggestion.
‘As you’re wide awake and a bit hot, would it be OK if I gave you a good wash now, instead of in the morning before I go off duty? I know it will be a panic in the morning, while it’s pretty quiet just now.’
I told her that I’d be quite happy with that idea, and she duly pulled back the bedclothes and got a bowl of hot water and a flannel and soap and started by washing my face and neck. In view of the immobilisation of my arm and leg I wasn’t wearing any pyjamas, just a hospital gown that fastened at the back, though for convenience it was just draped over me, so when she pulled it away to get at my chest I was left naked. Pam carefully washed my chest and arm, leaning over me to get at as much of my back as she could reach, and I could feel the pleasant pressure of her breasts as she leant against me. She then began washing my stomach, and as she progressed a little lower I could feel the blood starting to swell my floppy penis.
When she reached the top of my thighs she bypassed the interesting bits and proceeded to wash the one available leg and foot. When she had finished that, she said ‘Do you want to…to finish off yourself or shall I do it?’
I wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. On the previous occasions when I had been washed there had always been two older nurses doing it and, although they had washed my private parts, it had been done so briskly that I certainly hadn’t been in any way aroused, but I thought that this might be a bit different.
‘Well, the others nurses always wash all of me, so I suppose you had better do it.’
‘All right, but I better warn you that I’ve never washed a man down there before, so you’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right.’
‘You’ll be OK, just remember to do it gently and take your time over it. It’s a rather sensitive area.’
‘I’ll do my best. Here we go.’
She soaped the flannel and began to delicately wash my pubic region. She cautiously approached the base of my penis, then took hold of me, rather roughly.
‘Steady there. Perhaps you’d find it easier if you just soaped your hand and used that instead of the flannel.’
‘Oh, all right’
She did as I had suggested, and this time the feel of her hand was very different from the rough flannel, and, needless to say, my cock started to grow as she held me. She let go and looked a bit startled.
‘What have I done? Is it supposed to do that?’
‘You really are innocent, aren’t you? It’s growing because your hand feels so good and it’s getting me a bit excited.’
‘You knew that would happen, didn’t you? That’s why you told me to use my hand instead of the flannel. And now I’m all embarrassed, you rotten bugger.’
‘Sorry Pam. But it did feel good. Why don’t you have another go and learn a bit more about male anatomy.’
‘As you’re a bit tied up I suppose I’m safe, so I might as well play with you for a bit.’
My cock had subsided while we were talking, but as soon as she took hold it started to grow again. This time she didn’t let go, but just held me, and very soon I was good and hard. She gently stroked me, and then she noticed that my foreskin was pulling back a bit, showing the tip of my glans.
‘Can I pull this right back?’
‘Try and see.’
She gently drew my foreskin back, uncovering my glistening glans, and a drip of milky pre-cum. She stroked the shiny surface with her soapy hand, and I felt my cock swell till it was rock hard. Her eyes were big as she looked at it and felt the throbbing of my engorged member.
Just at that moment the door opened and in walked none other than the Matron.
‘What on earth do you think you are doing, Nurse Wilson?’
Pam had dropped my cock as though it was on fire — which it was, nearly — and she managed to stutter that she was giving me a wash.
‘If a male patient has an erection like that — well, like that was when I came in — it is a sure sign that he is getting something a lot more interesting than just a wash. In other words, you were playing with him. You are a disgrace to nursing. Your training has obviously not taught you one of the first principles of the nurse patient relationship. Now, what should you do when a male patient appears to be in need of sexual stimulation?’
‘Tell him not to be disgusting?’
‘You certainly do not. What do you think that does for a patient’s morale? No, what you do is this.’
She walked across the room, took the visitors’ chair and jammed the back under the doorknob, then she came back to my bedside.
‘Now, how skilled are you at masturbating a man?’
‘I’ve never touched a man’s penis before, not even when I’ve been with another nurse. I’ve only sort of watched, and I never saw one get big like this one did. And I’m demetevler escortlar not at all sure how to masturbate a man at all.’
‘Oh well, it’s time you learnt. Right, first of all you need to get him excited, so caress him round his belly and thighs, then gradually get round to touching his penis, or you can cup his scrotum in your hand. Go on, have a go.’
Pam very timidly did as she was told, but her nervousness came across to me, and my penis stayed limp, even when she took hold of it and squeezed it gently.
‘You’re clueless, girl. Here, let me show you. First of all, I should have told you to stand in the right place. Like this, so that your bottom is alongside his hand, in case he wants to return the compliment a bit.’
She stood alongside me, facing towards the bottom of the bed and took hold of my penis, and this time it started to grow firm. She began to slide the foreskin back and forth, a little further each time till it was exposing and then covering my shiny glans.
‘This is the way to do it, and, as he gets a bit more excited — you can tell because his breathing starts to get a bit ragged — you go a bit faster, and, sooner or later – sooner this time, I think – you’ll feel his penis throb as his seminal fluid starts to rush up his penis. If you want to delay things a bit, just stop and apply a bit of pressure underneath — see, where my finger is — and that will stop him coming. Then you can start again when he’s relaxed a bit. You can make things even better for him by holding his scrotum, and most men like their perineum caressed, and you can even slide your finger up to his anus, and press on it till it opens and lets you in.’
‘Ugh, I wouldn’t want to stick my finger up his bum. That sounds disgusting.’
‘One day a man may want to do it to you, and you’ll find it can be great fun, and it’s not too unpleasant having a penis up there, as long as it’s been well lubricated. You’ve got a lot to learn.’
While this was going on, I had wondered what she had meant by “in case he wants to return the compliment a bit”? She didn’t intend me to grope her, did she? Now, although she must have been nearly fifty at the time, she was still an attractive woman once you got past the aura of the uniform, and she had a good figure, well rounded without being fat. As her hand started to move gently on my now fully tumescent tool, I cautiously placed my hand on her bottom. As she didn’t immediately push me away, I became a little bolder and increased the pressure so that she would have no doubt what I was doing, and began to caress and squeeze her firm buttock. After a bit, I threw caution to the winds and slid my hand down her thigh till I reached the bottom of her skirt, and felt the slippery surface of her stocking. Then I pushed my fingers forward so that I was stroking the inside of her knee. Again, no negative reaction, so I began to move slowly upwards, and I felt the swelling of her upper thigh. On I went, and felt the sudden change from firm stocking to warm, soft flesh.
My hand had been on the outside of her thigh, but now I moved and twisted my wrist so that my fingers were probing between her thighs. Surely she will stop me now, I thought, but no, she stayed still and said nothing, while her hand was sliding my foreskin back and forth with some vigour. I slid my fingers forward and upward, and I felt her legs part slightly to make it easier for me. Soon I felt the edge of her knickers, made of some silky material, and, as my fingers rose, suddenly I had reached the junction of her thighs and I felt a sudden heat as I probed the shape of her outer pussy lips. It wasn’t the first time I had had my hand up a woman’s skirt, but I wasn’t too familiar with the geography. I slid my fingers to and fro and felt that I was starting to part her lips and enter the slit between. I was aware that her flesh was much warmer, and realised that her knickers gusset was distinctly damp. I was just thinking about trying to get inside her knicker leg, but I got rather distracted by the fact that she had upped the speed of massage of my penis and I felt the onset of my orgasm. She knew just what was happening to me, and, as the hot fluid rushed up from my balls into my shaft she pulled my foreskin right back and held it there as I spurted high into the air, landing on her arm and hand.
She moved away from me, and I dropped my hand to let her skirt swing free. I looked at Pam, and her eyes were wide as saucers. She obviously had never seen a man cum before, and she said as much to Matron.
‘I never realised that they squirted like that.’
‘Well, you have learned something tonight, then. Here, try a taste of seminal fluid — go on, you can’t get pregnant this way.’
Pam wasn’t too sure about this, but Matron was God in the hospital, so she cautiously licked a little from her arm. Her nose wrinkled a little, then she smiled.
‘It wouldn’t sell a lot in a bar, but it doesn’t taste too bad.’
‘Well, one day you might like to get a taste direct from the source, if you see what I mean. Oh, don’t look so dozy — you’ve heard of a blow job, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve heard of it, but I never liked to ask what it was. Do you mean masturbating a man with my mouth?’
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