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Those of you who have read some, or all, of the previous parts will know what this is all about. In simple terms, it’s is a story about doctors and nurses. It is a long story, we’ve already done five parts, a further five have been written and I have at least that number buzzing around in my head. So, I hope you have the stamina for Sammi and Emma and all the other characters.
It’s also a complicated story and a fucking horny one at that. It was horny to me writing it and I hope it will be as horny for you reading it.
If you have come straight to this part, I would strongly suggest you read Part 1 first, to meet all the characters, although each part should stand alone as an erotic experience.
The story revolves around sex in many forms. The theme of it is how a doctor treats people who are, in one way or another, sexually dysfunctional, so on one level it is a medical story. All the characters in the story who are not his patients, however, are as equally sexually dysfunctional somehow, so on another level it is pure erotica. On yet another level the story looks at how clothing promotes, influences, affects and conditions sexual behaviour; there are lots of descriptions of sexy nurses uniforms and ladies panties.
I really hope you enjoy what may well be my magnum opus and possibly my last submission to Literotica. Do let me know won’t you?
Also, I have tried putting a photo of Sammi on my Lit bio. The photo fascists at Lit are, at the moment, stopping me doing that. So, if any of you would like to see what nurse Sammi is like, just let me know and I’ll send a pic.
Sammi was pissed off. She was annoyed and disappointed at Mike. How could he think such things of her she wondered? She would leave, money wasn’t everything, she thought. Then she looked at the new clothes, the new shoes and she thought about the MINI Cooper S that was on order and the holiday she had just booked with three girl friends in Ibiza. Perhaps it is she smiled.
“What the fuck’s going on?” She said loudly down the phone.
“What do you mean darling?” Emma replied, perfectly aware what would be annoying Sammi.
Sammi ranted for a while.
“Look why don’t you pop over and we’ll talk it through.”
“I’m still at the clinic, I won’t finish until eight.”
“That’s ok, I have loads of work to catch up, so come on over then.”
Sammi got a cab for the cross town, north east to south west twenty five minute journey, something she would never have done before joining La Crème. Paying the eighteen pound fare made her think again about money not being that important.
“Nice outfit luv,” the cheeky, surprisingly young, but rather fanciable cabby said as he looked at Sammi leaning forward offering him the twenty pound note through the cab window. She had become so used to wearing the white coat she tended to forget how revealing it could be, especially when she leaned forward as she was now. “Off to a fancy dress party?” He added
“Shit he can see my tits,” she thought, feeling a tinge of embarrassment, but also a shock of excitement.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” She asked herself as she pulled the sides of the jacket she was wearing over the coat together, said “Keep the change” turned and walked away, purposefully, she acknowledged, but as good as unconsciously, she knew , accentuating the wiggle of bare arse under the nurses outfit.
She had to ring a bell outside the locked doors of the La Crème agency in Knightsbridge, for it was closed up. The intercom buzzed.
“Hi, Sammi?” She heard Emma ask?
The buzzer went and the outer door unlocked as Emma’s voice over the intercom told her to come in and go to the sitting room, as the La Crème people called their boardroom. It was the place where Emma had told her about the new clinic a week or so ago. The offices were dim for most of the lights were out, but it was light enough for Sammi to find her way. She tapped on the sitting room door that was ajar, a marginally brighter light coming through the gap.
“Come right on in Sam,” Emma called out.
Undoing the short blue jacket that La Crème had recently added to the uniform, partly as Autumn was arriving, but mainly because many of the girls had complained that when they travelled in the white tunic they got too many men staring at their tits, Sammi walked in to the room.
She was amazed to see how Emma was dressed. She was wearing what Sammi quickly worked out was an updated version of the very old fashioned sort of nurses uniform that pictures of Florence Nightingale and the like wore in Victorian times, during the Crimean war for instanced.
It was made from a slightly shiny, black material, a bit like taffeta, and it had a furled collar that scooped down across Emma’s great tits, creating a deep cleavage. It was very tight across Emma’s bust, chest and waist around which she was wearing a white apron that came down to about her mid thigh. Beneath that Sammi couldn’t see any buttons, but the skirt güvenilir bahis was a few inches above the knee and again very tight.
“Hi Sammi, how are you?” Emma said brightly, slowly turning on the spot. “What do you think of the new uniform?”
“What for La Crème?” The blonde asked her eyes searing in on the amply gorgeous roundness of Emma’s bum inside the shiny material that was moulded tightly across her buttocks and legs, looking as if it had been sprayed on her body.
“No for Mike’s new clinic staff,” Emma replied pirouetting again letting Sammi take in the black hosiery, the row of tiny buttons from Emma’s waist to mid way up her cleavage, the slight wobble as she moved hinting at no bra and the tiny wrinkles at her ankles suggesting she was wearing stockings and not tight. Emma stood still facing Sammi, she put her hands on her hips, her legs slightly parted and asked.
Sammi couldn’t reply at first for the uniform was overtly sexy and extremely erotic; it was made more so for her when she saw the very clear indentation of Emma’s hardened nipples.
“Wow,” I suupose.
“I just got the prototypes from the dressmaker and thought you would like to be the first to see it,” Emma explained inviting Sammi to sit on one of the sofas and getting her the requested drink of a white wine spritzer, Emma had vodka.
There was a low coffee table in front of the gold, suede type material covered sofa. Emma perched herself down on that, her knees pointing at Sammi, the skirt riding up her legs as she sipped her drink.
“What do you think of it?”
“It’s great,” Sammi replied honestly adding, “why do the outfits have to be so er, um, sexy I guess.”
“Do you think they are Sammi? Do you think they are really sexy?”
“Yes of course I do, all the girls do.”
“And does the marvellous Mike think that as well?” Emma asked taking a sip of her drink and looking right at the young nurse over the rim of her glass.
Sammi answered a little frostily.
“I don’t know and I’m not sure I care too much.”
“Oh? How’s that a lover’s tiff?”
“We aren’t and never will be lovers.”
“That’s a very long time Sammi,” Emma said standing up and looking down at blonde nurse, getting pretty much the same view as the cabby had earlier. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to tell me about shagging Dr Steven’s did you?”
Looking up at Emma, Sammi was struck again by the ample size and gorgeous roundness of her full breasts.
“No I didn’t and I haven’t, I told you.”
“I bet you would like to though, wouldn’t you?”
“I never go with attached men.”
“I didn’t ask you that, I asked if you would like to?”
“Not now no.”
“Why because of his new treatment method and ‘cos he asked you to be part of it?”
“Yes, I think he should not have asked, it’s wrong, immoral even.”
Emma smiled. “Don’t be silly, it’s advanced medical science.”
They talked about the morals or otherwise of Mike’s new way of treating sexual dysfunctionality for some time.
“Let me show you something,” Emma said moving over to a pc on a desk off to one side, “come over here.” She patted a chair beside the one she perched on.
They were quite a contrast. Emma fortyish, Sammi mid twenties; Emma dark, Sammi blonde; Emma full busted and curvaceous, Sammi small chested and slim; Emma wearing a sexy black nurses outfit, Sammi a white sexy uniform. Apart, quite different, but together a combination of sheer sex on legs.
“These are you test results.”
“Those you took at the interviews.”
Emma scrolled down until Sammi’s name came up. Under it, Emma pointed, were the names of the various tests she had taken and a percentage.
“That’s where you rank in the population for that test.”
“How do you mean?” Sammi asked, genuinely interested in the tests for she was intrigued by measuring peoples’ psyches.
Emma ran the cursor down the screen highlighting a series of test names and scores. “Well in this test we measure your Moral Conventionality and there are only 15% of the population who are less conventional than you. In this, Setting Own Standards there are only 10% who are less likely to work to their own standards and in this, Receptiveness to Alternatives you are in the top 5%.”
“So what does it all mean?” Sammi asked, slightly bemused, but slowly beginning to see what Emma was saying, just as she realised their knees were touching, her white nylon covered knee and Emma’s black nylon covered one.
Before answering Emma highlighted one further test name and score. It read Social Repression, 5%.
Emma turned towards Sammi and smiling said softly.
“In short, you have the morals of an alley cat Sammi and are up for anything.”
“Oh fuck off,” Sammi couldn’t resist saying, “You’re making it up.”
Emma pressed her knee more firmly, Sammi moved hers, Emma’s followed, but just brushed Sammi’s.
“So what’s this test then?” Sammi asked pointing out one that said DQ.
“That’s türkçe bahis stands for decorum quotient.”
“And that means?”
“Again, in short, whilst, you are not likely to comply with normal standards on sexual morality you will probably disregard social conventions and will probably be uninhibited, you will act with decorum and style and will have a sophisticated approach and attitude.”
“Really, is that all true, those tests can measure all that?” Sammi asked genuinely impressed, for actually what Emma was saying was broadly true.
“Yes, I have used them for some time now, Mike helped develop them and they have proved to be very accurate,” Emma said as she got up and freshened their drinks. “So you see Sammi,” she said handing the glass to her young nurse, “Mike was not being assumptive, rude or insensitive, I had briefed him on the test results, he was perhaps a little hasty.”
“He was bloody hasty as good as asking me to fuck half his patients.”
“Well not half,” Emma replied. “From looking at his patient load and case notes.”
“You see those?” Sammi asked a little incredulously.”
“Of course, I’m setting up his new computer systems. Seventy four percent of his patients are female,” she said turning and walking across the room, the tight, shiny material of the amazing nurse’s dress clinging to her “to die for” arse. Emma went on quoting percentages and numbers that she seemed to know off by heart, about the various types of sexual problems. “So there,” she said with a flourish, opening a wardrobe door. “There are only about twelve male patients and fourteen female where you would need to be part of the role-play.”
“At the moment,” Sammi replied.
“Yes of course at the moment and yes that will increase, but soon, end of Q1 we have planned, you will be able to hire an assistant. So that’s all not too bad is it Sammi and, of course don’t forget the money.”
Emma had made the second and third spritzers much stronger so she wasn’t surprised at the quite dramatic change in Sammi’s approach.”
“No I suppose it isn’t really.”
“So you’ll do it then?”
“I’ll think about,” Sammi said, knowing full well that, indeed she would do it.
Mike, who was usually the coolest and most collected of men, was excited. Everything was going great, his grand plan, his big ambition, establishing his own clinic, looked as though it really was about to happen. The Saudis and the German’s had come through with the big money, his bank had valued his house at far more than he had expected and they had confirmed that they were prepared to lend him the three hundred thousand he needed to make up the half million the backers insisted he put in. Emma had agreed to be the operations manager, he had recruited most of the staff he needed and, as importantly as most other things in many ways, last evening over dinner, Sammi had said she was on board.
And finally, his one time mentor, Sir Bernard Prestle, an emeritus professor of advanced psychiatry at Oxford, had agreed to join him as Clinical and Medical Supervisor. To get him to take that on was a real feather in Mike’s cap and an enormous fillip for his new treatment method; with Bernard’s support, the whole BMA would be likely to be behind it, making funding easier and referrals from other consultants an inevitability.
Although only in his early fifties, Bernard was probably the leading light in treating sexual and other similar emotional neuroses by treatments based upon Freudian as opposed to Jungian theories. They had been close ever since Mike was at medical school where Bernard was the youngest professor in his field in the world. Despite being only ten or so years older, Mike looked on Bernard as his surrogate father, his having died when he was in his early teens. So, on all grounds, clinical, business, reputation, emotional and pure friendship, Mike was delighted that Bernard and he would once work together.
So now both the clinic and his launch of his revolutionary interactive neuroses therapy really did look as though they were going to happen.
Even things with Claire were going well, although Mike had no idea why.
Sitting in the high backed chair, his wrists tied to the bar behind him, his ankles to the legs he was naked and blindfolded. He was erect, stunningly so. The sensory deprivation of the blindfold and the restrictions of the straps was such a turn on that even if he couldn’t see Claire, but could only hear her moving round the bedroom, it had made him hard, harder than he had been for some time.
“What’s going on Claire?” He called wondering.
“Be patient, you’ll find out soon.”
He heard and felt her moving close to him, he could also smell her perfume. He felt material brush against his bare arm, smooth material, not a dress though and certainly not the lace or silk of a nightgown.
“How do you feel?” she asked standing behind him.
“Fantastic, tremendously aroused and absolutely as horny as I could be.”
“Mmmmmm güvenilir bahis siteleri lovely,” she whispered, pleased with her efforts and their effect on him so far. “Well,” she went on her fingers running across his bare chest and finding a nipple that she, rather harshly pinched, making him wince with the sudden pain.
“Ooooo,” he grunted.
“Don’t be a baby, or I’ll give you something to really moan about,” she went on reaching down and stroking his cock, feeling pleased that it was hard, very hard, hard enough to fuck with, she thought.
“Now that’s a nice threat.”
“No darling,” she whispered that was a promise, her fingers going to the blindfold. “Would you like me to take this off?”
“Yes, yes please.”
“Would you like to see me?” She asked loosening it.
“Of course, yes.”
“See what I am wearing, what I look like?”
“Yes, yes Claire, I would.”
She undid the blindfold but left it over his eyes. He went to shake his head to remove it.
“No, don’t do that; leave it where it is until I tell you to shake it off.”
Claire moved round and stood in front of him a few feet across the room from where he was tied to the chair.
“You can shake it off now,” she said quietly.
“Oh my fucking Lord. Good God alive Claire,” he groaned, “You look amazing.”
As indeed she did.
She was wearing her crisp, white, lawyer’s shirt complete with the winged collar. She was wearing her straw coloured barrister’s wig with the short pony tail. She was wearing the black, flowing courtroom gown. She was wearing the dark stockings that are de rigeur for lady barristers in the high courts of London and she was wearing the sensible, mid height, heeled shoes that are comfortable to stand in when examining or cross examining. And that was it. No skirt, no other cover, no panties and no bra, not even a suspender belt for the seamed stockings were holdups. Apart from where the silver stud near to her Adam’s apple was holding the two sides of the winged collar together, her shirt was open, her tits were bare and they were poking out through the starched cotton. Her nipples were hugely erect; her unkempt, as good as untrimmed and certainly never shaved, bush of pubic hairs was clearly on display at the top of her chunky, full thighs, which were slightly parted showing the glistening lips of her pussy that was clearly soaked. Claire simply stood there, a small smile on her face, one hand on her hip, the other dangling by her side as she said.
“So Sir Bernard, do you want to fuck me now?
He had never been to Saudi before. He had done some consulting work in Qatar and Bahrain and had been to Dubai on holiday a couple of times, but had never had reason to visit the main country in the Middle East, Saudi Arabia. And from what he had heard he wasn’t looking forward to it. What with the restrictions on women, no booze and the lack of practicality any form of entertainment: cinemas, theatres, pubs, bars and clubs and its seemingly excessively harsh laws, it really had little attraction for him. Other than one that is, yes there was one thing driving him to come here. Money. There was plenty of that in this oil rich, tax free kingdom and some of it had been half-promised to him.
Mike Stevens was trying to put a deal together to open a private clinic in Berkshire, England. He was sure that the revolutionary approach he and a couple of colleagues had developed to treat deep rooted psychotic disorders and neuroses would be a success. He had it all worked out, the location, the key staff, the marketing and the treatment processes. His financial projections modestly, he and his accountant felt, indicated a break-even after two years, a million profit in year three and then just upwards and onwards after that. The only problem was that he needed nearly twenty million sterling to get it up and running.
His partner Claire, a barrister who specialised in corporate law, had introduced him to some German financiers she had met during a deal she worked on. They were solid people, with reasonable backing and, Claire had found out during the deal, a healthy attitude towards sex. In her terms, that meant when the business was finished, she got fucked. And most nights when the deal was being completed that is exactly what she and Korlen Gunter, the guy to whom she had introduced her partner of ten years, did in the Intercontinental hotel in Dusseldorf.
Mike and Claire had met with Korlen several times. It was particularly interesting for Claire to sit in on the meetings, lunches and dinners in both Dusseldorf and London, with two men she had slept with; Mike, her lover of ten years, and Korlen her lover of hardly more than ten minutes. Obviously, the German knew that Mike was shagging her. What intrigued, but didn’t concern her particularly, for her relationship with Mike was pretty open, was whether Mike felt she had slept with Korlen.
As it turned out, Korlen and his private equity group were stretched at the time. “Well the German economy is a bit fucked at the moment,” he had said, looking right at Claire as the word fucked slipped through his lips, making her almost giggle. He had agreed, though, that they would come with five mil, but no more.
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