Being a doctor in ER is stressful. Calling it ER, Casualty or ‘Accident and Emergency’ makes no difference; it’s tough. Dealing with everything from a stroke or a heart attack, to some dipstick who drank too much and fell off a wall, the duty of an ER doctor is to do the early work that’s vital for life.
‘Am I on Lush?’ you ask yourself, ‘this isn’t why I opened this story.’ Well, think about it. Stress, stress, stress is what the job is all about, and the relief of stress is all-important if I’m not to go mad.
Alcohol is a no-no unless it’s before some time off, so what to do? ‘Ah, she’s getting somewhere,’ I imagine you’re thinking, ‘keep going!’
If you’ve read the story, ‘The Life of a Unicorn,’ you will know that I live in a triumvirate, with one lucky guy and us two lucky girls. You will also know that stress-relief comes easily in that arrangement, whether it’s mff, mf, or ff, and that all depends on our shift patterns.
You could say I have a high libido. “You have a high libido.” Thank you, I did say ‘could’ not ‘must,’ but here goes.
I have a high libido. Thinking about sex diverts my mind from the horrors I have to deal with; and don’t get me started on Covid. So yes, I go around all day fantasising about who, what, where, when and, perhaps most importantly, how.
A little secret. For my job, I have to wear medical scrubs; no, not the ‘naughty nurse’ variety, but the blue, cover everything interesting variety. Not much scope there for wicked thoughts, you’d think but remember, I only have to look around for my fair share of sexy nurses (male or female), and fit doctors (female or male) are all fair game for my imagination.
No secret there then? No, my secret is that I am naked underneath my scrubs and this has three main advantages. Firstly, as I walk, the rather starchy material rubs against my nipples, sending signals to my brain and my pussy.
Secondly, even without the nipple rubbing, the sensation of rubbing cloth between my legs is enough to keep my mind firmly on thoughts of sex and where my next orgasm is going to come from.
Stop interrupting! ‘How can you do a decent job as a doctor and think about sex at the same time?’ you ask. Well, think about it. Women can multi-task – sorry, male reader, but that’s how it is. Also, the brainpower needed for my work is in the right frontal lobe, whereas arousal happens in the hypothalamus – did I mention that I am a doctor? Multi-task – different sections of the brain – easy!
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the third benefit of being naked under my scrubs is that I have easy access when I need a quick orgasm to relieve the stress.
Downsides? The only one I can think of is that blue scrubs rather show up the damp patch when my hypothalamus is working overtime.
So where is all this leading? Most days I sneak off to the supplies room (corny, I know, but it works for me) to get some privacy and get off, changing my scrubs if necessary, and it usually is, before resuming work.
The day in question was a bit different. It was a normal start with a simple fracture, an allergic reaction to a McDonald’s (no surprises there) and a suspected stroke. Triage and pass them on to the right specialists. Boredom set in.
I think I mentioned that thinking about sex was a good way to divert attention from the stress of my job, well it also helps overcome boredom. Actually, it’s just really good to think about sex whatever happens in a day, as long as you act on those thoughts. Agree?
With another ER doctor on duty, I was able to slip away (literally by then) and find my little supplies room, my escape from reality.
Making sure the door was closed and having that little frisson knowing there was no lock, I dropped the bottoms of my scrubs around my knees before slumping down into the chair and hooking my legs over the arms.
Closing my eyes and with one hand inside my top, the other firmly between my legs, I started my fantasy ride. Tweaking my nipples between thumb and forefinger, I used my other hand to start slowly rubbing my vulva, helping the juices to flow even more than they had been.
Deciding I was nearly ready, that hand started to focus a little more, with two fingers rubbing my out lips in parallel, occasionally bringing them together to plunge into my waiting cunt, accompanied by a satisfied grunt, before pulling out again and resuming the slow ascent.
Edging for a while, I wallowed in the sensations that coursed through me before reaching that delicious point-of-no-return when I whip out my fingers and strum my clit at speed letting the sensations of a glorious orgasm power through me.
Back to work? No way; one is never enough.
I opened my eyes and staring wide-eyed but definitely not innocent, was my dream-girl, the newly qualified Russian-born girl, Natasha. I suspect she was twenty-three, but all that faded when I looked at her outrageously long legs, full breasts and, going up, her gorgeous face and long, auburn hair.
I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a finger, a long, beautiful finger, to her lips to hush me.
Pulling up another chair, she raised her nurse’s skirt, dropped her panties, and mirrored me, having unbuttoned her top to reveal those delicious breasts – fuller than I thought – curse those uniforms!
Without words being spoken but with my eyes fully open, I went for a repeat performance as it had worked so well the first time.
I watched her every move and although I tried to make eye contact with her, she was fully focussed on my pussy and the actions of my fingers, totally committed to mirror every action. I stopped; she stopped. Two fingers in; the same. This was hot and I loved it.
I had dreamed a lot about being caught doing what I do so often, but it had never happened and could have ended with shame and embarrassment from colleagues, all of whom, male and female, would have committed to an hour as a patient in ER if they could just have 15 minutes with the edible Natasha.
The energy in the small space was tangible, the aroma intoxicating. We synchronised our actions while each of us either accelerated the sensations our fingers gave us or eased back a little without being obvious to avoid the inevitably mis-synchronised orgasms.
I was in her thrall and as our panting grew louder and the sound of our juices escalated, she just gave a little nod of her head and we tumbled into that place where time stops still, the brain (sorry, hypothalamus) doesn’t quite know what’s going on, and wave after wave of sheer pleasure bounces from head to toe and back again.
Did you notice that my clever little quips stopped while all that was going on? Another good reason for having sex – humour becomes unnecessary to trigger joy, if just for a moment.
Darling Natasha wasn’t finished though. Tilting my chair back, she accomplished the impossible, although perhaps all nursing students in Russia get trained such that they could convert to being cosmonauts, should the need arise.
Her training paid off. I was comfortably lying in the tilted chair and before I could say, “Cum again?” she had straddled me in such a way that her legs hung over the back of my chair, her pussy, what a gorgeous pussy, was in a perfect position for me to eat her out, while her own touch and just the right amount of nibble were able to do their business where it mattered most, my own hungry cunt.
We were both in a frenzy of licking, nibbling, and moaning our way towards another supreme climax. My heart was pounding in my chest and my scrub bottoms were acting as a drip-collector. I was in heaven. Once again, we sensed each other’s needs and were able to control our ministrations to make sure our end goal was the same once again.
This time, I couldn’t see her nod for obvious reasons, but I could tell from the increase in flow that she was close, and my own self-control failed as a result and we both came together, panting our way through the stars and dizziness of another astounding cum.
We were both blind, of course, with her head buried in my pussy and mine in hers. Sliding off me as though weightless, she stood, as did I and we hugged before sensing something wasn’t quite right.
From behind the rack of colostomy bags, a sheepish-looking Senior Consultant, named Philip, appeared and handed us a piece of paper. Expecting to be fired, we were stunned into silence when we read his address and a short note: Tonight. 7 pm. Don’t be late. Come as you are.
