Suffice it to say, at that moment, I was glad to be hospitalized and in the clutches of Stella, soon to be renamed Nurse Nookie by yours truly. I felt her throat constrict as she swallowed my spunk. She didn’t seem anxious to disengage, so I lay there and wondered if she was waiting to feel my satisfied prick wither in her mouth, or if she was contemplating biting my guy off for some macabre keepsake, turning my musings into a depraved horror scenario. It could depend on which one of my stories she’d read.
Life is composed of moments, the present being the only one we have for sure, an opportunity to share a laugh, a tear, a joy, a hug, a kiss, our bodies, a thought. I was anxious to discover what mine and Stella’s next moment would bring. Once she pulled away from my organ, now looking more like a slithery white snake than a demon of devilry, she became the nurse I’d met the first day of my confinement, Nurse Nazi. She gave my penis a quick and final less than gentle rinse and stood up. I wasn’t about to be my normal sarcastic self by saying something trite like, “Was it good for you?” or “I sure needed that.” Not to Stella. It was up to her to comment. Before she picked up the water bowl, she finally spoke. The scene and words still linger in my eyes and ears.
Stella quickly unbuttoned the top of her starched white uniform and pulled her tits out of her bra. Fortunately, they bore no swastikas. She supported them in the palms of her hands. The nipples pointed toward me like two ship beacons in search of a safe haven. I must say, they weren’t bad for a woman who had to be in her late forties. Not bad at all.
“Tomorrow, I expect you to suck on these twin bitches,” Stella apprised me. I knew immediately which story of mine she’d read because it was a line from “Damsels in No Distress”. She went on to proclaim that whatever else happened, I only had myself to blame for the kind of mischief I wrote about and that she had chosen to read.
Whatever, Nurse Nazi, I was thinking.
I like to go with the flow, but this flow was soon to change. As Stella buttoned up, covered me, and opened the curtain to leave the room, I saw another figure coming in. It was none other than my sweet Suzy, bandaged and bruised, but on her feet. Stella nodded and disappeared as Suzy came and sat on the bed my naughty nurse had so recently vacated. Timing is everything, in writing and in life, I thought. There was the split-second occurrence on the road that brought me here, and the split-second timing of two female ships passing in and out of my realm of privacy.
Together, Suzy and I relived the unfortunate night and the accident itself. I wasn’t sure she totally forgave me for avoiding the varmint and cracking us up, but she told me not to blame myself for the occurrence. The page of script in our lives on which the accident occurred had led to my Nookie chapter. I told Suzy how anxious I was to be released, but that they might have to keep me another couple of days. Apparently, Suzy didn’t want to wait. It was her turn to reach under my hospital gown. She began to stroke my freshly sucked and washed penis and caressed my testicles. She found the smooth spot at the base of my scrotum, her favorite spot, and slid her middle finger back and forth along the surface, thankful to have one arm not in a cast.
“My poor Captain America,” she said and squeezed my balls. Then she commented on the fact that my dick didn’t seem very happy to see her.
“Drugs,” I told her when it failed to stir. I also told her the shock of seeing her was probably affecting my ability to respond. Suzy is not a woman to give up easily. She was determined to give her motorbike adventurer something, so she kept rubbing and teasing.
I flooded my head with a kaleidoscope of images: my hungry mouth on her breasts, her hands threading through my thick hair, all the physical delights of our relationship, the joining of the two of us. But what finally caused my cock to stir was the thought of Nurse Nazi’s ample tits swinging across my face as her starched uniform rode above her waist while she fucked me. Where there is life, there is hope.
“You’re back, honey,” I remember Suzy saying. My cock was rising again. She lifted up the gown to watch it grow. I told her the doctor said I wasn’t supposed to get overly excited due to my internal bleeding, so she stopped the jacking motion and lifted my garment high enough to give my cockhead a gentle kiss.
When Suzy departed, I must confess it continued to be Stella I thought about, but I didn’t feel guilty. After all, what writer wouldn’t get a thrill out of the knowledge that someone had been overcome by his words, and to experience that knowledge in the flesh, as it were.
So, here is my final confession to the Nurse Nookie affair. The following day, Stella first appeared as distant as a faraway mountain range. Uh-oh, I thought. Reality can swing an open door shut in a hurry. Seeing Suzy waltz in probably broke any spell she might have harbored. I sighed and started to formulate the story I would write about hospital hanky-panky. Toward day’s end, my doctor came in and told me I would be discharged the next morning.
A bit after that, Stella came in again. I wondered if she would say “Goodbye”, “Have a nice life”, “Kiss my butt”, or merely harbor her tight-ass expression.
As it turned out, she said nothing except, “I read another story last night”, as she pulled the privacy screen closed once more. She unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra, and stuck her tits in my face, guiding one nipple and then the other into my mouth. They were hard and distended, easy to hold onto. The harder I sucked the more it seemed to turn her on. Then she backed off, pulled off her white hose, lifted her skirt and straddled me, her face to my feet, not exactly the way my fantasy had imaged it, but rather the way one of my female characters liked to take it, holding onto a man’s toes while getting fucked.
Stella rode me like a cowgirl on an unbroken colt, all the while staying perfectly quiet. Her slim body rose above mine like a tree, her legs being the roots and the bird’s nest of hair on her head completing the image. I observed her twin butt-cheeks rise and then plunge down on my shaft like an elevator car no longer tethered. Up and down, forward and back. I was in hospital heaven.
With one of her legs thrown over my cast, I spied a small item that made me believe Stella hadn’t always been the no-nonsense nurse with a sudden desire to fuck the creator of her latest reading choices she pretended to be. High on one of her thighs, a peace symbol tattoo quivered with each plunge. Go back twenty years and I could almost picture her hair long and parted in the middle while she smoked a doobie, but I never would have enquired for fear the Nazi nurse in her might come out instead of some once-upon-a-time hippie chick. Can you imagine my conundrum: the thrill of the ride against the fear of Suzy walking in to see her lonely, wounded motorcycle man getting ridden like an incarcerated boy-toy?
Fortunately, my confession has a happy ending. Nurse Nookie gave me one of the best fucks of my life, not to mention a story idea. When I left the room for the final time, I took in the unromantic setting where two women, different in almost every way, had fondled me. Though the bed was institutional, the unmade sheets and covers spilling over the foot of the mattress onto the floor looked like a cotton waterfall. There seemed to be a message there. At least I chose to think so. Every day is a page of unwritten text that flows from our surroundings and our situations, and the story is made richer when some of those pages are unplanned or unforeseen. That’s my theory anyway.
I haven’t had a legitimate reason to return to the hospital to ask Nurse Nookie if she’s still reading. As far as Suzy is concerned, we remained an item for a while. I never divulged Nookie’s proclivities. I figured what happened in a hospital room should stay there . . . until now, that is. I’ll always believe my time there was something that will crack that solemn mug of hers now and then when she reminisces. Hell, maybe she’ll even change her hairstyle. I’ve heard women do that sometimes after a new adventure.
My Regression Into Babyhood
Jessica, San Francisco
From his photos on the “Classy Hookups” dating site, I could see that he was handsome – maybe one of the hottest-looking men I’d seen in years. And he had
a good job. He was an architect: artistic, I thought, yet logical. Plus, he was a movie buff like me.
I nearly jumped up and down. More than a year after my most recent break-up, maybe I’d finally found someone.
He described himself as “kinky”, listing “spanking” as one of his favored activities. Although that seemed a bit scary, I was OK with it: I’d always been curious about kink. But scrolling further down, I came across a deal breaker: he belonged to the groups “diaper girls and their daddies”, “humiliating diaper stories”, “adult babies”, etc.
My stomach turned. No way I could get involved with someone like that. Damn, I thought. It seemed to be getting harder and harder to find a man I was attracted to who wasn’t a fucking freak.
Fast-forward to six months later: I’m at a Classy Hookups mixer at a bar in downtown San Francisco, I sit down in the one empty seat in the whole fucking place and it turns out to be next to him.
I didn’t recognize him at first. He looked different in person: milder, less intense, younger. But when he told me his screen name on the website – SweetDaddy4U – it all came back to me.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I’ve seen you on the site. You’re the guy who likes diapers.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m Brandon. Nice to meet you.”
I told him my name was Jessica, and we shook hands.
Partly out of curiosity, partly just to make conversation, I asked him what turned him on about diapers. I vowed to myself to keep an open mind and respond politely, no matter how much his answer disgusted me.
He explained that a woman who lets him put her in a diaper is giving up control to him, which he finds arousing. And he said a diaper feels nice and soft to the person wearing it, which can help a woman relax and get turned on, too.
There was something seductive about him. The whole package. He seemed gentle, tender, sensitive – not macho like in his photos. He was pale and green-eyed and something about him made me feel safe.
And although I couldn’t admit it out loud, his diaper talk intrigued me. I was a powerful woman, overly intellectual, VP of a software firm. But inside, I often felt like a little girl. I started imagining what it would feel like to be babied by this man, how blissful it might feel to let go and give up all control to him, allowing him to pamper and nurture me and – granted, my imagination was getting a bit carried away here – molest me in my most private places. As I watched his face, which seemed handsomer and handsomer by the minute, the thought of becoming a baby in his presence became almost overwhelmingly tantalizing. Of course, though, wearing an actual diaper was absolutely off the table. The very idea made me recoil.
We talked a bit more, and he left before I did. I never expected to see him again, but when I got home, there was a chat message from him – he’d found me on Classy Hookups.
“It was nice meeting you. Would you like to have dinner on Saturday night?” his message said.
I wrote back: “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll have to pass. I’m not into diapers. I could never do that. Ever.”
He answered: “That’s no problem. We don’t need to do diapers.”
Well, I figured since he wasn’t going to insist on diapers, it was a green light. What else did I have to do on a Saturday night?
A few days later, he picked me up and we went out for dinner at a seafood restaurant in the South Beach district of San Francisco. The weather was balmy and we sat outside, at a table right on the water. Our conversation was relaxed and casual, mostly about our shared love of film noir. Mercifully, the subject of diapers never came up.
Afterwards, he drove me home and I invited him in for coffee.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, carrying cups of coffee into the living room.
He sat down on the sofa and I plunked myself down a few inches away from him, careful to pull the hem of my short little black cocktail dress down over my crotch.
He didn’t touch his coffee. Looking at me, he grazed my cheek with the back of his hand, then stroked my lips with two fingers. He slid his hand down the side of my body until it found my ass, stroking it gently.
I wiggled and let out a sigh.
“Are you turned on?” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. I was embarrassed and could feel my face getting hot.
“Naughty little girls like you need to be better behaved,” he said. He slapped my flank, smiling as if it were a joke.
I was shocked; I had no idea how to respond. I tried to look coquettish, putting my hand up to partly cover my mouth, thereby eliminating the need to talk.
“Are you sucking your thumb like a little girl?” he said, still smiling. “Maybe a good spanking would help you behave.”
He scared me a bit, but in a good way. I inched away from him on the couch. But he took hold of my shoulders and pulled me over his knee, centering my ass right over his crotch, and began to spank me.
“Ow!” I said. Although it was turning me on, I fought him, kicking my legs and trying to cover my butt with my hands.
“Don’t cover your bottom,” he said. “This is how a naughty little girl like you should be punished.”
He grabbed both my hands and held them firmly in one of his. He pulled my skirt up and ran a hand over one ass cheek, then the other. He yanked my panties down just a few inches and ran a finger along my pussy lips. I was soaking wet. I was also shocked to my core.
“Are you making a cummy mess in your panties?” he said. “Maybe you need a diaper.”
“No!” I said, and then heard the sound of crinkly plastic. I looked up and saw that he had taken a diaper out of his backpack and was opening it up. He pulled me up, turned me around so my back was to the couch, and placed the open diaper down on it.
“Lie down on this,” he said, trying to pull me onto the diaper. He took a bottle of baby powder out of his backpack and was starting to sprinkle it on my crotch.
“No!” I screamed. “Absolutely not, a thousand times no!” I stood up. “I told you: no diapers. And also, the smell of that baby powder is making me hurl.”
“OK,” he said. “I would never force you to do anything.” He started packing everything up. “But sometimes the things we fight the most are the things we really want.”
I rolled my eyes. Great, I thought. Now he’s playing amateur shrink.
“Maybe so,” I said, just to humor him.
He pulled me into a hug, kissed me lightly on the mouth, and thanked me for the evening. His body felt good, muscular and warm. There was something commanding yet sweet about him. I wanted badly to let go with him. I felt myself getting wet again and I moaned. But I was determined not to see him again. Ever.
A week later, he called me. He had tickets to a film festival. A director’s cut of The Maltese Falcon was playing.
How could I say no?
During the movie, we petted and groped each other like teenagers. I even touched his hard cock through his pants, and couldn’t resist pulling it out and slipping my mouth over it for a few seconds. After the movie, we went back to my place, where he sat down on the couch and immediately pulled me over his lap.
“You didn’t behave yourself during the movie,” he said. “Did you?” He spanked me once through my jeans.
“Ummm . . .” I started to say.
“Say, ‘I misbehaved, Daddy.’”
“I misbehaved,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to call him “Daddy”.
He yanked my jeans down and spanked me hard through my panties.
“From now on, you are going to call me ‘Daddy’,” he said. He pulled my panties down to my upper thighs and gave me three stinging spanks on my bare ass. I screamed. “Say it,” he said.
“I misbehaved, Daddy,” I breathed in a whisper.
“Louder,” he said, and spanked me harder.
“I misbehaved, Daddy!” I screamed.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s better.”
He stroked and probed my pussy lips. I knew I was soaking wet. W
hy did it turn me on to be spanked and treated like a child?
“You’re wet again,” he said. “Do you need a diaper?”
“No,” I said.
“No, what?” he said.
“No, Daddy, I don’t need a diaper,” I whispered.
“I’m going to spank you, hard, until you realize you need a diaper,” he said. “You have to beg for it to make me stop.” He began spanking me until I was screaming.
“What do you say to make Daddy stop spanking you?” he said.
“I want my diaper,” I said.
“I want my diaper, what?” he said.
“I want my diaper, Daddy!” I screamed, finally.
“Good girl,” he said. He stroked and parted my ass cheeks. I felt his finger touch my asshole. Nobody had ever touched me there before and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It felt oddly good, in a filthy way. A taboo way. He pushed in a bit, and I moaned.
“Does baby want her little hole plugged to keep her from making a mess?” he said.
I was silent, and then I remembered: “Yes, Daddy,” I whispered, although I had no idea what he meant by “plugged” and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
I felt something cold and liquid dripping down my butt crack and then something equally cold penetrating me.
“Push out,” he said. “As if you’re making a poop.” I pushed and I felt the thing, whatever it was, slip inside of me. It was a very strange, but also very erotic, feeling.
“Good girl,” he said. “Hold it in and sit up.”
It was almost too much to bear. So filthy and yet so inexplicably arousing. Such a deep surrender. It felt like I’d given up all control to him – just as I’d fantasized about in the bar that first night, but different from what I’d expected. Filthier. Nastier. Profoundly more arousing.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 28