Desire by Madame B

in his cheeks and lips like two petals, more feminine than masculine, contrasting beautifully with the trace of stubble on his chin. Under that shapeless white coat I can make out broad shoulders and slender hips. I take in all this in a second.
    “I do apologize,” I say, “but I’ve had a terribly hard day at the hospital, and this is the first chance I’ve had to relax. You doctors may be able to boss us nurses around on the job, but here you have no authority over me.”
    He laughs, too, and says, “In that case I’ll join you,” as he whips a pack out of his pocket. “Hang on, I know I’ve got a lighter in here somewhere,” he says, fumbling.
    “Allow me,” I say, offering him my box of matches. When he leans in I can smell him for a split second, and he smells good, sweet and creamy, the way some men do. He pulls away to drag on his cigarette, and all I can do is think about how I can get him to lean in close again.
    “I’m Dr. Jay,” he says. “Thank you for the light.”
    “Nurse Leila,” I reply. I notice that he’s holding a white plastic briefcase with a red cross on the front. “So what’s in your bag?” I ask.
    He smiles and then flips it open. It’s a children’s toy medical case with dummy plastic blood-pressure kits, a molded-plastic toy syringe, and a reflex hammer made out of soft rubber. Looking closer at the stethoscope around his neck, I see that that’s fake, too.
    “I never travel without it,” he says. “You never know when someone with a mysterious illness will need to be diagnosed.”
    “Oh,” I say, returning his sexy smile. “And do you think there’s anything the matter with me, Dr. Jay?”
    “Well, Nurse Leila,” he replies. “At first glance, you appear to be a specimen of rare physical perfection in robust health. Apart from your evil smoking habit, of course.” He sips his beer and takes a drag on a cigarette as he tells me this, and I giggle, blushing, because he called me perfect.
    “But of course to make any kind of real diagnosis, I’d need to do a more thorough hands-on examination of you. Will you allow me?”
    “Of course,” I say.
    “You must come into the light first,” says Jay, leading me over to what is perhaps the darkest corner of the room, a little alcove with a picture window that looks out on the river. He begins by breathing on his stethoscope. “To warm it up,” he says. “It can be very cold, and I’d hate to make you jump.” It’s not cold; rather, it’s warm to the touch as he slides it down between my breasts. His fingers close over it as he pushes it deep into my right breast, hooks it into his ears, and pretends to concentrate. His fingers on my flesh are warming and arousing. The flesh of both my breasts begins to tingle, and my lips buzz; I know that if this carries on, my pussy will start to throb, and then I’ll be in real trouble. I clear my throat.
    “Excuse me,” I say. “I think you’ll find that the heart is on the left side of the body.”
    “I know that,” he replies, quick as a flash, “but how else do I get to feel both your tits?” And with that, he slides the palm of his hand across my breasts, so that he’s now poking and prodding my other breast. He puts the heel of his hand down to where my nipple is and allows it to warm pleasantly as it hardens under his touch.
    “There appears to be some reaction in the left breast area,” he says. “I’ll have to make a note of that.” He unhooks his toy stethoscope from his ears, lets it fall away from my breast, but his hand stays flat against my tit, my nipple getting harder all the time until it’s so engorged that it’s poking through my bra and pressing against the stiff nylon of my nurses’ uniform. I look around the room. Can anyone else see me standing here like this, letting a complete stranger fondle my tits? And if they can, can they see the desire etched on my face? We’re in the corner, and everyone’s busy, but if anyone were to