reached down to cradle his balls, knowing how much he liked them squeezed when he came. Her lips slid more urgently along an inch of throbbing organ and her tongue lavished her hot saliva on the domed head, the tip tickling the shorn underside, where he was most sensitive.
"God!" he gasped.
Nurse Debora Carr slid her mouth to the tip of his cock and let her hand pump his organ in her mouth's stead. It left her free to receive the spurts of seed that followed, her squeezing fingers emptying him of all he had to give. She could then lift her mouth and swallow, savouring the distinctive taste of semen while smiling into his dazed but contented smile.
"Thank you Nurse," he murmured, covering himself with the blanket.
She blushed and rose. Most of the nurses had favourites, and John was hers. Not all their patients thanked you afterwards, but John always did. He was nice that way.
"Your visitor will be here soon," she reminded him, wheeling him around the house.
"Stop!" he told her. He put his hands on the wheels to hold them still. "I want to walk," he explained, pushing the blanket aside.
"Wait!" she told him, rushing round to the front. "Wait until I do up your trousers again, else you'll be shuffling round with them round your ankles!" she giggled, attending to him before stepping back to wait for him to stand.
John rose, his long and angular face set in hard lines as he concentrated on his balance. He had just turned twenty-eight years of age but looked a decade older. War had done that to many men, Debora reflected as she smiled encouragement. The man was still thin, even two years since the end of the war, gangly even. If she had to imagine him in a profession then it would be as a school teacher in some stuffy old school, and wished she'd had someone like John as a teacher. She would have lost her virginity a lot sooner if she had, she thought with a grin.
"Shall I take your arm, and you can promenade me around the hospital," she offered, taking his arm anyway, knowing he'd not have the strength to last very long. As it was, he lasted longer than she had thought, and was still walking when the messenger came to tell them john's visitor had arrived.
The elderly man in the heavy woollen suit was not what John had expected, any more than John's firm grip in a handshake was what Sir Oswald had anticipated as he watched the pretty nurse bring the ex-soldier into the library.
"What can I do for you Sir Oswald?" John asked, getting comfortable and watching the older man watch Debora pour the tea, the nurse bending forward to do so, the curve of her bottom appearing in the cotton of her skirt. John had learnt not be too possessive of the nurses who gave so much of themselves to see that their patients got better, but it was harder when an outsider looked at them with more than professional interest.
"I am here in Lord Bramble's request," he explained, turning back to John.
"Richard," John murmured, remembering the Major from the trenches, sharing a shelter for hours on end while the Germans tried their best to obliterate them. You got to know those about you quite well in those circumstances. You got to know them and trust them far more closely than just about anyone else in the whole world. "How is the Major?" he asked. He'd not seen the man for several months, not since his last visit to the private hospital, the one in which he had pulled strings to have John sent to - after hearing of his lack of progress at his original hospital. "I've not really had the opportunity to thank him for having me sent here," he said, accepting the cup of tea from Debora.
Sir Oswald took a sip of his own and set it to one side. "I'm afraid the old boy is not well," he explained. "Had a stroke. He's in a wheelchair now. Can't speak, can't feed himself, poor man. Doctors say he might get some use of his limbs back, but none can tell you how much, bloody doctors!" he said, scowling sorrowfully.
"But that's terrible news!" John sobbed,
"God!" he gasped.
Nurse Debora Carr slid her mouth to the tip of his cock and let her hand pump his organ in her mouth's stead. It left her free to receive the spurts of seed that followed, her squeezing fingers emptying him of all he had to give. She could then lift her mouth and swallow, savouring the distinctive taste of semen while smiling into his dazed but contented smile.
"Thank you Nurse," he murmured, covering himself with the blanket.
She blushed and rose. Most of the nurses had favourites, and John was hers. Not all their patients thanked you afterwards, but John always did. He was nice that way.
"Your visitor will be here soon," she reminded him, wheeling him around the house.
"Stop!" he told her. He put his hands on the wheels to hold them still. "I want to walk," he explained, pushing the blanket aside.
"Wait!" she told him, rushing round to the front. "Wait until I do up your trousers again, else you'll be shuffling round with them round your ankles!" she giggled, attending to him before stepping back to wait for him to stand.
John rose, his long and angular face set in hard lines as he concentrated on his balance. He had just turned twenty-eight years of age but looked a decade older. War had done that to many men, Debora reflected as she smiled encouragement. The man was still thin, even two years since the end of the war, gangly even. If she had to imagine him in a profession then it would be as a school teacher in some stuffy old school, and wished she'd had someone like John as a teacher. She would have lost her virginity a lot sooner if she had, she thought with a grin.
"Shall I take your arm, and you can promenade me around the hospital," she offered, taking his arm anyway, knowing he'd not have the strength to last very long. As it was, he lasted longer than she had thought, and was still walking when the messenger came to tell them john's visitor had arrived.
The elderly man in the heavy woollen suit was not what John had expected, any more than John's firm grip in a handshake was what Sir Oswald had anticipated as he watched the pretty nurse bring the ex-soldier into the library.
"What can I do for you Sir Oswald?" John asked, getting comfortable and watching the older man watch Debora pour the tea, the nurse bending forward to do so, the curve of her bottom appearing in the cotton of her skirt. John had learnt not be too possessive of the nurses who gave so much of themselves to see that their patients got better, but it was harder when an outsider looked at them with more than professional interest.
"I am here in Lord Bramble's request," he explained, turning back to John.
"Richard," John murmured, remembering the Major from the trenches, sharing a shelter for hours on end while the Germans tried their best to obliterate them. You got to know those about you quite well in those circumstances. You got to know them and trust them far more closely than just about anyone else in the whole world. "How is the Major?" he asked. He'd not seen the man for several months, not since his last visit to the private hospital, the one in which he had pulled strings to have John sent to - after hearing of his lack of progress at his original hospital. "I've not really had the opportunity to thank him for having me sent here," he said, accepting the cup of tea from Debora.
Sir Oswald took a sip of his own and set it to one side. "I'm afraid the old boy is not well," he explained. "Had a stroke. He's in a wheelchair now. Can't speak, can't feed himself, poor man. Doctors say he might get some use of his limbs back, but none can tell you how much, bloody doctors!" he said, scowling sorrowfully.
"But that's terrible news!" John sobbed,
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