There were lots of things my co-workers at the hospital didn’t know about me and why should they, I didn’t do what I did for them.
For instance, many days I came into work commando beneath my skirt or dress. No panties. Now that I think about it, I guess the term ‘commando’ has to do with being ready at a moment’s notice, a state of alertness and combat readiness should the call come. Well, of course, the call didn’t come at work, but I liked the feeling of the cool hospital air circulating on my pussy (hospital air is required to circulate five times an hour, much more than the air in a regular building). I liked how being uncovered down there made me super conscious of my pussy’s pulses as I discussed a treatment plan or staffing concern with another administrator or nurse or one of the Sisters. My pussy has a heartbeat, like a pulse in a patient’s wrist or neck and sometimes, for no good reason at work, it would start beating harder, like a tide against the shore when a big ship goes by. Suddenly, I was throbbing and wet and my gaze had lost focus and my concentration was completely shot.
“Katherine, are you all right, dear?”
“Oh, sorry, Sister Marie.”
What just happened?
Did a fantasy slip past my awareness but not the awareness of my very alert pussy who knew more than I did about what I was feeling and what was going on in the world?
Was the Staples paper delivery guy in the building?
Usually I listen to my pussy and heed its advice because it knows, it knows.
The hospital was a Catholic institution so I had lots of little secrets besides going commando. In my cubicle at lunchtime, a quiet hour in our wing of the building, choosing not to eat with the rest of the staff but at my desk instead, in a loosefitting full dress I had worn on purpose, pussy pulsed and called and I easily made myself come, my fingers moving to the rhythm she needed as I sat at my computer hard at work apparently. I loved my taste for dessert. It’s mild, subtle, almost sweet, in a way you wouldn’t expect, the same as it’s always been since I reached puberty. My little secret.
Oh and I didn’t wear a bra sometimes as the dress code required, especially on days when I wore a silk or satiny blouse so as I walked around the building the nipples of my breasts, still pert enough not to need any support, perked up against the material like the ears of a dog when the kibble hits the bowl. My hardened nipples transmitted signals into the air though no one around was sharp enough to pick them up. My nipples are Commando pussy’s little spies and they want to be caught and kissed and sucked and bitten and scraped and fondled and pressed and tortured. They want to give out their spying secrets to the right interrogator but no, the men at the hospital were as dreary as the Sister’s were dry and I had to keep these secrets to myself.
I was never reprimanded about my bralessness but I was about having my legs bare, no hose, by the head Sister who shared my name. If I wanted my legs bare after that, I got around the regulation by wearing these little sexy, white anklet socks and so the cool, circulating air traveled up my bare legs like a current making my pussy happy. Our little secrets.
Maybe because it was a Catholic hospital, with all the regulations and the dry Sister’s in their brown and white habits, with all the injury and illness, and with very few desireable guys around, I needed these little outlets to keep myself sane there. It didn’t matter if I was dating someone or not. In fact, it was worse if I did have a boyfriend because instead of feeling satisfied I just wanted more, you know. But I’d never really do anything at work, I didn’t think, until Brian the new intern in our department showed up.
Brian knew, first day at the staff meeting where he was introduced, unlike the others who might have suspected especially the very suspicious Sisters, Brian knew about the secret me.
I walked late into that first meeting with notebooks against my chest like a high school student in white anklet socks and felt something was different without at first seeing why. Then I did. This was Brian in a short sleeve white shirt, his long muscular arms tanned and toned and vibrant and he knew.
This was twenty year old Brian with level, steady blue eyes that followed you across the room like a predator’s eyes and he knew.
This was Brian who was only going to be there for two months before he went back to college and he knew.
This was fresh-faced, open, straight-forward, unashamed Brian without a secret in the world and he knew my secret, that I was a late thirty something, nearly twice his age, unmarried, wild woman kept under wraps in this Catholic institution and though I hid behind studious eyeglasses and kept my long hair pinned up, he knew I was straining against what restrained me. He knew. He knew my nipples were hardening behind the three ring binders. He knew my dreams. He knew I going commando and ready for missions of the most secret kind. I know it sounds impossible but he knew. Pussy told me.
We were the only two of our kind in that room and he knew and pussy knew and he knew that pussy knew.
Thus began two months of torture.
Brian wasn’t directly under me and so we should have had little to do with each other but that wasn’t the case. I made sure of it.
By the vending machines, he stood side by side with me as I pretended not to know what I wanted.
“Oh let’s see, what do I want today? I can’t decide. Help me decide, Brian. They haven’t changed the choices in years.”
“Well, how are you feeling today, salty or sweet, smooth or crunchy or just plain nutty?”
When people know what we knew about each other, every statement seems to contain double entendres and a secret level of sexual meaning.
I made sure to go do my copying when he was already at the machine which was a lot because that was one of his jobs. Hot sparks bristled between our bare arms as the machine printed or collated or whatever and if the plug had become disconnected we could have kept the thing humming with our mutual energy.
I began to wear my hair down and more stylish eyeglasses and oils like patchouli and cinnamon dabbed behind my ears and on my neck and to eat lunch in the staff room with everyone and not wander the hospital halls anymore on made-up missions just to get a little break from our department. Brian, being new of course, wouldn’t notice the change and I wondered if my co-workers did but wound up not caring what they thought. It was all innocent enough if I didn’t do anything and I vowed I wouldn’t directly with this kid, make no move, because if he knew as I knew he knew he would be bold in his actions. Boldness was called for, if he knew.
On a Friday in October it was Brian’s last day. Sadly, I had made it through. I guessed he didn’t know. Or perhaps it was a last vestige of innocence or chivalry that kept him from acting on his knowledge and he just needed to tear through it like a final veil to accept what was true. Perhaps he just needed a little push.
We had a little party for him at ten in the staff lounge with pretzels, lemonade and a chocolate layer cake, same old thing, and he told me he was leaving at noon instead of five that day and he saw the sadness and disappointment wash down my face as I confronted the finality of his departure from my days and nights. I took hold of his beautiful arm just below the open sleeve of one of the white shirts he always wore and leaned in and kissed his cheek goodbye and let my lips linger softly by his ear. He smelled like milk, like a baby.
I slid my hand slowly down his arm and groped urgently for his hand, nothing anyone could see, and his hand groped back.
“Too bad. Goodbye.”
“E-3,” he said. “South lot.”
I was wet. I was pulsing. I was in a fever. I left the room. Pussy was right.
E-3 is the level below the parking lot roof. I was sitting up on the fender of his old Honda when Brian got there, a proud striding animal silent in his running shoes, coming to claim what was his by rights. A horse struts, a lion roars, a wolf howls in the pride of its animal being. What did Brian do? He threw his head back in a great laugh. He knew I would be there and laughed in the pride of the confirmation. He wasn’t at all surprised to see me.
I put my finger to my lips. Shhh. Not one word, Brian, I thought, not one word. I started unbuttoning my blouse as I held his eyes.
The next thing I knew I was pressed against the car and in his arms and pushing my breasts into his chest as his mouth found mine, hungry, searching, his tongue swabbing my tongue to taste me as deeply as I wanted to taste him, his taste of fresh milk. Oh the living feel of his smooth and curious tongue, the smoothness of the skin of his face as I kissed it, first urgent and hard, then soft and lingering, and oh his boy’s eyelids on which I sucked as his fingers traced the shape of my full and free breasts and then his hands so knowingly measured the weight of my breasts from underneath before he took them up a bit roughly into my ribcage and his thumbs swirled over my hardened nipples that were wired electrically into my crotch. My nipples spies gave up their secrets to this perfect interrogator, it was him all right all this time, and I came almost by surprise. It wasn’t a big explosive orgasm but a prelude, heat lightning, not the wild storm, many more to come.
Oh, the days of aching for this, for him and not being able to do anything about it. My mouth wanted everything of his at once, his tongue his lips his cock. I wanted to take his cock and shove it all the way down my throat to instruct him on how open and ready for anything I was, that he shouldn’t hold back. His head moved down my chest, kissing, sucking, rubbing his face all over my breasts, nuzzling like a young animal and then like a starving man. He was good, just how I liked it, alternating soft caresses with rough biting and sucking, surprising my flesh with tenderness and then its opposite. And the young strength of his muscles was a miracle to feel, a different quality to his flesh, simply more alive than other men’s.
He ripped my skirt off and began to lower himself in order to go down on me but no, I was hungry too, I wanted to eat him, I needed to give. I got down on my knees, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and freed this incredible cock into the concrete shadows of the mundane hospital parking lot. His cock was big and thick with skin as soft as a baby’s skin and its majestic head swollen and purple and as proud as Brian was and so beautiful, I let out a moan to see it.
Holding the base of his cock in my hands, I took in every inch I could, letting it push through to the back of my throat again and again, a second opening as there were to be many second openings that noontime, and then after gagging on him once or twice I achieved the rhythm you need to keep opening your throat and breathing at the same time and now he was moaning and his moans expressed his powerlessness over what was happening as my own moans expressed its power over me. I didn’t want him this to stop, it was beyond me to stop it. I didn’t care if he came because if he did I would too, I was so turned on and this wasn’t about things needing to rub against other things exactly, this was electrical, this was circuits and nerves, and blowing out circuits and nerves with lightning bolts ignited by the powerful charge between our bodies.
His moans echoed dangerously at the place of my employment, my career and with my hands on his perfect butt, I pushed him deeper into my throat and he was lost, a goner, out of time and place, and finally he had to shoot his sweet semen into me and it half filled my mouth.
He pulled me up to my feet and kissed me before I could swallow it all and I let some of him pass from my mouth into his which he drank with a smile.
And then another miracle among the many miracles, Brian wasn’t done. He was so young and fit he didn’t have to take a break. Maybe he didn’t know he was supposed to take time to recover. He opened the back door of the car and lay me down on my back and pushed easily all the way into me, hard as ever, until he was all the way up against whatever it is way back there when you go as deep as you can go like the back of my throat that needed to open before. He kept plunging in long and slow for a while like a jaguar and then long and fast and hard, against that place until I was out of my mind and then that place opened deep inside me, like a second gate, a mouth of mouths, and I came screaming and it was like a beautiful flowering inside out, a shower of sparks in the shape of unknown flowers. He kept penetrating me and I kept on coming each time the head of his cock arrived at that second opening inside me. I felt a sudden distress and anger at the verge of being totally out of control, into some danger zone, but then his soft moans put an end to the feeling and I felt him come into that second opening which had latched onto the head of his cock and wouldn’t let go and who knows maybe that’s the opening to a second womb where gods are born and this pleasure was the pleasure only gods are allowed to feel. I think it is.
Brian, the sweet darling young man, quickly fell asleep and snored as gently as a little boy as he lay on top of me. And me, though no Sister found out about our escapade and I was never to see Brian again, I quit my job.
