Nurse's Orders

by Penny Birch

  ‘Beautiful,’ I admitted, ‘but cruel.’

  ‘Cruel to be kind,’ she answered. ‘It wouldn’t have been the same otherwise.’

  ‘Not like that, no, but really I prefer to be nursed. It takes longer to get there, maybe, but it can be just as strong. What is it that you like?’

  ‘Being irresponsible and under another woman’s control, yes. Nothing brings out my feelings like a punishment, though.’

  ‘Suckling?’

  ‘I’ve never really tried it. I think Anna finds it too…’

  ‘Intimate?’

  ‘No, not intimate. Revealing, really. She hates to show off and, to be entirely honest, she’s a bit short up top. Maybe I should have asked Rose.’

  ‘You should have. It was beautiful. It would be beautiful with you, too.’

  She smiled, blushing ever so slightly, before suddenly giggling and cupping her breasts in her hands to show off their size.

  ‘Sluts, the pair of you,’ Natasha said, putting down the paper she’d been reading. ‘More sex later, perhaps, but for now we need to think about food.’

  ‘Food? We only just had lunch.’

  ‘We had lunch hours ago, Gabrielle. It’s nearly six o’clock. Judging from what’s in your fridge, we’re going to be on lettuce sandwiches…’

  ‘No butter,’ Poppy pointed out.

  ‘That does it,’ Natasha said. ‘I’m going to walk down to the garage. I must be able to get something. Pasta, maybe, and some sort of spicy sausage to make a sauce. You’ve got onions and garlic.’

  She had risen as she spoke, and was pulling her coat on. More than happy to let her make the decisions, I just relaxed into my chair, sipping wine. I was slightly surprised she hadn’t made me bring her to orgasm, and Poppy, but again I was happy to wait. There was also an unworthy but I supposed inevitable need inside me to get my revenge. I filled Poppy’s glass as the flat door banged behind Natasha, only then realising that I should have given her my keys.

  ‘She is cruel, isn’t she?’ Poppy said. ‘I suppose when you’re that beautiful, you can get away with it.’

  ‘She is no more attractive than you are,’ I answered, ‘just closer to the fashionable ideal. And yes, she is cruel, too cruel for me, really. It is not just sadism, she does it to goad people into taking their revenge on her as much as anything.’

  ‘She said she prefers to be submissive.’

  ‘Her ideal is to be spanked against her will or, rather, without her having any say in the matter, but under very specific conditions. I like to surrender my control; she likes it taken away from her.’

  ‘But by the right person, yes?’

  ‘Naturally, that is always the way, and something many people fail to understand.’

  ‘So are you going to get her back, and me?’

  ‘Not when she is expecting it. As for you…to be entirely open, I would rather make love to you.’

  She didn’t answer immediately, taking a sip of wine to give herself a moment to think.

  ‘So would I,’ she said, ‘but I do need to be punished. You’d spank me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, if you feel you need it.’

  ‘I do, but would you enjoy it?’

  It was my turn to pause. I didn’t want to lie, but as I examined my feelings I found I didn’t have to. Watching her punished had excited me, her reaction so openly pleasurable that there was no guilt or bad feeling at all.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  She smiled, rising to cross to my chair and seat herself on the arm. I opened my arms for her, taking her in to hold her, our mouths meeting in a long, open kiss. We held on for a long time, cuddled close, eyes closed, delighting in the feel of each other’s bodies and the intimacy of our embrace. Finally she pulled back to jump up from the chair, smiling, and more full of life than ever.

  ‘I’m going to go to bed with you,’ she said happily, ‘only not tonight. I have to get back, or I’ll be in even more trouble with Anna than I already am. But, before I go, if you’re going to be nice, and you promise not to let Natasha be too horrid, you can both play with me.’

  ‘Please, yes. Would you like anything special?’

  ‘Well, yes, as you’ve got all the grown-up baby-girl gear, I’d like to be put in nappies, and spoon-fed my dinner, and spanked, and made to come in some lovely, naughty way. Yes, that would be perfect. In fact, I think I’ll give Natasha a surprise when she comes back.’

  Her whole face was lit up with pure mischief as she ran into my special bedroom. Not to put her in the nappy was more than I could resist and I followed her, finding her already down to her bra and panties. I took a nappy as she finished stripping and nodded to the bed. She went down, rolling her legs up to show off her sex and let me slide the nappy in under her bottom, and parted them as I tugged it up. It was a little tight on her hips, as I discovered as I fixed the tabs, but looked adorable, with the back puffed out over her chubby bottom and her sex covered with a fat, pink puff of material.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I told her. ‘Do you want a baby-doll or anything?’

  ‘No, I like to be bare except for the nappy. Why cover my chest? It’s not as if I’ve got anything to be shy about.’

  She smiled at me, cupping her breasts again, and leaning forwards to hold them out, plump and pink in her hands, the nipples pointing forwards, just dying to be suckled.

  ‘Later,’ she said, catching my thoughts, ‘although I think what all three of us really need is a good stern nurse to keep us under control. Rose was good, wasn’t she?’

  ‘A little too stern for me. That paddle was terrifying.’

  ‘You’ll be going again? We’ll be going again, yes?’

  ‘If we are invited. For now, you will have to put up with me. Come on.’

  I held out my hand, and she took it, allowing me to lead her back to the clinic. There, she bounced down on the couch, legs wide to show off the front of her nappy, her pretty face set in a happy grin.

  ‘It’s lovely, it just makes me want to wriggle my bum,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m going to wet my nappy in a minute, nurse, and sit in it while we eat, then the two of you can give me a really good spanking, a hard one, with the back of my nappy pulled down to get me bare…’

  My buzzer went. Assuming it to be Natasha, I pressed it without really thinking.

  A few moments later, Jo Warren’s head appeared around the side of the door.

  We were caught. Poppy was sprawled out on the couch, blatantly naked, except for something worse still, her nappy. Jo gave her a strange look, then turned to me. There was only one thing I could possibly do.

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Gabrielle,’ Jo said. ‘Is this an awkward moment?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I answered, struggling to keep my voice absolutely level and free of emotion. ‘This is Poppy. Poppy, this is Jocasta. Poppy is helping me with an experiment into practical regression.’

  ‘Practical regression?’

  ‘Yes, You’ve heard of Regression Therapy, no doubt?’

  ‘When you get taken back to relive childhood experiences? Yes. Isn’t that really out of favour?’

  ‘Yes, it has been largely discredited due to a tendency towards the creation of false memories of traumatic events derived from subconscious wish fulfilment on the parts of both patient and therapist, however…’

  I paused, realising that I was babbling. It wasn’t a good explanation, especially when it was Sunday evening, but it was better that admitting we’d been playing grown-up baby girls. I took a swallow of wine as I ordered my thoughts, and continued.

  ‘Practical Regression Therapy, by contrast, seeks only to relax the patient by restoring the lack of responsibility associated with infancy. The effect is essentially similar to meditation, allowing the subject to relax absolutely.’

  ‘Wow. Does it work?’

  ‘Yes,’ Poppy chimed in. ‘It’s wonderful. I feel completely restored, so much so I haven’t wanted to take my nappy off.’

  ‘Wow. I
have to try it! Why didn’t you tell me about this, Gabrielle?’

  ‘I’m only experimenting with the idea,’ I said quickly, ‘and I’m not certain it would be appropriate to your case.’

  ‘Oh, but it would,’ she answered. ‘Even with your new mix of oils and shiatsu, I can never really get rid of my tension. It’s in my head, more than in my body. What do you do, Poppy, is it stressful?’

  ‘I don’t actually work…’ Poppy began.

  ‘Oh, you lost your job, you poor thing,’ Jo broke in. ‘I know exactly how you feel. Never mind, though. Be positive, and you’ll be back in no time. What is it you do?’

  ‘I’m actually just a housewife, sort of,’ Poppy answered.

  ‘Never say “just”,’ Jo answered, ‘not when you’re running a household on your own. They estimate the work a woman does for her husband is worth five hundred a week, but I reckon…’

  ‘I don’t actually have a husband,’ Poppy answered. ‘I’m a lesbian.’

  There was a moment’s pause.

  ‘Oh, how wonderfully bold!’ Jo exclaimed. ‘I admire you so much, Poppy, to have the courage to be so out, so proud…’

  She trailed off, and began to fiddle with her fingers.

  ‘So how’s the book going?’ I said quickly.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Jo replied. ‘That was what I was meaning to talk to you about. I realised that I was getting too far away from what was motivating me, and I’ve decided to go back to my original idea.’

  ‘Ah…but what about the difficulties with Natasha? Who, I should warn you, is due for dinner at any minute.’

  ‘She is? Good. I want to speak to her. I’ve been too timid, Gabrielle. Like you say, I should put myself first. I can’t let this thing with Natasha continue to cloud my mind.’

  ‘What’s the matter with Tasha?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I answered. ‘Jo and Natasha were good friends, but had something of a quarrel…’

  ‘A quarrel!’ Jo broke in. ‘She’s nuts, that’s what the problem is. She wanted me to smack her bottom, Poppy, can you believe it? And, worse, she asked my boyfriend to! Then, when I wouldn’t, she…No, I don’t even want to go there. Without Gabrielle’s help I think I’d have gone mad these last few months. As it is, I just can’t get the whole thing out of my head. That’s why I have to speak to her.’

  ‘I think it might be wiser to think on the matter a little more before making any hasty decisions,’ I said. ‘Perhaps an appointment during the week? Or if you prefer to keep it informal, we could meet at the Haven for lunch?’

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I have to speak to Natasha, and I have to speak to her now. Sorry, Poppy, but this is something I just have to do.’

  ‘Speak to me about what?’ Natasha asked, appearing in the doorway with my house keys dangling from her hand.

  Seven

  What should have been a truly wonderful evening ended up in disaster. It could, however, have been worse. For all their attitude, Natasha and Jo were in fact scared of each other, physically in Natasha’s case, mentally in Jo’s. So what might have been an extremely unpleasant situation was simply cold. Both of them took an entirely self-centred position. Jo demanded the photographs and an apology from Natasha, on the simple grounds that she was morally in the right. Natasha pointed out that this would leave her open to Jo spreading gossip about her sexual habits, and that all Jo had to do was keep quiet. This failed to satisfy Jo, and the argument swung back and forth or, rather, circled, getting nowhere.

  Poppy very quickly gave up on the idea of playing and left. I walked her down to the station, apologising for the others, although she was more concerned about Anna’s reaction when she got home. We parted with an intimate kiss anyway, drawing a few surprised looks from passers-by, and I walked back, feeling strangely alone and more than a little frustrated.

  Natasha and Jo were still arguing, and both attempted to enlist my help as soon as I walked through the door. I refused, demanding peace, and suggesting that we eat together in an effort to be less combative. They agreed reluctantly although, with Natasha flatly refusing to make a vegetarian pasta sauce for Jo, I ended up cooking. For all the girls’ efforts at cleaning up, the kitchen still smelled faintly of chocolate, and I found it hard to hide a grin as I worked, despite trying to puzzle out a solution to their disagreement. Finally, just about at the point when I’d got my sauce right, it struck me.

  ‘Listen to me,’ I stated firmly as I put their plates in front of them. ‘This is what you will do. Natasha, you will give me the photographs and the negatives, which I will hold in safe-keeping. Jo, you will not mention Natasha’s sexual tastes to anybody. Nor will you include any reference to spanking in your book. Is that fair?’

  Both opened their mouths and closed them again. Finally Natasha nodded, then Jo.

  ‘Good,’ I stated. ‘Now, let’s eat.’

  My firm attitude seemed to work and they were actually moderately being civil to one another when they left, which gave me a degree of satisfaction. I was also exhausted and annoyed that I had been unable to take Poppy up on her offer. Too tired and irritable to do anything else, I changed into pyjamas and collapsed into my ordinary bed.

  Monday was busy, with three appointments and a lot of reading to do between them. The next two days were little easier, although Natasha finally delivered the photographs on the Wednesday evening, including the negatives, which had some extremely rude shots of her and Percy, which were unfortunately too small to make out much detail.

  Thursday was Monty’s day. I’d done some background reading, case histories of peeping Toms, and come across an interesting common thread. Again and again, the voyeurs asserted that at least a proportion of their victims had been passively or even actively willing. The attitude of the analysts was that this represented self-delusion to a greater or lesser extent. Given my own pleasure in exhibitionism, I was not so ready to reach what seemed to be a simplistic conclusion, but it was certainly interesting. Monty, by and large, was more self-aware and in any case preferred the women he peeped at to be unaware of his presence. However, he had claimed to have watched couples in cars with their knowledge, including penetrative sex. It seemed an avenue worth exploring, in an effort to find out just how honest he was with himself.

  He arrived at his normal time, as casual and crude as ever, treating himself to a leisurely feel of my bum as I made coffee. I was already confident in my ability to send in a sensible and positive report, and fairly happy with my efforts to wean him from the more intrusive forms of sexual deviance, so let him grope for a while until his hand started to push in under the curve of my bottom.

  ‘No, you don’t, Monty,’ I chided him, ‘not until we have done our piece. Come and sit down.’

  He did as he was told, not even sulking, and with us seated in comfort and cups of steaming coffee in our hands, I began.

  ‘I want to talk about voyeurism again,’ I told him, ‘but specifically about incidents where you feel the people you are watching are aware of your presence and actively seek your attention.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to Natasha, haven’t you?’

  It wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘or at least, not to discuss your voyeuristic behaviour. Why do you mention Natasha?’

  ‘There was this time…’ he began, and trailed off.

  ‘Tell me,’ I insisted.

  ‘I took her to this place,’ he said, ‘for some fun, and made her suck a couple of guys off.’

  ‘I see, but is that relevant? You weren’t the voyeur.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first time I’d been there. Some of the lads have got this thing going at work, right? We try and get girls down to this lay-by, and do it in our cars, or in the bushes sometimes, so the others can watch. I had a great time with Tasha, buggered her and made her piss in her panties…’

  ‘Yes, she told me something of this, although not in detail. At other times you have bee
n there as a voyeur?’

  ‘Yeah, loads of times.’

  ‘And the women know you watch?’

  ‘Not usually, no. They’re usually girlfriends, some wives. One or two know. They must, the way they show off. There’s one woman who likes to suck cock. She does this little show, right, pretending to be a hitch-hiker and leaning in the window of her husband’s car, so he can demand a blow-job for a lift. She does it squatting down, with the door open, so everyone can see.’

  ‘Could that not that simply be for her own pleasure and her husband’s?’

  ‘He knows. He thinks it’s a great laugh. He say she knows too, but he won’t let anyone else have a go, bastard.’

  ‘I suspect she doesn’t know.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Perhaps. What I am trying to get at here, Monty, is the extent to which you are aware of the reactions of women you watch to your voyeurism, or the likely reaction were they to realise. The literature suggests that there is a tendency among voyeurs to delude themselves into thinking that the women enjoy their attentions.’

  ‘Some do,’ he answered, with a shrug. ‘I mean, you like to show off, don’t you? Tasha likes it too, even if she does get in a right state over it. Then there are loads of female flashing sites on the net, tits out at Mardi Gras, bum-flashing on the roadside, starkers in the middle of the road sometimes.’

  ‘It does not occur to you that some of these women might be paid or coerced?’

  ‘Bollocks. You can see they’re having fun. What is this? You know as well as I do girls like to flash a bit of tit and arse. I reckon a good half the girls who do it in the backs of cars get off on being watched.’

  ‘Half? That seems exaggerated. I also suspect it depends who is watching. Another couple is more likely to be welcome than a single man, let alone one who might be considered threatening.’

  ‘OK, for couples, sixty, maybe seventy per cent are up for it. I should know, Gabby, I’ve been out enough.’

  ‘I admit that there will be instances of deliberate exhibitionism, but I do think you are deluding yourself to an extent. I would be surprised if more than a small percentage of women in such circumstances enjoy being watched.’