Confessions

by Amber Stephens

  He came for what seemed like ages, pumping more and more fluid into my mouth. When he’d finished, I gargled with a glass of water and finished giving him his bath. He lay there, staring at me in pathetic gratitude and I left with a pussy wet enough to keep goldfish in.

  The burly security guard also got lucky that night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I did well in my practical exams. I got favourable reports from a great many of my patients and the doctors. I also did well in my written exams and before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with anyone on the examination board. I couldn’t find out their names. I am a good nurse, not just a good shag.

  After I passed and gained my registration, I left to do a bit of a gap year, something I’d missed after college. My parents had friends in Hong Kong, so I stayed there for a while, exploring the New Territories and the Islands. My father’s friends, Mr and Mrs Soon, fixed me up with some work too: I was asked to care for an aged relative, a Mr Chan, in Kowloon.

  ‘He’s very wealthy,’ Mr Soon told me. ‘He is a shipping magnate. He’ll give a good salary for the right girl.’ I wondered at this. What did Mr Soon mean by ‘right girl’?

  I expected to find some wizened old Chinese man on his death bed, but when I arrived at the building and showed the address to the security guard, he showed me to a special express elevator that shot me up to the penthouse suite.

  I found the gentleman I was to care for didn’t look that old, was not in the least wizened and was certainly not on his death bed. He was Chinese though. As I gazed out over the magnificent view of the harbour, impressive enough even without the dazzling lights of a Hong Kong evening, I felt a pair of hands on my hips and something hard pressing against my backside.

  I turned my head to see Mr Chan’s questioning eyes. He’d already taken out his cock, and it was standing proud – thin, but with a fat glans. I nodded briefly and his hands slid down my haunches and slipped under my skirt, lifting it up.

  I watched those lights while we made love. Mr Chan liked me to ride on top of him as he massaged my tits. I rocked up and down gently, gazing out at the hundreds of soaring shafts reaching to the heavens, wondering how many of the tiny individual dots of light were from windows behind which people were stroking and licking and sucking and fucking. In my head the whole of Hong Kong was a seething mass of sex.

  I didn’t seem to have many other duties other than taking Mr Chan’s blood pressure occasionally and checking his pulse as he lay exhausted after giving me a good seeing-to and I wondered if my father’s friends had sent me there in the knowledge Mr Chan had been looking for a courtesan rather than a nurse. I didn’t enquire. If my reputation had preceded me, what of it? I’d never tried to hide who I was.

  I liked Mr Chan. From the window of his bedroom you could see all the way to the airport, and the sprawling dock area where he’d made his fortune. He was a randy old sod too. He must have been in his sixties, but he had good skin and firm muscle tone. He sometimes managed it twice in a night. I felt a bit strange taking money from him. I enjoyed the sex and liked spending time with him. Was I a prostitute all of a sudden? But I told myself the money was for the minor health checks I gave him. The sex was just a bonus, for both of us.

  As much as I liked Mr Chan though, and Hong Kong, I grew tired of them in the end. I told him I was moving on to Tokyo and he cried, before giving me three parting gifts. First was a red envelope containing an eye-dropping amount of money. The second was the phone number of another ‘sick old man’, a friend of his in Tokyo by the name of Mr Iwasaki. The third thing Mr Chan gave me was a sound fucking. The enduring vision I have of him is his ‘come face’ eyes bulging, teeth bared as he jammed his cock deep inside me again and again and again till every drop was spent.

  I left him panting on the $20,000 Persian rug in his living room with only a little regret. I was looking forward to meeting Mr Iwasaki.

  Two weeks later I lay naked on the floor of a helicopter flying over the Sea of Japan. Yoshi, as I had come to know him, stood over me wearing an enormous Stetson, a pair of cowboy boots with spurred heels and nothing else apart from a corked erection. Oh, he carried a whip, which I’d already told him he wasn’t to use on me. Instead he made me squeal as he cracked it out into the open air, a thousand feet over the foam-flecked ocean. Yoshi looked down at me, grinned and dropped to his knees. He wasn’t attractive, but he had a boyish charm, despite being nearly as old as Mr Chan. Some of this charm came from the fact he was a billionaire who owned a large hotel in Shinjuku-ku. But his love of cowboy films I found endearing, as well as his ability to go at it like a rabbit for hours at a stretch. He wasn’t big but made up in frequency what he lacked in quantity.

  ‘Ready again?’ he said. That was his favourite phrase. His English wasn’t great, but he’d got the bedroom chat down at least. ‘Do it doggy style’, ‘69 now, please’, and ‘Don’t worry, it could happen to anyone.’

  I rolled my eyes in mock wonder at his stamina and nodded. He slid me across the floor until my head was hanging out the door and I could feel the slipstream whip my hair about. The howling of the wind blanked out any other sound, including the involuntary scream I let out. I felt him enter me as my head hung out the sliding door. The exhilaration and the primal fear of hanging out of a moving helicopter, coupled with the sweet sensation of a smooth, hard cock slipping in and out of my snatch was extraordinary. Yoshi pulled out after a couple of minutes and I felt his mouth replace his penis, his hot, hard tongue stroking my clit. I came for the second time on that journey, lost in a maelstrom of sensation.

  We landed on a tiny island and the pilot turned into a waiter, laying a collapsible table on the beach for us as the co-pilot fussed about in the helicopter. Neither of them seemed remotely bothered by the fact we were both naked, apart from Yoshi’s hat and boots that is. We ate lobster and salad and drank demi-sec champagne. The sun was warm and after lunch we swam and sun-bathed, then made love on the sand. Yoshi was a receptive lover. He would watch my face intently as he stroked and licked, looking to see what I liked. Good sex is one per cent experimentation and ninety-nine per cent rhythm, once he’d found something that worked he’d keep at it until I grew sore or until I came. He told me he was intrigued to discover how many times he could make me come in a day, and I was inclined to go along with the experiment.

  Now, how many girls in my situation would have sunk their hooks into this man and hung on to him for as long as they could? He was fantastically rich, good fun, good in bed and more sensitive to a woman’s needs than virtually any other man I’ve ever met.

  And he had a helicopter. Most girls would fuck a horse for the opportunity I had just then. But I’m not most girls. I was jaded by the time we got back to Tokyo. What else have you got, Yoshi?

  Soon after I met a girl in a bar who was a qualified nurse who told me she was going to Cairns to work in a hospital, apparently they had a major shortage and were paying good money. I didn’t need the cash, but figured it was time I did some honest work.

  The high-life wasn’t doing it for me. So I flew to Cairns and enquired at the hospital, soon installing myself there on the night-shift, which I didn’t mind. I told myself not to screw the patients, or the staff for that matter. There were plenty of good bars in the town packed with bronzed tourists looking for a good time. There was no need to queer my pitch at work.

  This worked out fine for a while and I felt myself settling down. I even managed to have a couple of relationships that lasted longer than a week. If I went out with tourists, I knew they’d be leaving soon anyway, so nothing grew too stale. There was certainly a great variety of nationalities to choose from: Germans, Australians, Brits, Canadians, Americans. I think the Swedes made the best lovers, if they were sometimes a bit clinical; I think they’re trained in it at school.

  Australian men I liked, though not so much with the girls; they tended to be big bags of repressed feminism. Look babe, just because I jammed my tongue up your twat doesn’t
mean I want to discuss The Female Eunuch with you all night. Now reach into that drawer and get the strap-on.

  If you’d told me then I had a destructive addiction I would have laughed. Why would anyone else have a problem with it? It would be like when chubby female columnists write articles criticising everyone else for being too thin. Look girl, eat as many cakes as you like you like but accept that that’s why you find it hard to breathe when you walk up a flight of steps.

  All was going well, until I was asked to attend to a new patient. As soon as I stepped into his private room I knew I might have to make an exception to the no-shagging-the-patients rule. His name was Brad and he was delicious. Blond hair, bleached by the sun. Tanned like he’d never been indoors before. He looked bored until I walked in.

  I looked at his chart. ‘A shark took a lump out of your side, I see. Could I take a look?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said and shifted over to his side. I unlaced his gown, inspecting his rock-hard backside as I did so. I took the gown off him altogether. His wound had been bandaged tightly. I had to change the dressing. I moved around to the other side and caught my first glimpse of his magnificent penis. Maybe he’d be interested in shooting the tube with me when I did the night-shift tomorrow night.

  I gently peeled away the bandages. He didn’t wince. They build these boys tough in Australia. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. All solid muscle, but naturally built, not artificial from too many hours in the gym while your brain turns to mush. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to a man. I wanted to nurse him in my own special way.

  The wound itself wasn’t too bad. You could see where the shark’s teeth had punctured the skin, but it hadn’t actually bitten much flesh off.

  ‘How did you get away?’ I asked.

  ‘Poked the bastard in the eye,’ he said casually.

  ‘Hold on,’ I said, ‘this might hurt.’ I applied some antiseptic and replaced his dressings, stroking my finger across his naked flesh hoping he’d feel the sensitive touch through the pain. This time he did flinch, maybe from the pain, maybe not.

  Then I was done, I helped him into his gown again and left. Sometimes the pleasure’s in the anticipation.

  The next night, I went back to see Brad. The hospital was quiet; the only sound that of cicadas through the open window. I took off my uniform and stood stark naked looking down at the sleeping surfer, enjoying the cool night air on my bare skin. His muscles looked even more pronounced in the dim light. I took off his gown again, gently so he wouldn’t wake.

  He was sleeping on his good side, and his long cock, semi-hard, rested on the bed. I stroked it ever so softly and he stirred slightly, smiling as the member stiffened. Then I took hold of it more firmly and his eyes opened. He was shocked at first, but when he saw it was me he smiled, to my great relief. It could have gone either way.

  ‘I’m not sure how active I can be,’ he said. ‘My stitches might pull.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I replied. ‘I’m a trained nurse.’

  I pushed him over onto his back and knelt up on the bed, swinging my leg over his body. He felt my tits, first caressing then squeezing. I raked my nails down his hairless chest and rippling six-pack down to his pubes, then took hold of his thick cock and directed it into my wet snatch. I felt my inner walls straining. He grunted and tried to thrust back up at me. I shook a finger. ‘No moving,’ I said. ‘Nurse’s orders.’

  He lay perfectly still as I rode him. I looked down between my legs to watch his thick, glistening shaft disappear inside as I lowered myself. He slid the back of one hand down my taut belly to my shaven mound and found my clitoris. The twin sensations of his fat cock filling me up and his thumb sliding across my slippery clit were almost too much to bear. I was here to make him feel good, but he’d taken control.

  But Brad was experienced. He monitored my build-up and judged it against his own, to ensure we came simultaneously. As it happened I knocked his hand away feeling suddenly over-sensitive and I leaned forward over him to kiss his sweet mouth. He hissed with pain as he came, unable to stop himself thrusting his hips upwards to fuck me all the harder. I kissed him tenderly then slid off, trying not to stretch his stitches any more than I already had. I helped him back into his gown.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Are you on night-shift tomorrow?’

  But I wasn’t to see him the next night, or ever again in fact. Because outside the ward, the night-duty ward supervisor was waiting for me. She’d seen everything.

  A month later and I found myself in Darwin. I’m still not sure how I got there, I remember a combi-van full of surfers and tourists, a lot of skinny cigarettes, some great sex with people I don’t remember, and there I was, in the far north, surrounded by crocodiles and mosquitoes.

  I was running low on cash, plus I was lonely and wanted to stick around and meet people, so I went down to the hospital and asked if they had any work. I knew my slip-up in Cairns wasn’t on my permanent record. The administrator there hadn’t fancied doing the paperwork and asked me to leave quietly, saying nothing more would be made of it if I didn’t collect my holiday pay. So I was able to get another job in the Northern Territory.

  There was nothing available at Darwin General but the registrar asked me if I’d be interested in working in a provincial community hospital way out in the middle of nowhere. I shrugged and said yes. It couldn’t be any duller than Darwin, and I was keen to see as much of Australia as I could.

  How wrong I was. It was far duller than Darwin. It was a tiny town, with two pubs and a couple of dozen houses. The hospital had its own airstrip and plane, which was kind of fun to go flying in sometimes, but the novelty soon wore off. There are only so many rashes on so many shearers you can dab ointment on before you go out of your mind. That part of Australia is just thousands of square miles of featureless brown scrubland and desert.

  The only things to do in Warrumbungleburra are drink, hunt and shag. I didn’t care so much for the hunting, and the local guys weren’t much to look at. The two doctors at the hospital were no oil paintings either. I’m not fussy about looks, as I made clear, but there are some guys not really worth getting undressed for, you know? One of the nurses, Helena, was quite cute, but as a colleague, she was off-limits, and straight as an outback highway. So I drank. Everyone did. You’d start at lunchtime and carry on at a steady, slow pace right through until the wee hours. Then a few hours’ sleep and you’d start all over again. It was the drink, the intense heat and the sheer boredom of it that made me abandon my professional ethics again. Plus the fact that one of the regular doctors went off on sabbatical and a rather dishy locum arrived from Sydney.

  It wasn’t hard to arrange things the way I wanted them. Everyone, straight or gay, married or single, has the same buttons, you just need to know where they are and when to push them. First thing was to take Helena to the slightly less dilapidated pub and suggest to her that the locum, Dr Marks, fancied her rotten.

  ‘Really?’ she asked, her eyes shining. She had a boyfriend but he was in Darwin, where she flew back to every so often, she worked ten days on, four days off. I could see those ten days dragged sometimes.

  Then, over a drink in the other pub, I accidentally let slip that Helena had told me she wouldn’t mind ‘a quick root with Dr Marks’ before he went back to Darwin. His eyebrows lifted. ‘I thought she had a boyfriend?’

  ‘Boyfriends are temporary,’ I replied, sipping my cold lager.

  He looked thoughtful, and I knew I’d done enough.

  The next time they were on night-shift together, one of my nights off, I popped in to the hospital. The nurse’s station was empty, so I wandered the halls until I heard a moaning coming from the maternity room. I flung open the door to find Helena, strapped to the bed, feet up in stirrups and Dr Marks standing between her splayed legs, his cock hilt deep into her pussy. They stared at me in horror. The doctor pulled out his penis, glistening in the faint moonlight.

  ‘Don’t stop on my account,’
I said. I slowly walked over to the bed and trailed a finger from Helena’s toes down her foot, up her leg and down into her dark pubes.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she said, still panting from the shafting I’d so rudely interrupted. I glanced at Dr Marks. He held his cock in his hand and was staring at my hand, lustfully. Helena struggled to break free, but Dr Marks had strapped her in tight. I slipped a finger into her open pussy and she flinched at the sensation, I guessed it was the first time she’d been intimately touched by a woman.

  ‘Stop it!’ she hissed at me. ‘You bitch.’

  I was taking a gamble here. I knew what I was doing could be deemed sexual assault if she pressed charges. But I figured she probably would do no such thing. One, because she’d have to explain why she was in this position in the first place and, two, because I fully expected her to enjoy herself once she’d got over the shock. I fixed her eye and began working her clitoris with my thumb. At the same time I inserted two fingers inside her and tickled her G-spot, a little trick I’d learned in Japan. Her muscles contracted around my fingers and I knew I had her.

  Dr Marks slid up behind me and lifted up my skirt. As usual, I had no panties on and I saw Helena’s eyes flicker downwards to watch his hand cup my mons and begin massaging me gently. His other hand deftly unbuttoned my blouse and slipped inside, his fingers searching out my erect nipple. I felt his lips tickling me.