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This is a story about a psychoanalyst, his assistant and his nurse treating patients who are sexually dysfunctional patients. The real issue is who are more fucked up, the patients or those who treat them?
Sammi meets Emma and Mike.
Even before Sammi had qualified as a nurse she had had doubts as to whether the profession was for her. After qualifying and spending time on the wards of an old, dirty and run down London hospital, those doubts were confirmed. She clearly wasn’t cut out for it, well not for typical nursing.
She couldn’t handle the bed pan and being a skivvy aspects, the squalor of the NHS and the stupid wages she got paid. So, with some reluctance, for deep down she was a firm believer in the principal of public health, she ditched her beliefs and joined the private sector.
She became a contract nurse, a temp, an agency employee. She registered with what she had been led to believe was the top agency in London. People she’d met in NHS hospitals had told her ‘They only take people who pass the exams with flying colours.’ Sammi had been in the top two percent of her year. They also, Sammi quickly learned from visiting the agency a few times and meeting numerous colleagues only took on well-presented nurses; the sort of blokes and girls you see in Holby City and Casualty, not the tatty sort you see in real hospitals. After passing the interview, taking loads of tests and being told she had been accepted, she discussed the sort of assignment, as they called them, not work or jobs as ordinary mortals would, she would prefer. At the time Sammi had no real idea what they were on about for she just assumed she would work in an NHS or private hospital at higher rates and with better working conditions than in the public sector. As it turned out the agency handled loads of different types of assignments in the UK and overseas thus, giving their contractors a wide choice. With advice from her “personal career councillor” Emma, based on two interviews and the results of her tests, it was decided that Sammi would be best suited and happiest working for consultants in their surgeries or in small hospitals.
“Upmarket, stylish ones,” she said smiling, trying to appear cool and sophisticated.
“Yes Sammi of course, with fortyish, hellishly attractive consultants,” Emma, beamed back, her big brown eyes seeming to bore right through the young blonde. “All the hospitals that retain us are er, how did you put it, upmarket and stylish?”
“Ok fine,” the blonde muttered, suitably put in my place.
Emma came out from behind her desk and stood behind the young blonde nurse. Sammi guessed that Emma was in her late thirties or early forties. Dark, beautifully cut, shoulder-length hair, impeccable make-up and wearing a black pin stripe, stylish power suit with a tight pencil skirt and a three buttoned jacket showing a deep cleavage, she looked every bit the successful business woman that she was for she owned the nursing agency and several other businesses as well.
“We wouldn’t dream of placing such an attractive nurse as you Sammi anywhere that wasn’t perfect.”
“Really, oh, I see.” Sammi mumbled hesitantly, a little embarrassed.
The older woman rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders. Sammi turned her head from one side to the other then back again. She saw a set of perfectly manicured, white-painted, square cut nails resting on each of her shoulders. It felt very intimate.
“No Sammi, your enjoyment of your time with us,” the older woman went on as she increased the pressure a little, before continuing. “That we hope will be long, is as important as our client’s pleasure will be at having you.”
Emma was purposefully testing her new contract nurse. She was sending out signals and watching carefully how they would be received. In part it was because she was bi. Not that she would normally risk anything or mar her reputation just for a quick fuck with a young bimbo like Sammi, as welcoming and as appealing as that might be. No, she needed to know, and she got to know about her girls. Over a period she got to know everything about each one. That was her job an was part of the reason why the agency was the most popular, most expensive and most successful in its field. That was why her special clients held Emma and her agency in such high regard; she came up with the goods time and time again; and in the rarefied atmosphere of top end, international health care that was crucial.
Sammi audibly gulped making Emma suppress a smile.
“Was she coming onto me?” Sammi thought. “There seemed to be double meanings in everything? Was this a straightforward nursing agency, or was there a hidden agenda?” She began to wonder.
At the time, Sammi was approaching her twenty-fifth birthday. She lived in a flat just off Euston Road with three other girls. Other than the fucking awful nursing at the fucking awful hospitals and the fucking awful wages she earned, things were ok. She couldn’t, though, have the lifestyle she wanted on those fucking awful wages. So, unbeknown to anyone, she did some modelling on the side, glamour Ankara escort photography stuff, mainly for amateur photographic clubs. Generally working “club” evenings she would pose for groups of between four and ten men in the forties or early fifties. They called the shots telling her how to pose and what to wear as they took some lingerie shots, her undressing, topless stuff, some nude, open legs and touching even. Roughly once a week or so she got booked for a one to one session that paid more, was far more intimate and, Sammi was finding, arousing.
The modelling paid well, she almost doubled her nurse’s salary with it, but it was becoming more and more difficult to keep it a secret, hence, the decision to work on contract. There was, though, another reason why Sammi wanted to stop the photographic modelling. When she did the one to one sessions, increasingly she was being asked if she did “extras.” She didn’t, but her resistance was waning. After all spending up to two hours with a guy in various stages of undress, sometimes touching her breasts or, if she felt particularly generous, her pussy, as he said wonderful things about her body and took shots of it, can be quite arousing. As a general rule, the guys that booked her one to one were younger and, slightly, more appealing than the club members. Occasionally, they might even be quite fanciable and that is when she really had problems. She hated herself for it, but Sammi was finding it increasingly difficult to continue saying that she didn’t do extras. Especially when she heard from other models she met who did offer extras that she could probably charge sixty quid or so for a few squeezes of her tits and a quick wank and around a hundred for a blow job. Easy, but dubious money, or was it she sometimes wondered? Higher paid nursing was far more preferable, she had concluded, hence the signing onto the books of Le Crème Nursing Consultancy.
They had made a big point in their ads and at the group interviews and assessment she had attended about the uniform or tunics that they supplied.
“Stylish, sophisticated and bespoke,” was how they described it. “Clothes that will make you feel good as well as help your patients recover,” they had explained
Sammi had assumed that the uniform differentiated La Crème from the staff of other agencies, in the hospitals and clinics, thus, acting as advertising for them, making the girls feel they were being treated well and meaning that the consultants and small hospitals didn’t have to stump up for them. A neat arrangement all round, or so she thought.
“So Sammi, you had better have your fitting, so we can get your tunic made and get you some assignments as soon as possible, hadn’t we?” Emma said removing her hands from the nurse’s shoulders.
Sammi wasn’t quite sure if she felt relieved or disappointed when the hands left her shoulders. Emma walked round her, picked up a file from her desk and leaned back against it, her long legs crossed at the ankle stretched out towards Sammi.
“Er, yes Emma, I suppose we had.”
“What are you, size 10?”
“On a good day,”
“Just over eight and half stone, one twenty pounds or so.”
Emma looked up; pushing the reading glasses down her nose and looking over them went on.
“Mmmmm, nice build.”
“You’re welcome,” Emma replied holding Sammi’s gaze as she added. “And your measurements Sammi?”
Sammi wasn’t too sure that she had heard properly or exactly what measurements Emma was referring to, so she said nothing. Emma took over again. Staring deep into Sammi’s eyes, she said softly as she dropped her gaze
“Your breasts first.”
That word sounded so loaded with meaning. To Sammi, for some reason it reeked of sex; far more so than when the photographers might call out phrases such as. “Shove your tits out Sam or, pinch your nipples”. Hearing “your breasts” ooze out between Emma’s full, deep red lips and the white, even teeth, seemed as stimulating to Sammi as when a man says. “Darling I desire you so much, let me fuck you!”
“Er, um 33 b.”
“You sure Sammi?” she asked staring at the blonde’s boobs. Sammi was wearing a fairly tight top so they were accentuated a bit. “They look a little more like c cup to me,” she said making Sammi wonder for a fleeting moment if she was going to ask to see them.
“Well to tell you the truth I find it hard to get a bra the right size, for I really think I am b and a half.”
“Anyway,” Emma said, again looking up and lifting her reading glasses, but this time staring quite blatantly at the girl’s chest. “Whatever, they are they are very nice.”
Sammi really felt out of her depth. She had never had a woman talk to her like this, never had a woman of Emma’s age, sophistication and beauty come on to her like this if, indeed, that was what Emma was doing.
“Perhaps in this part of sophisticated London, in the high end health care business this was how things were?” Sammi pondered, but she didn’t know and had no idea how to handle this glamorous woman. So she kept quiet as Emma tapped Ankara escort bayan into her PC the 25 inch waist and 34 inch hips measurements that the nurse advised were her sizes.
“Mmmm very nice indeed,” she said running her gaze unashamedly up and down Sammi. “Do you know your leg size?”
“No, no idea,” Sammi replied.
“That’s ok, just stand up then.”
“Fuck she’s going to measure it. She’s going to put her hands on my legs. Bollocks.”
And she did. Inside and outside leg. Hip to knee and knee to ankle. She knelt beside Sammi, her jacket gaping, her full, ripe breasts pressed against the nurse’s legs. She held the tape on Sammi’s waist and ran that down to her heel, right down the raised seam of the jeans.
“Thank Christ I wasn’t wearing a skirt,” Sammi was thinking as Emma said, a little huskily.
“Now the inside. Open your legs a little please Sammi.”
“Fucking hell,” Sammi thought,” a woman nearly old enough to be my mum and certainly attractive enough to be a model asking little me to open my legs!”
She did as she was asked. The feeling of the back of the woman’s knuckles against her crotch through, fortunately, the thick denim of her jeans, was as exciting a sensation as the blonde could ever remember experiencing.
The uniforms were delivered to Sammi’s flat by courier a couple of days later.
“Bloody hell Sam,” Roni, the scouse actress, well the aspiring one, with whom Sammi shared a flat, said, as she helped carry the parcels and hanging wardrobes into the main room of the large, but fairly run down flat. “What the hell have they sent you?”
“Hang on let me look at the delivery note.”
“There’s three of three types of outfit.”
“Well there’s a tunic outfit, with three of them, trousers and top and three white coats, or so it seems, let’s have a look.”
They unzipped the hanging wardrobes first. On the hangers in the first one, were three pale blue cotton blouses with small, dark blue epaulets, and three pairs of tailored trousers. In the second there was more of typical nurse’s uniform in content, three dark blue dresses and white pinafores and in the third there were simply three, white full length coats. The parcels contained three pairs of shoes, one for each uniform and some more aprons. There were pairs of white and blue flat loafers, and a pair of blue mid height heeled shoes. On them was a ticket. “To be worn with the coat.”
“Oh look Sam, there’s a note.” Roni said pointing to an envelope clipped to one of the hanging wardrobes.
Sammi picked it up and glanced at it.
“It explains what they are. Oh I see.”
“Well they provide uniforms for all the types of work me might do. The dress and pinafore outfit is for ward work, the trousers and blouses for training and reception and the coat for working in consulting rooms.”
“Clever lot of sods aren’t they?” Roni snorted, being rather pissed off at Sammi for giving up on her left wing beliefs and becoming as, she put it, a sell out to the fucking Tories.
“It also says to try them on immediately so that any alterations can be arranged today, before my first assignment.”
“Assignment.” Roni sorted, again. “Since when do fucking nurses have fucking assignments? They have jobs not fucking assignments”
“Well Veronica,” Sammi replied quite used to and not a bit put off by Roni’s outbursts. “You never know. Mister Mike Steven’s is by all accounts quite dishy and it might well be that Emma has set me up with a fucking assignment.”
“Bollocks, that stuck up cow wouldn’t set you up with a fuck with a fanciable guy, she’d have it herself!”
Roni easily took dislikes to people. And she had to Emma after Sammi had recounted the meeting at the consultancy a few days ago. That had been followed up with a telephone and video interview with a consultant, Mike Stevens who was exactly the ‘fortyish, hellishly attractive consultant’ type that Emma had promised.
Sammi went into her room carrying most of the outfits as Roni lit a Marlboro and started to make cups of espresso for both of them.
“Jesus fucking hell Sam, you sure this is real nursing tunic and not some form of nurseogram outfit?” Roni said loudly, her mouth wide open as Sam came into the lounge.
As Sammi had put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, she had asked herself the same question. It did seem a little risqué in design. “Men and nurses uniforms,” she had smiled as she pirouetted in front of the mirror in the tiny bedroom. ‘Almost as fetishist with men as girls in school uniforms’ she smiled.
Basically, the tunic revolved around a white coat, which on the face of it was nothing special. Not until you looked closely. The coat was made from the finest cotton. It fitted like a glove and had silver buttons all the way up the front. Round the waist there was a belt that was about three inches deep. It was the same dark blue as the epaulets on the blouse and the white coat and the trousers in the other outfits.. It was elasticised with a clasp that matched the silver buttons on the coat. It was very tight, if anything Escort Ankara too tight, for it drew Sammi’s already respectably narrow waist in a little. That accentuated both her averagely sized boobs, but more so, the flare of her hips. Hourglass had come to mind as she had looked at herself in the mirror.
Emma had said that it was company policy that all nursing personnel had to wear white stockings or tights. As she had told Sammi that, she had said softly as she looked the blonde right in the eye. “Most of us tend to wear stockings Sammi, hold-ups with lacy tops.” As Emma had said that Sammi watched her slowlyy, almost imperceptibly rubbing her leg, just where a stocking top would be.
Sammi’s always fertile and imaginative mind had immediately visualised Emma without the skirt of the power suit, her long, long legs covered in the luxuriant lace and nylon of a pair of dark holdups. She was sure she had blushed and hoped Emma had not noticed; she had though, for Emma noticed everything to do with her girls, and Sammi was looking to be a very likely prospect of becoming one of Emma’s very special girls indeed.
Sammi had slipped the coat on over her panties and tights. The hem of the coat was about three inches above her knee. Thus, when she bent forward or sat down it rode up and something like six to nine inches of her white nylon, covered legs were displayed. “Just right for lacy hold-ups, I don’t reckon.” She had thought to herself, as she leaned forward, looking back over her shoulder at her bum in the mirror. She was sure that had she been wearing hold-ups the stocking tops would have been on show. “Just right for ageing men’s’ blood pressures,” she smiled.
“Bloody hell Sam,” I can see the outline of your thong and most of your tights”, the forthright, liverbird said in her Liverpudlian accent, which was more pronounced when she was annoyed, or excited
“You can’t can you?”
“Well not all the time, but when the coat’s tight you can.”
Sammi moved closer to the mirror and saw what she meant.
When she bent forward the cotton was stretched tight across her bum and she could see quite clearly the outline of the seam of the tights running right down the middle of her bum. She could also see where the thong ran down from the waistband and joined the tights before slipping between her legs.
“Oh shit,” I see what you mean,” she replied adding. “I guess that’s why Emma said most of the girls wear hold-ups.”
“Yeah you wouldn’t have any of those ridges or marks then,”
“I’ll get some and try it tomorrow.”
“I’ve got some you can borrow, they’re black though, but you’ll be able to check won’t you?”
“Would you mind Ron?”
It was a little embarrassing undoing the coat, taking the white tights off and sliding into Roni’s quite sexy, black, lacy topped hold-ups, in front of her. Embarrassing and, if Sammi was honest, quite arousing, for they had snogged and played with each others’ tits a couple of times when they had both been pissed and horny, but then don’t most twenty something girly mates at some time or the other do that, or something similar?
With the stockings now on, Sammi started buttoning up the coat.
“Fucking hell Sam, you look amazing like that, you’re oozing sex,” she said. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”
Sammi did and saw what Roni meant.
The white of the net, see through, bra and thong was set off starkly by the black of the stockings. They were so long that there was only about an inch of skin between their tops and the bottom of her thong. The open coat left everything about her on show, her thighs, her tummy, her pubic mound in the thong, her waist, chest and boobs. The coat hanging open and the contrast of the white and black created a wanton and rather sordid, tarty look that Sammi could see was, as Roni termed it, oozing sex.
“Maybe I should wear the black for work then?” She smiled.
“That would give the patients heart attacks,” Roni replied looking at Sammi with an enquiring look on her face.
Their eyes met. They each knew that they would both be thinking pretty much the same; that their minds would have gone back to when they had groped each other on the very settee where Roni was now sitting. Sammi knew that her friend would be recalling the feel of their lips on the other, what their breasts felt like to her touch and the sensations they got from them cupping each others boobs and squeezing and pinching each others nipples. They each knew what the other would be thinking, for it was exactly what they were thinking.
“Oh shit Sammi,” she sighed.
“I know Roni,” Sammi whimpered back.
“What’s happening luv?”
“Bollocks I don’t know, but we mustn’t.”
“No you’re right,” she said getting up, walking into her room and closing the door.
Sammi went to her own room tingling all over and feeling aroused, but relieved that she and her close friend had resisted going further; it could only lead to a mess. But as she did the coat up and repeated the bending over exercise, she couldn’t help wondering just what her friend would probably be doing right now. The vision in her mind of Roni laying on her bed, her jeans pushed down and her hands inside her panties between her legs, was very stirring indeed and it took a strong resolve by Sammi not to rush to Roni’s room and bang on the door.
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