"Hot for dad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER TWO

"Hello, Doctor Steiner," said Betsy Pike as she pushed her cart down the hospital corridor. The white-haired surgeon nodded with delight at the pretty blonde candy striper, and there seemed to be an added youthfulness to his step as he went on. Betsy had been striping for over a year and everyone in the hospital knew her. Some better than others, she thought wickedly.

At eighteen, Betsy was a looker, promising to grow into a genuine heartbreaker of a lady. Her long blonde hair was neatly pinned up today, and her pink uniform with green-and-white striped pinafore did its best to conceal the lithesome curves of Betsy's ripe young figure.

She was satisfied with herself. Makeup was applied so sparingly she almost looked barefaced, and the effect was perfect. Her eyes were lined with careful, economic strokes, her cheeks wore their own color of natural health, and her lips were painted a dainty, glossy pinkish-red that didn't look at all as if it had originated in a tube. Betsy had sharp, intelligent features and she believed in making the most of them. She always took care to look her best at the hospital, for candy striping was her third favorite thing in life. For the past two and a half years fucking and sucking had been odds-on favorites for positions number one and two, and Betsy didn't see much chance they'd be deposed in the near future.

She didn't think about them all the time, thought. Like right now, she told herself. Screwing is the furthest thing from my mind. At the moment she was too busy handing out the afternoon's quota of magazines, newspapers, and patient mail even to think about a slick, hard cock reaming out her tight cunt. Of course I'm too busy, she reminded herself of course.

Betsy opened the door of Room 311 and pushed her cart inside. Yesterday she hadn't gotten up to this floor, and on her last duty day the previous week no one had been quartered here. She sang out a greeting in her high, girlish voice as she neared the bed where a patient lay, his legs in casts, his arms thrust high above him, supported by traction equipment. "Candy striper here," she said. "Would you like me to read you the headlines?"

He looked her way and she started to giggle. "What's so funny?" he asked. It was a young man on the bed, not much, if at all, older than Betsy, and he glowered at her. Recognition stole upon him. "Oh, hi," he said.

She knew him. It was Terry McGraw, and he'd graduated from Albany High not quite a month ago. He was cute, too, even if he was in fraction. God, what had happened to him, anyway?

"Car wreck," he said. "Friday evening. Didn't you read about it in the paper?"

She shook her head.

"I broke both legs and one arm, and the other one's sprained to hell and back. I didn't know you were a candy stripe, Bets."

"Bets." My, she thought, aren't we getting intimate? He'd never given her the time of day before. Last fall she'd gotten a girl friend to put in a good word for her, the "Betsy Pike thinks you're really cute, and if you called her up, she'd put Robert Redford on hold" kind of good word. And what had Mr. Terry Hot Shot McGraw said in reply? Betsy pursed her lips, trying to remember his exact words. Oh, yes! "No thanks! It's more distinctive to be the only guy in Albany County who hasn't balled Betsy Pike than to join the throng who have."

It wasn't even true that she'd balled every guy in the county, or even the town, or even the high school. She'd done her bit for the sexual revolution, sure, but in a small town a girl only had to do it with three or four boys before she got a mini-reputation. And now look at Terry McGraw. He was stretched out on a hospital bed, helpless, in need of consolation and TLC, and who should be the candy striper on duty but the girl he'd rejected so nastily? Betsy felt there was indeed a kind of poetic justice operating in the world. She went to the bed and used a tissue on his forehead, wiping away a few drops of sweat.

"Is it too hot for you?" she asked considerately. "Why don't I adjust the room temperature? Or, maybe, if I just pulled away this sheet…"

She did pull it away, where the sheet was thrown carelessly across the lower part of his body, and she couldn't stifle a giggle. His hospital gown was pulled up – he couldn't very well adjust it for himself, not with everything in casts or cables – and she could see the tip of his little wiener sticking out beneath the high-risen hem.

"Ooops," she grinned. "We'd better get you decent, hadn't we?" She reached down to pull his gown to a lower level, but the demon that occasionally possesses Betsy sprang up out of nowhere. Instead of lowering his gown, she tugged it higher, so that all his male equipment lay bare beneath her gaze.

"What're you doing?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

Hmm, thought Betsy. Isn't he finished with his body changes yet? She reached down to tickle him beneath the balls. Terry jerked as much as his condition would allow, and he groaned when she cupped his nuts in one hot little hand, giving them a firm but careful squeeze. "It isn't very big, is it?" she asked consolately, eyeing his limp member.

Her estimate was premature, for in just seconds, the more firmly she caressed him, the larger his pecker began to grow. "Knock it off," he grimaced, trying to wiggle himself free of her exploring hand, but Terry was like a fly pinned to a display board and Betsy's other hand took hold of the tip of his cock, squeezing till it suddenly bulged and gave a quivering throb between her fingertips. "Oh," she said gaily. "Maybe you're not so small."

"C'mon, Bets," he pleaded. "I'll ring for the nurse if you don't cut it out." The bell hung beside one hand, close enough for him to reach it. Betsy saw that. Instantly she'd let go of his genitals and pushed the signal bell to the side. "I don't understand, Terry," she sighed. "A candy striper is supposed to make the patients as comfortable as possible. And I'll bet you haven't had any hot, juicy screwing since – oh, since Friday, at least. Have you? Well, if you want me to leave you alone, I will, but – oh! Just look at that big hard-on you're getting! It'd be a terrible shame if it went to waste! Don't you think so, Terry?"

He groaned as her hands found his cock once again. She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the end of his peter. It was a lingering kiss, and her mouth pulled free with a loud smack. As Betsy straightened up, she licked her lips thoughtfully, and then she turned to go. "See you," she said over her shoulder.

"Hey!" he called. "You're not leaving now, are you?"

"Uh-huh," she said seriously. "You said for me to let you alone."

"Oh, come back."

Before she did, she found a small sign on the table next to the door. It read: DOCTOR IN CONSULTATION – DO NOT DISTURB. It was stamped with the name of one of the hospital staff and looked official. No one would come in till it was removed. Betsy hung it on the outside doorknob, pulled the door shut, and made her way back to the bed. Terry waited, as he must, and she took her time.

She sat down on his bed, fondling with one hand the hard-on she'd created. It had a nice, slender feel in her fist. Nothing extra special in length or thickness, Betsy decided, though she'd never messed around with a guy who had very much size on Terry. All the really big dicks must be in Playgirl, she decided. They sure weren't in Albany, Ohio.

He was almost purring when her soft, warm hands went to work on him. Betsy held one palm straightened on each side of him and moved them up and down in a maddeningly slow friction. Terry lifted from the bed with her hand motion, or at least he lifted as much as he could. She knew he was trying, though.

"Isn't this fun?" she asked teasingly. "Bet you never guessed how much fun I could be. At least not when you told everybody you thought I was a whore."

"I never!" he protested between gasps. No, he hadn't, but it was the next thing to it. He'd put her down, his quip had gotten around, and Betsy had taken a lot of razzing for several days. She'd sworn to get even, and she still intended to. But, was blowing him the way to revenge herself? She stopped in mid-fondle. "Uh, Bets," he said, making a feeble lunge with his groin in an effort to get her started once more.

Betsy smiled, a smile so sugary-cute that Terry should have taken warning. But he didn't. And when she dipped in with her head, Terry gave a sigh of joy. Her tongue shot out from between slick, glossy lips, and she cat-bathed the lip of his cock for three seconds of what must have been nirvana to the tractioned young man. Her tongue's snaky whip flitted around the rim of his cock, tracing the sharp ridges, attacking the head from the underside, where it was most sensitive. He moaned. Betsy jerked her face back in defense, certain that she'd gone too far, that he was going to come in her eyes from the meager stimulation she'd given. She locked her thumb and finger on his cock-tip and gave a healthy squeeze. That was from a magazine article. It was supposed to get a guy out of the idea of squirting too fast, and it had worked every time she'd tried it.

It worked again. Terry's face went red, then the excessive blood began to drain out and his flesh took on an almost normal tone. She smiled at him, showing off her pretty, even teeth and the end of her playful red tongue, and then she returned to work.

Her mouth opened wide and she sucked him in. His cock lay for a moment on the wet bed of her tongue as she worked her jaws upon him. It was a turn-on kind of suckling, Betsy knew damned well, and she felt him make a feeble thrust upward, an attempt to force more of his dick into her. She resisted him, successfully, for she had the upper hand in this encounter. It was her mouth and she would dictate what went into it, and how much. He wasn't in the best position for objecting, anyway.

She had about half his six inches in her maw, and she sucked on it vigorously, reaching down now and then to fondle or squeeze his nuts. Just enough to make him squirm against the myriad of ropes which held him, just enough to make his cock twist lamely inside her mouth. She sucked him harder, letting her tongue flit around his hard length.

And my, wasn't he hard indeed! Let's see – this was Tuesday, and he'd been here since Friday evening – at least three full days when he hadn't even had the option of masturbating himself. No wonder his erection felt so stiff, no wonder she could feel the lustful blood racing in each of the knotty little veins which stood out on his cock. She licked at those blood-filled channels, tapping them with her tongue, feeling Terry jerk each time she bumped him, and then she returned to sucking.

Betsy enjoyed sucking, nearly as much as she relished being spread out and filled with a hard penis. Was there some reason she shouldn't? She was seventeen years old, lovely to look at, and a resident of the richest nation in the world (barring one or two Arab oil empires). Everyone said that the sexual revolution was here and now, that the shackles of repression had been thrown off and libidos were liberated. Of course, she hadn't broken the news of her enlistment to her parents – they belonged to the repressed generation, they wouldn't understand at all. But it was her life and her body, and if she wanted to indulge it sensually, it seemed to Betsy Pike that she had every right to do just that.

Like now. Even if Terry was a prick, metaphorically speaking, he had a nice prick, a cute prick, and it throbbed like a pulsating sausage in her mouth. She swallowed him as deeply as she dared, head jerking back automatically whenever she felt him slide too near her throat. That was something she'd have to work on. If she could ever find a guy long enough to make deep-throating worthwhile. She had time. She was only seventeen. And she wouldn't be in Albany all her life.

Betsy's head began to rise and fall in long, sure patterns. Once in a while his cock slid in deeper than she intended, and a little gag rose in the back of her mouth, but for the most part she was able to control what she did and how she did it. Her head twisted jerkily as she moved up and down on him, making his cock twist too, and occasionally she let go of all but his knob, keeping it entrapped behind her front teeth so she could suck it hellishly hard while bopping it all over with the tip of her tongue. She couldn't tell whether Terry liked that or loved it. He moaned every time her tongue dragged through his cum slit, and some of those moans were quite suggestive. She kept one eye on his face, attentive lest he get much closer to coming. She'd give him the old finger squeeze so hard his dick would turn blue. He would squirt when she was ready, and not a moment before.

Without warning she let all his dick slide from her mouth. Betsy started kissing the underside of his shaft, kissing it with slurpy, smacking noises, making her way toward his tight, small scrotum. She let go with her hand just as her lips touched the edge of his jewel-sac, and she found that his nuts were small enough to suckle. Her mouth strained when she opened wide, but she got his balls inside, and she held them for a long, long time in a drooly caress. She didn't even have to suck. The pressure of her mouth on his delicate stones was enough to make Terry groan and squirm as much as his constraints would allow, and Betsy could feel the bed wobbling beneath them. Wouldn't that be a pisser, if the bed collapsed, and the attendants who came running to investigate found the hospital's most efficient candy striper still in the act of going down on a helpless patient?

It wouldn't happen. She'd been screwed on hospital beds and she knew they could take a hell of a lot of pounding. Her cunt still dripped whenever she remembered the young intern from med school at Columbus who'd been here last fall. He had a permanent hard-on, and it always seemed to point in the direction of Betsy's jiggly ass. She'd tried him on for size – he was the biggest she'd ever taken, over seven inches long, and thick, too – in the linen closet, on unoccupied beds, in an empty operating room, and once in the maternity ward waiting room on a slow day. And they'd never been caught. So why should it happen now?

Betsy hummed around the nuts she suckled, and she thought Terry would go out of his mind! Her eyes shot toward his face. He was so red-faced he could have camouflaged himself as a grape and hidden out in the Gallo vineyards. His eyes bugged out and his hands twitched in the air. Betsy gave his nuts one last suck, then let them pop free. Her hand immediately fisted around his erect pecker, and she stroked him up and down the way she'd done boys before she found out that fucking beat hand-jobs.

"This can last all day if you want," she purred at him. "I know how to streeeetttttcccchhhh it out."

"No, don't," he insisted breathlessly, "just let me come! I want to come so badly! In your mouth, Bets let me come in your mouth!"

"Mmmm," she trilled, pursing her lips, then licking them. She eyed the tip of his cock. It was wet, sloppy from her spit and from the natural fluids a man gave out to juice up his dick for intercourse. Well, he wasn't going to get the chance to screw her. Not in the shape he was in. Soooo…

Betsy gobbled him up once more, stuffing his cock into her mouth. This time she didn't try for depth or speed. She just engulfed him in her sweet ocean and sucked like his wettest dream come to flesh-and-blood life. Her tongue made lazy semi-circles around his tool where it was imbedded, and sighing hums of delight seeped from her mouth.

That was the funny part, she thought. She didn't really like Terry at all. Not as a person. He'd made fun of her, and Betsy did not care for being made fun of. The sting had been with her far too long. But his prick felt just like a prick in her mouth, and it tasted just like a prick, with a salty, meaty flavor, and she could really groove on sucking it. She could get off on the idea of his gushing into her mouth, too. The jism he'd been storing up since Friday at least. There'd be a flood of it, she was certain. Big, gobby spurts of cum. She knew so well how they'd feel and could be pretty sure of how they'd taste.

"I wanna cum in your mouth, Bets," he was groaning. "I wanna cum in your sweet, gorgeous mouth. Oh, don't stop, you hot-mouthed bitch! Keep sucking!"

A blonde girl named Betty or Beth or Betsy or something, had shown her the ropes this morning.

Sibyl Bogart wasn't sure of her way around the hospital. One of the veteran candy stripers, a blonde girl named Betty something, had shown her the ropes this morning, and she'd been gadding around like a freckle-faced Florence Nightingale ever since, but she had no idea where she was in the spacious building right now. It was fun, though, and it got her out of Daddy's way for a while. Oh, she hated to be away from him, of course. Sibyl had been motherless for twelve of her eighteen years, and sometimes she felt as if she'd been fatherless, too. Daddy was always in some exotic country, reporting for some newspaper chain or big magazine, and she rarely saw him. Now that he was home to stay, he cherished every moment she could be with him.

He was like a young girl's dream come true. Big, rugged, handsome in a real-man way (how could she ever have hero-worshiped a dinky twit like Danny Osmond? she asked herself). He'd been places and done things. He knew half the world's leaders on a first name basis. In spite of the State Department he'd interviewed Ho Chi Minh and Fidel Castro in their palaces long before that was a popular journalistic sport. She loved to hear him tell stories from his travels.

But he was busy now, trying to get two books finished. Paperback adventure books, based on his own adventures. He'd gotten big advances for both of them, and a movie deal was in the offing for one, even before publication. And she was in his way at the summer house, always underfoot, interrupting him. They'd come here so he could work in peace, in the bucolic setting of southeastern Ohio, but he couldn't work with a worshiping daughter at his heels. So she'd sacrificed her reunion time for the present and taken up volunteer work here at the hospital. It was okay. By October they'd be settled in California with all the time in the world for one another.

"Peppermint!" someone called – it was the address form for candy stripers until the girls had become faces. Sibyl turned. "Here," said an orderly. "Take this to Doctor Waverly." Sibyl nodded quickly, wondering who Doctor Waverly was. The orderly was gone before she could ask, but a nurse said she thought Waverly might be on third floor this time of day. Sibyl headed for the elevator.

She didn't see him – or her – in the corridor, but she wasn't familiar with the hall's turnings, and so she went with hope. On her way back down the hallway, Sibyl noticed a sign, hung from a doorknob, which read DOCTOR IN CONSULTATION – DO NOT DISTURB, and the name of Jeffery Waverly, M.D., was rubberstamped underneath.

She touched the doorknob. It said DO NOT DISTURB. But maybe this was very important. She looked at the envelope. You couldn't tell from the outside. Maybe she'd just peek into the room, make sure Dr. Waverly was there, see if he was busy with something serious. He couldn't do any more than yell at her. She turned the knob as quietly as she could and peeked round the edge of the door. "Oh, good Lord!" she said.

Betsy's head whirled, Terry's cock jumping from her mouth to wobble wetly in open air. She looked at the partially opened door and saw the face of a candy striper – the new girl, the shy red-headed one. "Oh, close the Goddamn door!" she barked, her hand catching Terry's cock for steadying.

Sibyl had half her body inserted in the door's aperture, and there was no real reason for her to enter the room as opposed to departing. Perhaps she still expected to find Dr. Waverly in here someplace. She didn't understand – even afterwards, she never understood why – but she stepped inside and closed the door firmly. The sound of closing was a cue to Betsy, who returned to her task at once.

Sibyl had known something unusual was going on, but not till now could she see it. She'd noticed that the patient's gown was pulled up very high, she'd seen that Betsy Pike was sitting on the bed, her head bent over the young man's lap, and now she could see that Betsy was carrying her candy stripe duties to a point which regulations probably wouldn't have approved. She was – good Lord! – she was putting the boy's penis in her mouth and she was – sucking it! – loudly, voraciously, with big smacks and quick jerks of her head.

Sibyl came closer, transfixed with horror. She knew that such things happened between men and women – married men and women, of course – in real life. The nuns at St. Ursula's had explained last term in hygiene that it was even permissible in marriage, by church law, if it were not used as a birth control technique. But Sibyl had never grasped the vivid reality of the act of oral sex until this very moment, and she was shocked. Her face reddened with a massive blush, and she felt numb from head to toe.

Neither of the room's occupants paid any attention to her, it seemed. The boy's eyes were closed and he was calling Betsy some nasty names while encouraging her to keep doing what she was doing. Sibyl didn't use words like that in her speech or thoughts, and she tried to block them out of her mind.

Betsy ignored the newcomer, too. Her cheeks were pulled in to an incredible degree of concavity, Sibyl thought, and her eyes were closed as if she were in prayer. Oh, that was obscene! And so was this! She should close her own eyes, or at least turn her head away so she'd not have to look. Instead, she found herself taking another step toward the bed, then still another, so that the action she watched grew ever sharper and clearer before her wide green eyes.