15 comments/ 201874 views/ 79 favorites Cosplay By: Charles Petersunn This is the story of a girl with a fetish, inspired by the genre of cosplay within Japanese adult video idols. All of the characters in this story were at least 18 at the time of their actions. Finally, most importantly, my thanks to StoryPal for his considerable help in editing. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Madeline Hemming was one of Dr. Lowenstein's latest patients. She was an upperclasswoman, a junior, 20 years old, in her third year at Templeton College, and she had finally decided to do something about her problem; her secret problem. She lied down on the doctor's couch. Dr. Lowenstein spent the initial part of their first session gathering basic history, and then asked why Madeline had come for treatment. The doctor had already read the intake forms that Madeline had completed, but it was always best to have the patient describe the problem for himself, or herself. Madeline explained that she loved to play dress-up as a little girl. It was one of her favorite games. The princess costume was perhaps the one she liked the most. What girl doesn't like being a princess? But, she liked them all: prom queen, fairy, bride, angel, teen disco girl. Her Barbie costume was a close second to the princess costume. She really did like playing Barbie, as she could pretend that the real Barbie doll was her little sister and they would go out shopping together for, of course, new outfits. She really admired Barbie so much, as she had so many, many, many different outfits. There was her silver dress, her tangerine Oscar dress, her Barbie darling dress, her contest winner dress, her waltzing dress, her golden girl dress, her rose dress, her silver star dress, her shimmering gown dress, her sleek and dazzling dress, her belly dress, her sophisticated dress, her summer dress, her wonderful white dress, her falling leaves dress, her pink silk dress, and her designer evening gown dress. It just never seemed to end. She particularly liked Barbie's pink and pretty dress. She sometimes went to sleep dreaming that she could grow up to become a Barbie doll. Well, it wasn't surprising that her interest in costumes continued into adulthood, albeit transformed. Being an adult provided another layer of complexity, or more accurately, pleasure, to her interest in costumes. It was like the child who loved puppies becoming a veterinarian. Well, it wasn't quite like that. For Madeline, the outfits now had a degree of sexual undertone to them. Actually, they had a substantial degree of overtone. Madeline really loved cosplay, dressing up in a costume that defined a specific role, and then going out in public and playing that role, seeing if you could get away with it, not get caught, as you pushed the limits of the role into some form of sexual indiscretion. One might even say that she was obsessed with it. Madeline in fact chose Templeton College largely because everyone came to class wearing a costume. The college administration called it a uniform, but it was pretty close to her own school girl costume: white blouse, black tie, plaid skirt, white socks, black Mary Janes, and even white cotton panties. She thought the white cotton panties was a really dedicated, authentic touch, the sort of special detail that she gave to her own costumes. Nobody was supposed to see your panties, yet the administration saw fit to have each girl wear white cotton panties. She was impressed. She thought now though of transferring. She had been attracted to Templeton in large part because the college seemed to embrace cosplay. But, it wasn't too long before she realized that it wasn't that much fun wearing the same darned costume day after day after day after day. More importantly, her cosplay was becoming a bit of a risky problem in life. She explained why to Dr. Lowenstein. "Doctor, this is all confidential, isn't it?" "Oh yes, dear, very much so. I would only break confidentiality if someone was in imminent danger of injury or death." It wasn't that Madeline found her admission to be particularly embarrassing. She wasn't at all ashamed about what she did. Her concerns were more immediate and practical. "So, like, um, if I admitted to breaking a law, or something, not that I would. I'm just askin' hypothetically like, you know. If I admitted to doing something illegal, you know, you wouldn't call the police?" "I wouldn't. In fact, even if I wanted to do that, which I wouldn't, I would risk losing my license. You could get me into trouble." That was reassuring. She did though still look around the room, as if there might in fact be someone there. Once fully reassured, she began her story. Cosplay was not an easy fetish, or game, as Madeline preferred to describe it. First, it took a good amount of work and skill to create a good costume, as well as a few pennies. One wanted, of course, a costume that would be fun and sexy to wear, as well as to see. Madeline was more than willing to put in the work. She felt considerable pride in creating a good costume. She was an artist of fashion. The pennies (more like dollars) were a problem, but she would usually manage to scrape together the necessary bits and parts by scouring reclamation stores. Cosplay also required a bit of acting skill, and a substantial amount of planning and preparation, as well as courage and daring. One could at times go in blind to a new site and target, particularly if one wanted to experience novel and idiosyncratic shifts in the game. But, this could also be rather reckless. Cosplay was inherently risky because there was always the danger of getting caught and exposed, and some cosplays would be considerably costly if the deception was discovered. Dressing up in costumes had been fun as a child, but the risk in going out into the world in costume contributed to its fun as an adult. All of this: the skills, the acting, the adventure, and the danger, was what made it so satisfying, so enriching. CHEERLEADER Madeline first told the doctor of a cosplay involving one of the more traditional costumes: the cheerleader. She decided it was best to begin her story with a costume that wasn't really so bad or risky. It is not difficult, of course, to obtain a cheerleading costume. Madeline though needed one that would pass as a Templeton cheerleader, and the college didn't simply offer these uniforms at the local bookstore. An official uniform had to be ordered through a licensed distributor that carefully screened all purchases for official authorization. Madeline was eventually able to garner all of the necessary components from various sources, some of which were, let's just say, less than exactly sanctioned. It was, though, an indiscretion that she felt should be excusable. She wasn't planning on using her uniform for any destructive, harmful, or exploitative purposes. Well, that wasn't entirely true, depending upon how one understood the word, "exploitation." The risk, though, was part of the excitement, an integral part, going out into the world dressed in your costume, pretending to be someone you're not, enjoying the fruits of that role, and escaping detection. It was often really very exciting. When leaving her apartment she would usually wear a large coat over her costume. A cheerleading costume would not arouse much suspicion among her neighbors, but she didn't want them to ask her about it, and she certainly didn't want them to eventually realize that she was leaving her apartment in various costumes. That would suspicion, and inquiry. She drove to her location. Madeline had carefully investigated and scouted her site in advance. There was no physical or legal danger with this particular cosplay but there was appreciable risk with respect to her status as a Templeton student, and certainly with respect to her relationship with her parents. They would probably never understand her interest, her obsession, in cosplay. Once she arrived at her destination she parked her car, removed her coat, and entered the Templeton Athletic Center. The athletic center actually included only a few locations for athletic activities. There were a few handball courts, a work-out room, and an undersized basketball court. It was primarily a set of offices for various coaches, managers, staff, and assistants. Madeline attracted little attention as she wandered through the halls in her Templeton cheerleading uniform, other than the usual "smiles" from men who appreciated her school spirit, and striking figure. Cheerleaders were one of the few students allowed to wear something other than the Templeton uniform on campus. It was an exception that nobody protested, particularly the male faculty. Madeline filled out a cheerleading uniform extremely well. She was a rather petite girl, always a plus for a cheerleader who needs to be tossed high into the air. But, she was disproportionately large "on top;" in fact, very much so, which was another very nice attribute for a cheerleader, so she felt. At least, she certainly filled out well her white sweater with the school nickname, "PURITANS," blazoned across her chest in large red lettering. The letters stretched and curved across her thrusting breasts, as the sweater was filled beyond capacity. The particular risk at this moment was coming across an actual cheerleader, or someone who knew the squad. She was not, though, too worried. She had conducted a few trial runs, and not once had she come across a cheerleader on this side of the athletic center. In fact, a number of persons greeted her with smiles. She would wave back with one of her red pompoms, give them a big large smile, along with a very cheery greeting. Her heart though was racing at the thought of getting caught. She felt like she was some sort of spy, working undercover, infiltrating an enemy organization. She so much enjoyed cosplay. It did not take long for her to get to her final destination, the office of Jackson Jones or, he preferred, Jack. She knocked on the door. "Yes, come in." She took a deep breath and began her play. She opened his office door part way and peeked around. "Mr. Jones?" "Yes?" Jack replied. Jackson Jones was a junior assistant to the football coach. He was in charge of securing tapes of the games of opposing teams, and then editing them to highlight particular plays and players. It was pretty important work, although at times tedious. The pretty girl peeking around his door asked, "Do you have a moment for me, sir?" He really didn't. Well, actually, he did. Nobody is really that busy at Templeton. It wasn't like they were at Longwood. But the Coach did want an edited tape of Longwood's last game. Templeton had not been able to beat Longwood for sometime now, and rumor had it that the Coach would be looking for a job if he couldn't beat them at least once. Still, it wasn't like Jackson was on the verge of discovering the cure for cancer. He could free up a minute or two for a student. And, besides, this one was rather pretty. She had long dark hair, very large, twinkling brown eyes, and an engagingly cheerful smile. He could use a break from the drudgery of reviewing and editing tapes, and a brief moment with a pretty undergraduate never did hurt. "Sure, sure, come on in." "You're so cool, Mr. Jones," she gleefully and gratefully replied, and pranced into his office. As soon as she entered, Mr. Jones was glad that he had decided to see her, as she was a sight to see indeed. She was a cheerleader, and a very enticing one at that. She was a pretty little minx, and one with such large tits that quite noticeably jiggled as she almost leaped into his office. Cheerleaders were known for being amazingly exuberant, energetic, and enthusiastic, and this one was certainly no exception. All of the teeth showed with her smile, and her breasts just seemed to be bounce and bobble with enthusiasm, like they were wiggling with excitement. She went right up to him, shifted the pompoms and her purse into her left hand, and held out her right. "Mr. Jones! Hello! I'm Diane, Diane Weston." They shook hands. Her eyes were firmly fixed on his. His were trying hard not to look down at what was wiggling beneath her eyes. "I'm so grateful for this opportunity! I know how busy you are and everything, like I don't want to bother you or nothing, it's just that I really, really, really need to talk to you and everything, and so, well, I just had to come over, and so, well, here I am!" He had no idea what a cheerleader could possibly want to talk to him about. He had nothing to do with the cheerleaders, regrettably so. "Yes, well, it's nice of you to stop by, naturally, but I'm not sure what it is you want, of me." "Oh yes! Of course! How silly, how just so stupid of me." She shifted one of the pom poms back to her right hand. "I'm such a ditz! I'm so, so sorry. Yes, how would you know? Let me explain." It wasn't like he was trying to stop her from explaining. He waved his hand for her to get on with it. She laid down her pompoms and explained her predicament, all the while fixing and fussing with her hair, pulling her long brown strands back over one ear, as she tilted and turned her head, giving him different looks, different poses, all of which seemed a bit flirtatious. It was like she just couldn't get her hair in the precise way she wanted it, due in large part to her continuously tilting and tipping her head, causing her hair to again fall back over her face. He wondered if all this self-conscious energy was nervousness or just a way to draw attention to her hair, her face, her eyes, her prettiness. "Oh yes, yes, thank you. Well, you see, sir. I'm not actually a cheerleader. I mean, I was in high school, but not here, not yet." Well, she sure looked like a Templeton cheerleader. She was wearing a Templeton cheerleader sweater, and the traditional pleated skirt, with the red and white alternating stripes, white socks, and white tennis shoes. "I know I look like one. Don't you think I look good?" She dropped her purse, picked up the pompoms and gave him a little pose, holding the pompoms high above her head, and thrusting out her chest. Did cheerleaders really know how sexy they looked? Of course they must. But, it was a bit of a loaded question. She did look extremely nice. He just didn't want to explain why. He nodded his head. "Don't you think I would make a good cheerleader? I think so. I mean, I would look really good as one, don't you think?" "Yes, yes, I do." He was a bit confused. If she was not a cheerleader, what was she doing in a cheerleading uniform? She smiled broadly, like she was so, so glad, so relieved, to hear him say that. "Oh, I think so too! Everyone says I have good milkshake. I knew it was the right thing to come to you." He still didn't understand, and he certainly had no idea what she meant by 'milkshake,' but he couldn't help but wonder if she was referring to her big tits. What could he possibly offer this girl? "Yes, well, um, what can I do for you?" "Oh Mr. Jones! Don't be so silly. You know," she asserted. He certainly did not know, that was why he was asking her. "I'm trying out for the squad, and I just wanted to come, like, and talk to you about it, you know." She said, more quietly, "Personally, and everything." "Um, yea, okay," he replied. He was of course quite willing to talk to students about their concerns and problems, but only the football players actually ever did approach him. He did wonder, though, what she meant by "personally?" "I'll be happy to talk to you." Even if she made no sense, he would have to enjoy talking to a cheerleader, particularly one with breasts as big, beautiful and bouncy as these. It wasn't right, of course, to give preferential time and treatment to students simply because they were pretty girls with large boobs, but you couldn't deny the pleasure of their company. And it wasn't like he was setting a precedent he couldn't subsequently follow. He'd be happy to help any cheerleader. "Cool! You see, Mr. Jones, I really, really, really want to be a cheerleader and I thought that it wouldn't hurt if I talk to you about it, and like maybe you could put in a good word for me, or something, you know." Now he understood. She apparently thought that because he was affiliated with the football team he might have some connections with the cheerleader squad. He wasn't really sure why she would make such a connection, and he seriously doubted that any good word from him would be at all helpful. Heck, he didn't even know to whom he should speak. He could find out, but even if he did, why would they care what he had to say? He was an assistant coach, with no actual authority or influence over anyone, even the football players. His authority went no further than obtaining and editing game tapes. "I mean, like, you're in the football program, and everything. They'll listen to you." "Well, I don't really know about that." "Don't be so modest, sir," Madeline replied, stepping up even closer to him and resting a petite, soft, feminine hand on his shoulder, her breasts towering before his eyes. "You're a coach on the football team. They'll have to listen to you." He wondered if he should disavow her of this misunderstanding, but how often does an attractive girl, and one with big tits, tell you how big and important you are. It was nice to finally have someone think he was consequential, significant, a man with important connections. He just shrugged. "For sure, Mr. Jones. Here, let me show you." Madeline stepped back to demonstrate her cheerleading skills. She dropped her pompoms and said, "Clap your hands!" She clapped three times. "Stomp your feet!" She stopped her left, her right, and then her left foot again. It wasn't much of a cheer, but those breasts were really bouncing around under her sweater. He seriously questioned whether she was even wearing a brassiere. But, how could you have breasts that large and not wear a brassiere? She picked up the pompoms and alternately thrust out each one, at each syllable, saying, "Puritans can't be beat!" Her bounding bouncing breasts bobbled around, kind of following the lead of the pompoms, but adding their own fascinating twists, wobbles, and wiggles, like they had a life of their own. His dick twitched instinctively. She yelled while dropping down on one knee. "Go red, go white!" There was again more bouncing and bobbling. Jack had to wonder if the cheer was designed to bring her breasts expressively into the routine, highlighting their importance, generating fan spirit. She added, shifting to the other knee, "Come on team you can do it!" She leaped back up onto her feet and then went down into splits, her breasts bobbling mightily, "Just put some power to it!" And, while throwing both hands up in the air, she finished, "Goooooooo Puritans!" She paused, smiling broadly, her arms still outstretched, her breasts floundering around and then slowly jiggling back into position. She asked, "What do you think? Awesome?" Actually, he wasn't terribly impressed. Well, that's not true. He was very much impressed with her breasts, and she was certainly very pretty. But, it wasn't a particularly impressive cheer, although he wasn't too sure that any cheer was necessarily that impressive. "Yea, that was good, Diane. It was real good. I think you'd be a real good cheerleader." His tone lacked any obvious enthusiasm. "It wasn't very good, was it." She dropped her hands down, although remained in her splits. "No, no, it was fine. It was good." "It's because I have brown hair, isn't it," she said, shifting the pompoms into one hand while she self-consciously fingered her long strands, curling them around and around a finger. "What? No! Not at all!" He was sincere about that. He hadn't thought about the color of her hair at all. Although, now that she brought it up, he did wonder if she would be even prettier if she was a blonde. Blondes do make good cheerleaders. Cosplay By now Madeline had slid her breasts all the way up his lap. Her big, warm, luscious soft pillows were now comfortably resting on his crotch, or more precisely, on his dick. He shifted his hands back away from himself, and from her, throwing them back behind himself, trying desperately to avoid any inappropriate contact with those youthful breasts, while at the same time experiencing a much more inappropriate contact with his thrusting dick. Madeline wrapped her hands around his waist and pressed her breasts deep into his crotch, smiling at the feel of his stiffness as she said, "Now, we've been all through that, Mr. Jones. I know who you are and what you can do. I think you could make me very, very happy too." She softly ground her naked boobs into his lap, into his stiff dick, all the while smiling up at him. She said seductively, "Big boobies are good for some things, aren't they, Mr. Jones." Madeline smiled triumphantly. She so much enjoyed the power of the cheerleader. She had him wrapped around her finger, or more precisely her breasts were literally wrapped around his erect cock, and she gave him a little squeeze to accentuate the point. Keeping her twinkling eyes fixed on his, she let go of her boobs and burrowed her hands beneath them, searching around for a treasure hidden beneath the big bubbies. Jackson lurched in his seat as he felt her fingers moving along his crotch. "Diane, what are you doing?" She replied innocently, "I was just looking for something." She let her fingers briefly slide along his stiffness, and then shifted to the left of his bulge, grasping hold of his zipper and quickly sliding it down. "No, no, no!" He protested, "No, Diane, please, you really shouldn't do that. You, we, really can't." His body though contradicted his words. He could have forcefully shoved her away. He could have reached down to pull his zipper back up. But, he did not. He only said what a part of him felt, and instead did what the other part felt even stronger. He let her reach into his pants, into his boxers. But as soon as her fingers made contact with his erection he squirmed away. This really wasn't right at all. This was in fact very, very dangerous. Yes, she was the active participant. It wasn't like he was demanding, requiring, that she show him her tits and grab hold of his cock in order to become a cheerleader. But, what if she found out that he really couldn't help her? What if she in fact failed to become a cheerleader? She would likely be awfully disappointed, and might feel terribly exploited. He let go of the chair to grab her arms, to try to discourage her from grasping hold of her goal. "Oh my gosh," he gasped as he felt her feminine fingers wrap around his cock and firmly extract it from his slacks. Madeline smiled in triumph. "Cheerleaders are really very good at many different things, Mr. Jones, and one of them is getting big hard penises out of tight spots." She smiled mischievously up at him as she softly slid her fingers up and down his length. "We can get them into some pretty tight spots too." Perhaps it was the concrete sight of his hard naked cock in the young lady's hand, poking out from in between her bulbous breasts, that jolted him fully back to his senses. In any case, his sense of responsibility, of duty, finally took control. Just as she wanted to be a cheerleader he wanted someday to be a coach, perhaps even more than she desired, or needed, to reach her goal. And, getting caught in his office with his cock in the hand of a topless coed would surely ruin his entire career. "Diane, that's really enough," he asserted, and he pulled her hands away, something he could have, should have done, before. Her voice became softer, more sultry. "Have you ever done it with a cheerleader, Mr. Jones?" He actually hadn't. For a moment he wondered how many men had done it with a cheerleader. Maybe that was in Wikipedia? Probably not many at all, at least proportionally to all men, and many more probably would have wanted to, or at least they must have thought about it. He shook his head. "Have you ever wanted to?" She leaned over and planted a soft wet kiss on the head of his hard dick. Yes, he had certainly wanted to. The wavering of his resolve, the weakness in his will, was evident in the nervousness of his response, his voice, and the swelling of his exposed cock. "Well, yes, certainly, I would think men have probably thought about it, but that's not really the point." He gasped as he felt her tongue lick the head of his dick. "Oh, Diane, please," he groaned, not entirely sure whether he was pleading for her to stop or to continue. She assumed it was the latter and continued to lick and lap at the head of his cock, like it was a sweet, tasty treat, and for Madeline it was indeed. She so much enjoyed licking a man's cock. A hard stiff cock was so very impressive: so manly, so powerful, yet capped by such a delicious soft bulb. She even enjoyed their smell. It was a sort of earthy, musky aroma, like a rustic, woodsman, masculine cologne. She did though stop to ask a very important question. "You won't tell anyone we did this, will you Mr. Jones?" He shook his head. Frankly, she was clearly holding the upper hand, quite literally so. "It's very important, you know, for a cheerleader to keep her reputation. If she were to do anything that might embarrass the school she would be off the squad for sure." "Oh, I understand. I certainly do." He wasn't about to tell anyone anything about this. "And, you will put a good word in for me, won't you?" He finally gave in. He just couldn't have her stop now. "Yes, yes, I will, very much so." A part of him felt guilty, but it's difficult for guilt to drive your behavior when your stiff dick is leading the way, being tempted, pulled, and drawn by the tongue of a pretty cheerleader. She smiled broadly, as if she had finally obtained her dream. "Oh Mr. Jones! I'm so grateful, so happy. A man as big as you, you know, must be terribly powerful and influential. After all, didn't Abraham Lincoln say, 'Speak softly and carry a big stick?'" He didn't correct her. After all, it wasn't like he was her history professor. She let go of his cock, got up off the floor, and turned her back to him. What was she doing? He didn't have long to find out. She bent over, thrusting her bottom back toward him and lifted up her skirt, presenting to him the soft round curves of her red pantied butt. "Would you be so kind sir as to pull down my panties, Mr. Jones?" Did she lock the door? Clearly she hadn't. He wondered if he should at least do that, but he really didn't want to interrupt her. What if by doing so she became self-conscious, aware of what she was doing, aware of how wrong it was? He reached out, grasped hold of the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down, opening up to his eyes the terribly delightful sight of a young lady's naked white tush. It looked so defenseless, so enticing, so tempting, poking back at him as if she wanted him to take a big bite out of that round white apple, split down the middle so that he could spread it open and enjoy the fruit hidden inside, and beneath this delicious fruit was an even better desert, the small, soft, white pie of her cunnie, poking out between her thighs, just asking, begging, to be fucked. He pulled her panties all the way down to her ankles, Madeline being careful to let her bottom accidentally bump his face a few times as he clumsily extracted her ankles from her cheerleading panties. Jackson's cock was now yearning to be satisfied, his balls aching for release. He started to get up, wanting to take her just like this, bent over in his office, her cheerleading skirt tossed over her back, her bottom submissively upraised for his pleasure, his mounting. But, as he started to get up she turned around, pushed him back down, and straddled his legs, presenting right before his eyes a so provocatively sexy frontal view of her young luscious cunt. She was hairless. He had never actually seen such a thing. He had heard girls doing this for the pleasure of a boy. College girls today were doing so many things now that were just unheard of when he was a student, even though he would argue that it really hadn't been that long ago for him, or at least he felt that way. He wasn't so sure though that she had shaved for the pleasure of a boy, or a man. She could be doing it as a cheerleader. You certainly wouldn't want any stray hairs slipping out during a routine, nor perhaps would you want the outlines of hairs to be evident through the tight panties. Of course, she then risked the clear sight of a camel toe but that would be rather innocent, wouldn't it? It certainly looked rather innocent now: so virtuous, so virginal, just a naked white, hairless slope, split by an enticing slit. Well, maybe it wasn't so innocent looking. Madeline sat back down into his lap and slid her slit up against his hard dick. Jackson groaned with delight at the feel of her warm, soft, wet slit pressing against his hard, stiff dick. Yes, hairless was very nice, visually and tactually. Madeline wrapped her arms around him, pressed her naked breasts against him, and said, "You know, I should warn you, Mr. Jones, that I haven't been with a lot of guys since I'm not a college cheerleader, not yet. I'm still awfully tight, you know. I just think you should know that." He felt like cumming right then. It took considerable concentration to restrain himself. She slowly slid her slippery slit up and down his stiffness, and whispered into his ear, "Can I do another cheer for you, Mr. Jones?" He closed his eyes and responded, equally softly, "Yea, yea, sure," although there was something now much more that he wanted than simply a cheer. He wanted her cunt. Madeline smiled and whispered, "I slip. I slide. On the coach's cock." She matched her actions to her words. "I jiggle. I wiggle. His thingie makes me tingle," she added, as she wiggled her bobbling huge jugs against his face and then, as she thrust her pussy lips against his dick, "I hump. I pump. I want him all inside." She was now gyrating her naked wet cunt against his dick. "He's hard. He's stiff. His thingie makes me drip." She rose up higher and positioned her cunnie slit atop the round head of his cock, and then slowly, sensually, softly, screwed it down onto his dick, gently twisting her bottom round and round as she fitted his thick cock into her hot, wet, tight cunt. "I'm hot. I'm wet. I need his cock so much." She drove her cunt up and down his cock, the room filling with the sound of her slurping, sliding slit slopping against him. Madeline was riding his cock fast to her climax. She always came more quickly, more intensely, more wonderfully, in cosplay. She gasped, "His stick, so hard, so long and so thick." Jack wasn't far behind her. After all, it wasn't too often that a pretty coed cheerleader with giant tits was riding up and down his hard, stiff dick. She moaned, "I'm so small. So tight. I don't think he can fit." He was not an old man. At best he was middle-aged, but it had been some time since he felt a cunt as snug and tight as this. It felt so, so good. "I push. I strain. He gives me every inch." She pulled him tightly against her as she thrust her hips, fucking his cock with her young, wet, tight cunt. Being a cheerleader was so cool, so exciting. Actually, more than half her fun was being the fantasy for the man she was fucking, enjoying the fact that she was the dream of this man's life. What could be more stimulating, more satisfying, more wonderful than being the dream. "We pump. We hump. He fills me up so good." She scratched his back with the nails of her fingers and whimpered into his ear, "I shiver. I tremble. He squirts so hard, so much. Oh, Mr. Jones," she gasped as she felt her body melt into his, and she gave herself over to her orgasm, trembling and shivering into his arms. He felt his dick twitch and jerk in the cheerleader's slit, as if it was thrusting, jerking, struggling to escape from a wonderfully smothering skin-tight engulfment, an absorption that was so satisfying, so fulfilling, so gratifying. He breathed deep sighs of relief and satisfaction as he felt his cum surge through his cock and release into the wet confines of "Diane's" tightly clinging pussy, quickly filling her up with his hot, sticky stuff. He grabbed hold of her soft round bottom and pulled her cunt more tightly against him, thrusting forward to squirt his stuff as deeply inside as he could, while at the same time burying his face into those lusciously large and soft fleshy pillows. His face felt as engulfed by her boobs as his dick felt absorbed by her cunt. He snuggled into her womanly jugs, gasping and groaning as he felt his cock spurt and spit into her tight girlish cunnie. It was an orgasm he would long remember. The next day Jack went to the office of the Director of Cheerleading to put a good word in for her. He felt rather uncomfortable doing so. He didn't know the Director, and he worried that even attempting to do this might put him in jeopardy. Would not the Director wonder why this Assistant Coach felt so strongly about this particular applicant? But, curiously enough, the Director replied, "Diane Weston? Absolutely! You are in fact the third person to nominate her. We are really looking forward to her application, but I must say we have not yet heard anything from her." That was a bit odd, but he did feel better about trying. - - - - - - - - - - - - - Dr. Lowenstein's heart was beating rapidly at the end of the story, and there was a warmth between her legs, her thighs. Professionally, it was called counter-transference. She had been well trained as a clinician and was prepared for such difficulties. Still, it was a little disconcerting to have her patient's life, her story, affect her so significantly, to stir within her such base, primitive feelings. At the moment, she felt more like a voyeur than a clinician. It took considerable strength, and clinical acumen, to gather herself, to regain her professional demeanor. After all, she was there for the benefit, the development, the growth, of Madeline, not for her own prurient interests. It was at times very difficult being a sex therapist; although it was also very satisfying, very pleasing, particularly when she was alone, in her bed, at night, and she recalled that day's sessions. Sometimes she even played the tape of a session, as she played with herself beneath the covers, the sheet, of her bed. She felt she developed even further insights into her patient's conflicts and problems when she masturbated to their sessions. She would gain a better appreciation, a better understanding, of their perspectives, their fantasies, their impulses, dreams, and wishes. And, besides, it was rather fun. Dr. Lowenstein did now though understand Madeline's concern, or at least she thought she did. Madeline was placing herself at considerable risk by engaging in this "cosplay," as she preferred to describe her fetishistic escapades. Dr. Lowenstein was quite reluctant, as a therapist, to attempt to govern a patient's life. Patients were free to make their own decisions. It was important in fact for them to do so. A therapist can not, and should not, control a patient's life. But, she also felt some responsibility in at least informing Madeline of the risks that some behaviors might entail. "Madeline, I understand that pretending you're a cheerleader could be enjoyable, even a bit stimulating," she said, as she pressed her thighs together. "Oh, it was really very, very stimulating, Dr. Lowenstein," Madeline replied, as she pressed her thighs together. "Well, yes, of course, but you do appreciate that you might be placing yourself at some risk. I mean, what if you were caught posing as a cheerleader? I wouldn't think that the college would look favorably upon such behavior." As soon as she said it, Dr. Lowenstein regretted the remark. It did sound rather paternalistic. It was important to convey to patients an unconditional positive regard, no matter what their behaviors, interests, or peccadilloes. This was particularly important in sexual therapy. "I know I take risks, doctor, but that's really part of the fun, the thrill. It's not the risks that trouble me." Apparently the doctor didn't understand. "What does trouble you, dear?" "It's just that this is pretty much all I do now. Cosplay is not easy. I mean it can take a lot of planning and preparation, and well, it's also a lot of fun. And, someday I'm going to get caught and get into all sorts of trouble." Wasn't that the precise point she had been trying to make earlier? But it is always best to have the patient come to an insight herself rather than simply provide it to her. She pretended not to have noticed. "Do you really think so?" "Well, yes, like, you know, well, one of my more favorite cosplays is being a nurse." "You've pretended to be a nurse?" "Oh yes, many times." Madeline then proceeded to recount her most recent nursing cosplay. NURSE "Are you here for your sperm donation?" "What?" The young man asked as he looked up into the prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen. Well, at least the prettiest he had seen for a few days. She was though the prettiest nurse he had ever seen, and certainly the one with the biggest tits he had ever seen. This petite doll of pretty femininity was leaning down toward him, her hands on her knees, her face just inches from his eyes, the front of her uniform bursting with the bulging strain of her breasts, which appeared to be barely restrained from their release by the tenuously clinging, straining buttons of her uniform. He read the name on the tag, "Nurse Betty Sizemore." Timothy was in the waiting room of an ancillary branch of the Templeton clinic. He was there for a blood donation, waiting for his name to be called. He hadn't heard about any sperm donation. He had not in fact ever done anything like that before. In fact, he must not have heard this nurse correctly. It would not be surprising for such a pretty face to confuse your mind. "Excuse me?" She smiled patiently and exclaimed, "Sperm donation!" with the most engaging and sweetest smile, as if a sperm donation was somehow an everyday, routine sort of thing. She tilted her head as she smiled, and then stood back up straight, her hands clasped demurely before her. The standing up straight did little to diminish the prominence of her breasts. On the contrary, they now thrust out like two big white beach balls. He tried to pretend that he didn't notice. He had heard that girls can tell when you are looking at them there, and he could imagine that it might be annoying to them. But goodness, when you have breasts as large as these, what should you expect? Still, this was a nurse. You really shouldn't look at a nurse like that. It wasn't like they were wearing some sort of revealing blouse or negligee, and she was a professional, a member of the health care system that warranted your respect. Still, his cock swelled in his pants, and he could not help but feel that her appeal was in part precisely because she was a nurse. He wasn't at all sure why she looked so especially enticing, so alluring. She was wearing the traditional nursing uniform: the simple white dress that came down to her knees, buttoned all the way to the small, rounded collar; with matching white nylons, white pumps, and the white cap. What made her so bewitching, so tempting? Perhaps it was the fact that the buttons did appear to be on the verge of bursting through their loops, her breasts placing considerable strain on the strength of the threads. Perhaps though it was the fact that the uniform was entirely white, conveying a purity, an innocence, a virtuous modesty. Sluts and skanks didn't wear nursing uniforms, only good girls would be a nurse. Perhaps more than this, though, a nursing uniform conveyed her willingness, her desire, to be caring, considerate, helpful, and healing. It was a feminine garment, a feminine profession, whose mission was to do what she could, as a nurse, to cure your ills, no matter what may in fact be troubling you, to make you feel better, to make you feel good. She was devoted to your comfort and care, not as a doctor, who only looked upon you as a sick, malfunctioning organism whose treatment, successful or not, provided a very handsome salary. Nursing was a vocation, not an occupation, a calling, and one that paid very little despite its importance, its value. The nurse was a woman with a heart and sympathy for her patient's feelings, his concerns, his needs. Yes, a nurse is really very attractive, very appealing. Cosplay "So, are you ready?" "Excuse me?" He had become lost in his thoughts, and then realized that his eyes were again fixed on her breasts. He quickly looked away, his face turning red. "Are you ready to donate your sperm?" "Ummm, well." This did seem a little weird. How do you talk to a pretty nurse about sperm? And right there in the waiting room! In public. He only briefly met her eyes, and then pretended to be looking off in some other direction. "The hospital is out of sperm?" "Silly boy," she responded. "The hospital doesn't take sperm. Of course not. It's for the lab, for research." Madeline pretended to suddenly realize that she must have made a mistake. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You're here for a blood donation." She put a hand to her mouth, feigning embarrassment. "I thought you were our 3:30 sperm donor. We are in fact very low, and he had scheduled an appointment for 3:30 and it's now 4:00 already." She glanced around. "Oh, I'm going to be in such trouble." With her eyes averted he was able to return his attention back to her, back to those breasts that towered above him. "Trouble? Why?" "It's not your worry. You wait for your call." "No, please, tell me." "No, no, I shouldn't have bothered you. I'm really sorry. I will leave you alone." She turned to go but he said, "No, no, it's not any bother." He realized that he really didn't want her to leave him. She could talk about the weather and still be good company, particularly in the tedious boredom of a waiting room. "I've got nothing to do. Tell me." She hesitated, as if she was very reluctant to trouble the young man further, but then said, "Well, it's just that I've failed to get any donations today. The last three appointments never appeared. Oh my, this could mean my job, and I really need the money so badly." A sperm donation? Why not? A gentleman does not deny a young lady in distress, and certainly not a young nurse. It might also make for a pretty good story to tell his friends back at the fraternity. His penis swelled further. If this pretty nurse with such big tits wanted what he had, how could he deny her? Heck, he could probably wack this out in a few minutes, quite literally so, and still have time to give blood. "I'll do it. I'll make a donation," he offered. Her eyes lit up. "You would? You will? Really? Oh my, that's so wonderful! My hero!" She leaned back down and gave him a polite hug, only just brushing her cheek against his, her breasts barely brushing against his chest, but it was tantalizing nevertheless, coupled with the delicate, wistful scent of her flowery perfume. She held out her hand, "Here, come with me. We have a special room for the sperm donations." He took her hand and followed her out of the waiting room. Madeline glanced around her as they were leaving, her heart racing as they crossed the room, and then decelerating when they finally cleared the crowd. The room had been filled with quite a few persons waiting to donate blood, accompanied by a number of nurses. She wasn't overly worried about getting caught. Blood donation is staffed largely by volunteer and student nurses. It would not be at all unusual to have someone there that was unknown to you. Still, she could not help feeling at least a bit nervous. She had done her best to keep her back turned to the supervising doctor, who would assume he knew everyone who would be working that evening, and would certainly be familiar with the nurse with the tight uniform and bursting breasts. But, once they cleared the waiting room she breathed a sigh of relief. They would now be largely on their own, and she proceeded to lead the young man down a few corridors. "Isn't this the new wing for the medical center?" "Yes, yes," she explained. "The examination rooms are not quite finished yet, so they're letting us use them for our study." Timothy was a little surprised at how far away the donation room was located, although as he thought about it, it did make sense. They would want to have the sperm donors to have considerable privacy. Still, though, the long walk with the pretty nurse, holding his hand, was a bit awkward. He hoped his growing erection wouldn't be obvious. This was certainly much more awkward than giving blood. "Have you ever donated sperm before?" "What? Um, no, no, actually, I haven't." "It's really not difficult. Don't worry. I'll help you through the first time." He didn't quite know how to react to that. On the one hand it sounded a bit erotic. On the other hand, it sounded a bit infantilizing. But, clearly she wouldn't really be helping him with it, the actual donating part. She added, reassuringly, "It won't hurt that much." Well, he sure hoped that it wouldn't. How could it? Actually, what an odd thing for her to say: 'Hurt that much?' Why would it hurt at all? He was beginning to have second thoughts about this. Surely this would only be jerking off into some cup, or something. He wondered if she would provide him with some magazines. He heard they did that, or at least they always did that in television depictions. It could though be rather embarrassing for her to hand him some magazines. It would be like his mother offering him magazines when it was masturbation night. Geeez, that would be a bit awkward., to say the least. He suddenly panicked at the thought of her asking him what kind of magazines he preferred. The fact was he preferred magazines about women with big boobs, and there was no way he was going to tell her that. Once they arrived at her destination she turned the slide indicator adjacent to the door from "Open" to "Occupied," and then led him into the room. The room was a bit cramped. There was the traditional examination table, a sink and counter, cupboards, and a stool. It was really quite sparse. Well, perhaps that was not surprising. It was, after all, a room for laboratory research, and such rooms tended to be rather thin on amenities. "Yes, okay, well," he said, "Um, is there some sort of cup or something?" He now just wanted to get this over with. She smiled at him. "Don't be so impatient, young man. Goodness, you're feeling a little randy aren't you?" He didn't answer. "Yes, yes, but first, I must get some information. My goodness, I don't even know your name. Here, sit here," she said, gesturing to the stool. She sat up on the examining table, providing a brief, teasing exposure of her very nicely shaped legs. It was though a surprising choice. He would assume that he would be on the examining table, although he was also assured by the fact that she wasn't about to examine him. She picked up a clipboard and asked, "Now, yes, what is your name?" "Timothy J. Edwards," he replied, sitting down on the stool. "What a nice name! I'm Betty." She looked down at her name tag and thrust out her left breast. "Nurse Betty Sizemore." He only glanced at her tag, for to do so would be looking explicitly at that large, thrusting globe. Even the brief exposure though stirred his balls. "Yes," he said, glancing away. "Good to meet you." He kept his eyes fixed on a corner of the room. She proceeded to gather basic demographic and health information. Some of it was rather personal, such as STD's and other transmittable diseases, but understandable for what he was about to donate. However, the interview did at times take a few surprising turns. "Do you masturbate often?" "Excuse me?" He looked up at her. Sitting on the stool placed him considerably lower than her, which only further accentuated the prominence of her peaks, as well as providing a nice vantage point of her white stockinged, shapely legs. "How often do you masturbate? We need to know this to estimate sample size, plus it's for basic scientific research." "Well, um." He really didn't want to tell her the truth. Frankly, he masturbated every evening, or at least every evening in which he had sufficient privacy. He would at times even masturbate beneath the covers of his blankets when his roommate was in the bed next to him, but he would only do that if he felt he was asleep. He would try to be as quiet as possible, but masturbating did have some rather tell-tale sounds, particularly in the quiet silence of night. "I guess a few times a week," he lied. "Oh, goodness, you don't have much testosterone?" "Excuse me?" "Have you ever squirted yourself in the face?" "What?" "When you ejaculated? When you reached orgasm? Has it ever squirted you in the face?" This was really getting quite personal, if not odd. "Is this really necessary for the donation?" "Oh, I know, I know. It's a bit personal, but a lot of this has to do with the research study." She uncrossed and then crossed her legs the other way, providing for him a very brief but tantalizing glimpse up her skirt. He noticed that she was wearing panty hose rather than thigh high nylons. He was a bit disappointed, but then realized that any such feeling or expectation was not really appropriate. "Well, um, yes, yes, I guess I have," he acknowledged. Actually, that should really be a good thing, shouldn't it? It suggested that he came with considerable force and virility. Didn't it? "Have you tasted your sperm?" 'C'mon!' This was really too much. But, then, he had recalled in his introductory sociology course how helpful and informative the national Kinsey survey turned out to be, and their questions must have seemed pretty personal and provocative back then. It would probably be good for society, for their emotional health, to realize that some seemingly dirty things were really quite common. "Well, yes, yes I have." "Do you pick your nose and eat that too?" His eyes widened in shock at that. She giggled at his reaction. "I was just joking, just teasing. It's good to lighten things up with a bit of humor. Now, let me see, where was I? Oh yes, did you like the taste of it?" "Well, no, not really." That was in fact true. He had been hoping that he would like it, and then he would work on trying to blow himself, but once he realized that he didn't like it, he kind of lost interest. "Oh, that's too bad! I actually really like it myself. I think it's very, very tasty." His balls began to stir once again. "Have you masturbated with your finger up your butt?" That was an easy one. "No, no, I haven't done that." "Really? You're quite the innocent young man, aren't you?" He wondered if they would provide him with a consumer satisfaction questionnaire when this was done. Her jokes and editorial commentary weren't very helpful in putting him at ease. He was beginning to wonder if those large breasts and pretty face were really enough to overcome her bedside manner. "Have you ever ejaculated into your pants?" That wasn't an easy one. He had done that, a couple of times. In fact, more than just a couple of times. "Well, yea, I guess that has happened." "How did you do that?" "Excuse me?" "Well, it didn't just happen when you were walking down the street, did it? Or, did it? Does it just happen because of the friction of your clothes?" "No, no ma'am," he replied. "It was when, one time, when I went, you know, to an adult theater." "You masturbated in your pants watching dirty movies at an adult theater?" His face turned beet red. This was really very embarrassing. Couldn't they ask these questions in a less intrusive, less humiliating manner? "I didn't really know that they still had such things, you know, with home videos, dvd's, and the internet, and all that. Is there something about the experience of actually going to an adult theater that makes you excited?" Actually, he had done it because he really couldn't get access within his frat room, at least not with the privacy that he wanted, needed. It was common to hang a sign on the door to indicate you were with a girl, but he felt rather uncomfortable hanging a sign that indicated that he was watching pornography and jerking off. So, yes, he had gone to an adult movie theater and jerked off into his pants. Is that really so bad? "No, no, actually it was a little embarrassing." It was indeed. He had felt like he was a dirty old man long before his time, or at best some sort of a pervert. Everyone was sitting as far apart from one another as possible, and he thought a couple of the customers were in fact homeless persons, as they appeared to be sleeping. Plus, the movie wasn't even really that good, although it was in fact good enough to get him off. One of the girls had really, really big tits, and that part with her was pretty darn good, particularly when the guy got to fuck her between her boobs and cum all over them. "What kinds of things do you think of when you masturbate?" His face instantly turned red. "Um, well, girls, of course." "Silly boy. Of course you think about girls, although it would be fine if you preferred boys. But, no, I mean, what in particular do you enjoy the most? What do you dream about, fantasize about, when you masturbate?" You would think that donating sperm would be an enjoyable experience but leave it to Templeton College to turn it into something unpleasant. There was simply no way he was going to admit to his fantasies about large breasts, not to this nurse. "Nothing really special, nothing out of the ordinary." She smiled knowingly down at him. "Now, Timmy." His name was 'Timothy,' or 'Tim,' if she wanted to drop the formality. Not 'Timmy,' but he led it slide. Still, though, nobody had called him 'Timmy' for many, many years. "I'm a nurse. I have seen and heard many things that would make your face blush. You don't have to be uncomfortable with me." She again uncrossed and crossed her legs, back to the original position, smiling down at him, fully aware of the effect her teasing thighs was having on him. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, "Breasts, large breasts. I think about large breasts." He felt so deeply embarrassed, even ashamed, at his confession of his preference, his interest, perhaps even his perversion, particularly having to do so when two of the largest he had seen in person were towering over him. She smiled sweetly down at him, like a teacher who discovered that her student had a crush on him, or a mother who just discovered that her son had his first wet dream. "Well, that's really very sweet of you, Timmy. Does your girlfriend have large boobies?" His face became redder. "I don't have a girlfriend," he admitted. 'Please don't say it's probably because I watch dirty movies,' he thought. 'Please don't say that.' "Well, it's probably because you just haven't met the right girl yet." He sighed with relief. "And perhaps you really shouldn't go so often to the dirty movie theater." He had actually only gone there once. Well, perhaps a few times, when they had a special big boob feature. Those were really difficult to resist. "Alright then, that's all of the questions. Let's get started." She slipped off the examination table. "Stand up and take off your pants and underpants now." "I'm sorry?" "Oh, yes, I need to examine you, you know, for STD's and such." "But, I just told you that I don't have anything like that." "Yes, yes, but you must appreciate that we do have to check ourselves. We really can't just take your word on it, although we also actually can't rule them out with a visual exam, but we will lose our license if we fail to at least make the attempt." That did make sense. With a deep sigh he undid his belt. "You should get your shoes off first." He hesitated. At this point he wanted only the quickest 'slam, bam, thank you hand,' that he could provide. He didn't need to take his pants off to do that. But, he doubted that he would win this argument. He removed his shoes and then undid his belt, unclasped and unzipped his slacks, and then pulled them down, along with his underwear. He so wished that he had worn better underwear. His mother had always said to wear the underwear you would want the whole world to see. You never know when you might get into an accident. Well, she was essentially right about that. His worn white jockey briefs even had a bit of a skid mark. It was an old one, just a stain really that didn't ever seem to come out. Still, it was awfully embarrassing. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice it, or at least she was polite enough not to comment on it. She even helped him to step out of his slacks and jockeys. "Oh, you should wipe yourself more thoroughly, Timmy." He felt like he might faint. This was so dreadfully embarrassing. Only his mother had commented on that, and he had made it quite clear by his reaction that he never wanted her to comment on it again. He did try though to do better. He tried real hard, but he kept getting the skid marks. He even went out and purchased new underwear, replacing his used ones in an effort to keep it all hidden from his mother. He considered explaining to the nurse that it was an old one, but he really preferred that the subject just change.. Once he had stepped out of his clothes, the nurse instructed, "Okay, very good, Timmy. Now, stand still while I examine the little man." He always felt uncomfortable when he disrobed before a nurse. On the one hand, he would be worried that he might develop an erection in her presence, particularly if she was as attractive as this one. On the other hand, he was worried that he would be at his most shriveled state, and the worrying seemed to have that precise effect. One time he tried imagining the nurse without her uniform, hoping that he would swell up enough to make him look larger, but not too much to make it seem like he was getting an erection. It didn't work. It's actually rather hard to will an erection when you're all self-conscious and nervous. He would want to explain to the nurses that he was in fact normally bigger than what he currently appeared, but he doubted that they would believe him, and it would only draw their attention to its size, or lack thereof. None of them though ever commented on it, thank goodness, except for this one. He looked the other way while she began to examine his penis for lesions and sores, although perhaps he should in fact look down. Those breasts would provide a nice backdrop for his penis but, obviously, it was too late for that. Imagine getting an erection now? "Hmmm," she moaned, "You smell very nice, Timmy." "What?" Now he did look down. She looked up at him with those large, pretty, round brown eyes, her breasts beneath them jutting out her uniform. "I so enjoy the scent of a boy, of a man. He is so earthy, so pungent, so musky. It's like it's some sort of pheromone. I just enjoy it so very deeply, so instinctively, so viscerally." Nurse Betty pressed her nose against his penis and breathed in deeply, sighing with profound pleasure and satisfaction. She pressed her nose into his penis, around his penis, and into his balls, caressing, rubbing, and massaging his penis and balls with her nose. It was rather surprising, and perhaps odd, to say the least. But, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was rather nice. He wouldn't actually ever ask a girl to rub her nose against his penis, and he certainly doubted that he would ever meet a girl who was into such a thing, but if a woman tolerated his penchant, if not fetish, for big breasts, how could be begrudge this one's interest in his manly scent? And, besides, when does a boy not enjoy a woman caressing his penis with her face, even if it's her nose rather than her lips and tongue. But, she stopped, pulled back and said, "Whew! That was quite nice. Alright then, well, you appear to be a very healthy young boy, or, I should say, young man. Now, let's take your temperature." She reached into the deep pocket of her uniform and pulled out a thermometer. It seemed a bit on the large size. Cosplay "Turn around and bend over." "What?" She smiled, reassuringly but rather playfully as well. "We must have an accurate temperature, you know, and the rectal probe is really the optimal procedure." He had last heard that when he was a little boy, as his mother always preferred doing it that way. But, as a young man he came to believe it was really just a mother's myth. Perhaps his mother was right? He turned around and bent over. The nurse softly gripped a cheek with her left hand and pulled it open, exposing to the light, and to her eyes, his puckered butt hole. Madeline smiled. She did find young men's butt holes to be kind of cute. She imagined that other girls might not share her appreciation, but she didn't mind. What's really wrong with enjoying all of the personal private parts of a boy's body? And, besides, it was so sensitive and ticklish. She lightly flicked at it with the tip of her finger. He did appear to be quite clean. Tim squirmed, his anus puckering reflexively. "Just trying to get the feel of the land," she explained. As Tim had gotten older he began to balk at his mother's insistence to obtain a rectal temperature. Heck, she at times even did it just for a routine household, family check-up. She called it proactive holistic medicine. He figured that she was just trying to tease him. He squirmed again as he felt her apply some sort of lotion to his anus. Actually, the feel of her soft finger lightly caressing his curly sphincter, circling around and around, working the lotion into his so very sensitive, tingly skin, did feel kind of nice. But, he grimaced as he felt the pleasant, teasing tingling being replaced by the thick cold thermometer getting stuck up into his butt. "Now, you hold it in there for awhile," she said, patting his bottom reassuringly. "We need to get a good reading." He looked around, again wondering if this was some sort of practical joke. He knew he looked terribly silly, bent over the examining table, a thick thermometer sticking out of his naked butt, and he felt considerably worse. She asked, "You're not going to get an erection just by me doing this, are you?" Now, that was an understatement, to say the least, and he wasn't so sure he appreciated the implication that he would find his embarrassing predicament to be arousing. She added, now softly caressing his fanny. "You do have a very pretty little bottom, though. I bet all the girls tell you that." It was a rather mixed compliment, to be sure. Still, her soft, feminine, nursing hand did feel rather nice on his ass. It was as if she was actually trying to get him aroused, feeling all around his butt, lightly drawing the tips of her fingers up and down and inside his crack, providing little flirtatious squeezes and pinches. He wondered if he might get an erection, but he quickly squelched that thought. She reached in between his thighs and lightly felt his balls. He flinched again, squeezing down hard on the thermometer. "And, oh my, yes, these testicles do feel very healthy." She continued to lightly handle his balls with one hand as she fondled his bottom reassuringly, affectionately, flirtatiously, with the other. Yes, he would indeed get an erection if she kept this up. "Wait, wait," he said, trying to provide some sort of signal as to his predicament, but without actually saying what it was. She pulled the thermometer out and cleaned it off. Smack! And gave him a little smack on the ass. "That's good. You can stand back up now." He was glad for that, and he shifted away from her, feeling now quite aware of the fact that he was so exposed in front of this nurse, his penis unsure if it wanted to swell with arousal or shrivel with embarrassment. "Well," she said. "Perfectly healthy and normal." She tucked the thermometer back into her pocket and then suddenly stepped up against him, closely, very closely, pressing her breasts into his chest to reach around him. "This room is a little cramped, isn't it." This was a little awkward, standing there only in his shirts and socks, the nurse pushing her breasts deep into him as she fumbled around behind his body for something. He would have been happy to have just moved out of her way, although that other part of him was also quite happy to just stay there. In fact, he was probably very happy to stay there, as her breasts were pressing so wonderfully against his chest. She kept blundering around behind his back, trying to find something, all the time thrusting and rubbing and grinding those big soft mounds into him. She didn't seem to notice how provocative this was. Perhaps nurses become desensitized to the body, to the effect of their own bodies. They must see so many naked bodies throughout the day, and must do so many things with so many of them. Timothy, though, was not desensitized, and his senses were being quite wonderfully stimulated: the feel of her breasts, the scent of her perfume. He could in fact feel himself, or more accurately, his penis, beginning to stir. This would not be good. "Excuse me, here, I'll just get out of your way," he offered. She stopped her searching, but kept her breasts firmly pressed against him. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry. This must be a bit awkward for you, with your special interest in large breasted women." With her pretty face just inches from his, her perfume so delightfully tickling his nose, she said, "Here it is, I found it," and then stepped back to present to him a small plastic cup. "Here we go, and now all we have to do is to fill it up." "What?" She giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as she held out the cup with the other. "Oh no, don't be silly. We don't really have to fill it up. My goodness, you would have to have the testicles of a bull or a horse to do that." She reached down with her left hand and lightly clasped his testicles with her fingers. He lurched back at the very personal, intimate touch. "I don't think they're quite as big as that, do you? They're more like a squirrel's than a bull's, wouldn't you say?" His exclamation, though, didn't really concern the word, 'full.' He was more troubled by the word, 'we.' "No, I mean, well, I don't think, I, uh, well, yes, that's fine." He probably misheard her, and he didn't really want to acknowledge that, for a moment there, he thought that she would help him provide the donation. "Now, you hop up onto the examination table, and we can begin." He had heard correctly! This just didn't seem right. He looked around, as if there might in fact be other persons in the room he was unaware of, as if perhaps someone was playing some trick on him. Was this a prank of his fraternity buddies? Did they hire some hooker to do this, or something? Was he being filmed for some stunt? "Don't you usually do this privately?" "Oh, don't be embarrassed, Timmy. I've done this many, many times." He hopped up onto the examination table, his legs hanging off the side. "I can do it myself, really." "Oh, but Timmy, I'm really quite good at extracting sperm." "Yes, well." "It's my job, Timmy, to withdraw, to gather, the sperm. Really, it won't hurt, not much at least." There's that reference to it hurting again. She wasn't going to like insert a syringe into his testicles, was she? She stepped back and thrust out her chest. "You don't think my breasts are large enough?" She looked sincerely disappointed. "Timmy, it would be so terribly embarrassing for me to put that into the report, that you didn't find me sufficiently appealing." "Oh, no, no, it's not that," he replied. He really didn't want to hurt her feelings. And, frankly, she was indeed very, very appealing, particularly her breasts. Well, she was also really very pretty, but he did have his particular preference. The combination was quite intoxicating. She began to undo the top buttons of her uniform, and his eyes widened in surprise, and pleasure. This was one unusual nurse. He then realized that there really wasn't a good reason not to let, not to want, a nurse to jerk you off. What had he been thinking? He remained silent and still as she undid the top half of her white uniform. Well, he didn't remain entirely still. His penis was certainly stirring, and swelling. She undid the top five bottoms, all the way down to her waist, and then pulled the dress back to reveal the cups, the very large cups, of her brassiere. Her dress might be innocent, but her brassiere was not. She was wearing a pink, lace deep-plunging, push-up brassiere. The cups were huge, and her full pink lacy roundness stood out so dramatically against the white uniform. It was like two big, round luscious fleshy beach balls had exploded out of her uniform in an erotically provocative display. This was a very nice fashion statement. She asked, in a very innocent, demure voice, "Do you like?" He nodded. He did like it very much. She looked at his lap or, more precisely, his swelling penis. "I suppose I didn't really have to ask, as your penis does appear to like them." He wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed by that or not. His instinctive reaction was to apologize, as he normally would, of course, apologize to a nurse for becoming aroused during an examination, but this was now clearly much different. "Now," she instructed, "You sit back and let Nurse Betty extract that sperm." He did as she instructed, resting back on his hands and sliding his lap to the edge of the examination table to provide her with easy access. This was turning out to be much better than he had hoped, and certainly much better than he had feared. He did, though, furrow his brow in concern as he watched her open a counter drawer. 'Please don't be reaching for a syringe,' he thought. Perhaps though she was just going to put on some latex medical gloves. He did always use protection when he had sex, how infrequent that might be. But, of course, he never wore latex gloves when he jerked himself off, nor did any girl ever do so. Still, it wouldn't be surprising for a nurse to do so, and it really wasn't very appealing. She pulled from the drawer a plastic bottle of lotion. "I find it is much more pleasing to the patient to have your hands be as slippery as possible. Don't you think?" He wouldn't argue with that. His dick continue to rise, like a snake rising up for its meal. "Although, it's a little cool right now. We wouldn't want to give him a chill, would we?" He shook his head. She squirted globs of reddish pink lotion down onto her cleavage and into the valley of her breasts, and laid the bottle onto the counter. She then smiled at him as she grasped each globe with her hands, and softly rubbed and massaged her breasts, working the lotion into the deep, nurturant warmth of her healing nurse's breasts. Timothy's eyes were transfixed. His dick yearned to be embraced, engulfed, by that slick, hot, wet cleavage. It strained to be released, to leap onto her body and dive deep down inside that valley of slippery wet boobs. She let go of her tits and reached down inside the warmed gooey valley, spooned up a large gob with her fingers, and then applied it to his cock, now fully stiff and erect. He sighed with pleasure at the contact of the warmed lotion, and even more deeply as Nurse Betty worked it into his skin. Nurses did indeed have a soft, warm, healing touch. They knew how to make a patient feel at ease, to feel good, to feel healthy and alive. Timothy leaned back farther and gazed with pleasure at the sight of the big titted nurse working the lotion into his cock, into his taught, tight, hard skin. As she did so with one hand, she gathered more and more of the slippery lubricant from her breasts with her other hand. "Isn't this nice, Timmy?" He nodded in agreement, the scent of strawberries drifting into his nostrils. Her fingers worked his shaft, his bulb, in every manner possible. She worked her palms, fingers, and thumbs all over every inch of his swollen cock. slipping, sliding, squeezing, stimulating and scintillating every centimeter of his so very sensitive skin. "Yes, very nice. It's like your hard, stiff cock is deep within a cunt that's filled with wiggling and squirming fingers." She looked up at him and smiled. "Wouldn't it be so nice if women had lots of wiggly fingers in their tight little pussies?" He just nodded, his cock feeling bigger than it had ever felt before, his eyes switching between those big lacy round boob balls thrusting out from her white uniform and her slippery hands working so hard on his stiff cock. "Very good for extracting hot, sticky semen." It was very good for that, indeed, and he gasped as he felt his balls constrict and his cock twitch in anticipation. Suddenly, she wrapped her index finger and thumb around the shaft, just below the bulb, and squeezed hard. "Yikes!" he yipped, at the unexpected intense pressure, and pain. This must have been the pain she was referring to. She had warned him, but he certainly hadn't been expecting it. "Just relax, Timmy. You were about to ejaculate, weren't you." He gasped, "Yes, yes, isn't that the idea?" "Oh yes," she said, continuing to squeeze hard on his shaft. "But not so soon. We must cook up a good batch of semen. We don't want to be satisfied with just the first course." She smiled up at him as she released her grip, resuming her massage and said every so sweetly and seductively, "You want to donate as much as you can, don't you, Timmy?" "Yes, yes, I do," he sighed. "So many charities seem to have no appreciation over how to extract large donations, but we have studied this quite thoroughly and it really isn't that difficult. You just have to provide the right motivation." "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Now, let me see how I can motivate you further." Nurse Betty then parted his legs, slid the stool in between his knees, and sat down. She inched forward, the lovely large pink round globes sliding up his legs, up his thighs, and then resting in his lap, like they wanted to go to sleep there, like two lacy pink pets. She then pulled back and bent over to give the tip of his cock a very full, wet, sloppy and sustained kiss, right on the tip. The kiss of a girl is so lovely, so sweet, so affectionate, so wonderful. But, it is even more so when applied to the tip of one's cock, where it is far more meaningful, stimulating, and arousing. She is placing her lips, with which she smiles, speaks, and tastes, onto one's most manly part, that with which one pees, fucks, and spews one's spunk. And, it does help that it also feels so very terribly wonderful: the softness of her lips against the softness of one's swollen bulb. She looked up at him with her large brown eyes wide open as she stuck her tongue out and licked and licked and licked the head of his cock, always keeping her eyes on his. "Strawberries," she said. "I put strawberries in the lotion. It's such a wonderful flavor, don't you think?" He nodded. "Yes, I do." He did like strawberries. "And they're good for you to. They have quite a bit of calcium and potassium." She gave him a big lick, "and vitamin C and vitamin A," and she then continued her tasting of his strawberry-flavored cock. It was such an intensely satisfying coupling of vision and touch, and she intensified it even further by bringing in her fingers, just the tips of her two index fingers, caressing the tip of his cock with the tips of two fingers as she continued to lick and lick and lick. It would not be long before he was ready to, once again, provide his donation. She helped him along by swallowing the bulb into her mouth. She vigorously applied her tongue as if she was attempting to heal his swelling through the ministrations of her licks, lapping, and caressing. It was a treatment that he sorely appreciated, the treatment that only a great man would deserve, but yet here he was, being nibbled and suckled by this ever so considerate nurse. He gave himself over to her ministrations. He gazed down at her pretty face, bent into his lap, her lips wrapped around his shaft, the room filled with the slurping sounds of her licking, lapping, and sucking. There had been girls that had done this for him before, but none were as devoted, as skilled, and as enthusiastic as this nurse. He momentarily wondered if she had in fact been trained for this, had taken a class in oral healing. But, of course she had not, it just seemed like it must be so. She was so very good at it. He moaned his appreciation and subtly shoved his pelvis out, encouraging her to take more of him, to swallow more of his shaft into her warm, wet, loving mouth, to take his load deeply into her mouth, into and down her throat. His balls pulled tightly against him. She pulled back and once again squeezed his shaft, just below the bulb. He groaned in frustration. As she had said, it was not a lot of pain; really not much at all. It was more of a discomfort, a distraction, that sharply broke his rising tide of arousal. There are times when nurses have no choice but to cause their patients some discomfort. They don't enjoy doing it. They in fact abhor it. It goes against their very nature, but at times it can not be avoided. Some examinations, some medical treatments, do require a bit of discomfort. Once he had regained control, she resumed her task, slipping her mouth back onto the bulb, while this time using her right hand to slide up and down his still slippery shaft, the other hand softly snuggling his nuts, caressing and squeezing them as she sucked on his knob. There is perhaps nothing better than a girl stroking your shaft as she sucks on your crown. She is so evidently trying, even wanting, you to cum into her mouth, to receive your sloppy, thick, wet gism. She is not trying to put it off, she is not trying to avoid it, she is doing everything she can to get it to happen, because she wants it to happen. She wants you to squirt and spurt your sticky, sloppy gruel into her mouth, to receive you, to taste you, to swallow you. It's a lovely time, a lovely moment, and one in which Timothy basked in pure bliss. Madeline plunged her fist up and down the length of Timothy's cock, pumping him like she was dying of thirst, desperate to get this well to gush forth its life-sustaining, life-giving, life-promising gruel. He so wanted to, yet he also appreciated the value of being patient, of waiting, of building to an even better and bigger and best climax possible. And, besides, did he really want this to end? Would he ever have a better blow job? He felt her fingers tickling his balls and he again stiffened, his legs sticking out and his toes curling in. She pulled back, and squeezed him again, harder this time as the damn was weakening and the well was beginning to burst, wanting so much to obtain relief, relief from the pressure, pleasure, and pain. She looked up at him, an expression of sympathy and concern on her face. "We are very close now, Timmy. Not too much longer." The way she was talking it was like he was getting an enema or a prostate exam, trying to help him maintain his composure, to relax and withstand the discomfort. But, this was no prostate exam. It was far from it. It was simply so thoroughly wonderful, yet so very frustrating. And she resumed her attack on his cock, this time diving down into his lap with her face, sliding her lips up and down his shaft, milking him with her lips, fucking his cock with her face and mouth, licking and lapping his shaft as her lips held tightly onto the hard slick stem as she slipped and slid her mouth up and down its length. This was a blow job with force, with an energy, with an unadulterated, uncensored abandon. She bobbed her head up and down in his lap, the room filled with the sound of the slurping and slushing of her saliva as it spilled from her mouth onto his shaft and down to his balls.