The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Francesca’s patients squirmed and writhed under her grip. The two of them had arrived one after the other, not five minutes apart. No relation but identical symptoms—food poisoning most probably. Right after lunch, in this neighborhood? Wouldn’t be the first time. They thrashed so hard the bed jumped an inch off its legs.

“GOD! This is so unfair, Dr. Shepard always gives us the hardest patients!”

They gripped their guts and gnashed their teeth in agony. Two battered men, their faces raged with sweat and shouting delirious curses, rioting to get out of bed. The ward was small and their hollering pattered the air with gravely man-sounds. Franny tugged harder to keep them in place. Behind her, Gabriela giggled sympathetically—muffled somewhat from being wrapped around a mouthful of cock. The Hardest Patients. . .

“Not like that! I mean like—like, this is so. . . like. . .” Francesca tumbled through her vocabulary of injustices.

Wrong. That was the word she was looking for. It was wrong for Dr. Shepard to give her two patients at once when she wasn’t even at the top of the rotation! It was wrong for that to happen.

Yesterday she covered for Brandy, Katie on Wednesday, and Marci the day before that. It wasn’t fair! Franny kept getting saddled with other people’s duties – no, not duties. Gross, no. Their work oblongations.

Franny had to be so careful with her words nowadays. Everything was just coming out wrong. Workloads, that was it, everyone just keeps coming in and dropping their hot loads. It’s not fair! It’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. All wrong. The word rung in her head. Wronnnnnng.

But that’s not what made it out of her mouth. It just . . . faded away. Wrrrooooongggg. Reverberating outwards until it had lost all texture. Until it was just more of the fuzzy static that made up the outer limits of her imagination. It had been so long since Francesca had a quiet moment to really think about her life.

It’s so hard to think. Between the hysterical moaning of her two patients in a small room, the heat turned way up, finding a vein for the IV, trying to get some medical history out of their jumbled charts, and wringing out their big sexy cocks with both hands, there just wasn’t much room left to evaluate formal logic.

And yet . . . they did have the hardest patients. Dr. Shepard always gave them the hardest patients. How else did she mean it, how else could she have meant it? Their patients were notoriously difficult. It was one of the qualities new management had quickly identified. Where other departments had been replaced, theirs held firm.

Franny didn’t trust the new-comers with anything serious. This is a hospital, if something goes wrong people could die. So it really doesn’t help that most of our patients also have really hard dicks too. It practically begs misinterpretation.

Like just the tallest, proudest cocks you’ve ever seen. Like these are grand old boats that make the Washington monument look limp. Plus they feel fucking amazing! Emblazoned lightning rods of orgasmic joy shooting thick streams of buttery white cum so fucking good you’ll start sucking dick one day and wake up like a month later, with like, cum running down your chin—in the bedroom of some house you’ve never seen before, and you’re all like, chaaaiiined to the bedpost – nah’mean—and there’s like three other girls and like one super androgynous like David Bowie type but like, modern—you know—and they’re all chained up with you and they all have like horny sexy bodies and between narrow slots of lucidity, you see some intimidating tranny blasting horseloads of cum down your best friend’s throat—and you think you might have led her down here, but it’s hard to remember.

It was strange then—as what she really wanted to say, was that it hadn’t always been this way.

The man, shivering and insensible, groaned as if in great pain and his beat-red cock began spurting deep heaving blasts of white ejaculate onto his lower chest. A salt and pepper type with a handsome face and ridges of well defined abdominal muscles now beaded with sweat and earlier sprays. This was his seventh orgasm and his massive, girthy dick showed no signs of stopping. It was still as steely and hot to the touch as when he first arrived. Franny sighed in defeat and a little admiration. At least it was fun to lick the hot cum off his incredible body.

On her right was a boy, a college student that might as well have fallen off his skateboard. His dick was longer and maybe a little bit thinner, but it was still tough as nails and would jump in her hand like a cagey animal. Cum would shoot out of him violently, almost reaching the ceiling even though he was soldiering through his first dozen. Food poisoning lost credibility with each burst, it tasted healthy and fine with no hint of poor digestion. He had been eating pineapples yesterday . . . And watermelon. Definitely a hint of strawberries. Franny loved yogurt. Especially from the fancy new vending machine in the lobby with those long plastic cups that always forced you to get your tongue way up in there.

They must have just taken a bunch of Viagra or something. After four hours of fucking their women into oblivion they had done the responsible thing and reported straight to their doctors. It’s pretty common—happens all the time. More and more these days. Probably half our business comes from servicing men just like these.

There’s nothing left to do but get it all out. During shifts like these Franny would make up little contests to try and pass the time. See who could cum first, who could cum farthest—you know—that sort of thing. Trick shots too! Like making them cum at the same time or one right after another. Harmonizing and moving away like two finely tuned instruments. Two perfect geysers she molded with her hands. Franny always thought penises were like the tuba of musical world.

Anything to relieve the monotony. Franny’s arms were starting to get tired, she had been jerking them for almost an hour now and spunk dripped from her elbows. She tried again at conversation.

“I mean like. . .” Franny chasened herself for ‘ummm-ing’ like an indecisive teenager. She didn’t used to have that problem.

“I keep feeling like . . . this . . . isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing, you know? Like there’s some other thing I should be doing, and I’m not, and it . . . feels weird. Like an out of body experience or something, you know?”

There. It was out, she said it. Something about the last week or so something’s felt very . . .

Wrong.

Off. Franny was totally convinced that, although she had no idea what it could possibly be, she ought to behave differently. Something about what she was doing wasn’t right, but couldn’t put her finger on what or why. Even just admitting there was a problem felt like a big first step and her face with raw tumescent shame. As if to distance herself, she redoubled her efforts on the work at hand—so to speak.

Gabby looked up and slowed her milking thoughtfully. She couldn’t really talk because Gabriela’s lips fused to the base of her patient’s penis with her tongue somehow still slobbering out down his balls, but her eyes said, “How so?”

“I don’t know. It’s like all this week I’ve been walking around feeling like I lost my car keys. Like something’s . . .”

Wrong.

“Not right. Or something. I don’t know.” Franny opened her mouth wide in a pleasant smile just as her patient erupted in mountain fresh streams of hot buttery jizz straight down her throat. It tasted like still hot pancakes and Franny loved it.

If these dicks didn’t go down soon she’d have to fuck them, and if she fucked them, Franny just knew – just knew—she was going to get all stupid and slutty and probably forget to come home again. She would get on and she would be too fucking horny and dick-crazy to get off until the janitors came. And they always came, like, a lot.

Fucking is a dangerous proposition. It’s seems so simple. You say to yourself, “I’ll just fuck this one”. I can fuck just one tonight, surely. I’m an elegant lady of refinement and responsibility. I can hold myself to just one. Just one cock. Just one luscious perfect cock to pound me into a big screaming mess of gooshy climaxes.

And see? That wasn’t so bad. Only one dick. You can keep yourself to just one. Who could possibly be interested in patients that actually sweat tangy margarita so salty it tastes like bacon? Like, I can suck one, obviously.

But then one cum turns to two, and two is really good friends with three, and three’s making out with four, five’s sucking off six and seven, and ten is lost somewhere beneath a pile of horny rutting teenagers wailing big dumb inflatable pool toys for gentials into each others wet red holes. Blowing white goo and baying like donkeys.

Fucking is just a vicious cycle of orgasms, and cumming, and excitement, and more orgasms, and getting fucked so hard you can’t think straight, and fucking, and cumming, and orgasms, emotional whiplash from impossible ecstasy to insane debasement, and orgasms, and cumming, and cumming, and cumming, and cumming, and orgasms. Franny’s stroking found a second wind and her patients leaked in appreciation.

Behind her, Gabby’s nose nestled somewhere inside the V of his thigh. She swallowed and tugged on the base slowly, tenderly with her lips like it was his flesh she was breathing. She took her time sliding him back out and before she spoke, discretely dabbing at the corner her lips. When she spoke it was clear and pure with no gurgle or hiccup whatsoever. It was beautiful. It was elegant. It was inspiring and womanly and important.

“Like horny weird?” She said through a clean, friendly smile with absolutely no trace of cum whatsoever. She was like a cum wizard, it was so crazy.

“YEAH!”

Franny was so happy that Gabby finally understood. After the last few years as a the hospital’s longest surviving nurse, the job had become routine. Her work week blurred together until the days reeled by mostly uncelebrated, broken up by weekends which were always too short. The past couple of days though, ever since the takeover, sucking dick had gone way up. She felt horny, like, all the time.

And she hated that word! Horny. Hated how crass, and vulgar, and how school-yard it was. Horny was something cats did. Horny cats in heat. Helplessly presenting themselves in absurd facsimiles of normal life that made it psychologically okay enough to enjoy countless tomcats penetrating you over and over again, vigorously humping you from one squirting orgasm to the next. Franny wasn’t a cat, wasn’t just a hungry eager pussy for like three dicks to blow their hot seed inside.

“Oh my god, I knooow.” Gabby whined, mounting her patient. “I never used to be able to do this. Like, I’m going to be honest with you – and let me know if this starts to be a little TMI – but I always thought I was only like 5 inches deep.”

GROSS-Weird! “What really?”

She was currently greasing her way up and down what had to be a foot of sleek well-oiled dick. Gabby was so lean too, curvy and tight at the same time. An impossible figurine of bang-able parts, there was no bodily explanation for how it all fit together except that it did exceptionally well.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Do you feel any different?”

Franny wanted to scream YES! To holler it at the top of her lungs, her shrieking only broken by the thrust of muscled gentleman savagely fucking her. Yet also at a loss for precisely how to express it any other way.

“Yeah no, ‘Horny’. That’s how I would describe it. I hate to even say it because it makes me feel like a stereotype or in, like, a Cathy comic strip – like, ACK! PENISES!—but I really feel kinda hormonal lately. Like I’m high or something—not that I, you know – do . . . that.”

It seemed so thuddingly obvious when she thought about it. Somehow the words trudged behind, slow to follow and their finer details often failed to survive close inspection. She couldn’t quite articulate what she didn’t feel anymore as the feeling was gone. All she had were loose threads to an earlier time, an earlier feeling, that had been sheared away like the thread to a kite which has flow away. What had really changed?

“My clit feels like, really good now. I have been ready to—” Franny karate chopped the air “GO like all day everyday for the past week and a half.” Franny shook her head at how stupid it sounds. Of course her clit feels good.

“I mean like, really. . .” Franny huffed, frustrated. “Like for me there was always been like a barrier? Like after I cum, it would be like—whoa! Okay, that’s enough for right now. I need to calm down a sec.”

“Or something.” Franny blushed, and deliberately returned to her work of expertly masturbating the two glorious manly penises that throbbed and flexed and waved in the air like two funny noodles.

“But now it’s like there’s no stop signs down there anymore. The speed limit just says ‘FASTER you dumb slut!’ You know? So that’s like, different. I think.”

She felt gooshy and wet. Plus, all the guys in her life seemed to have undergone a huge upgrade over night—which helped – and for the first time in her life, they were, like, way into her too. They got all her jokes. All the guys in her life had become friendly and helpful, and they all got along with each other and didn’t try to butt in line when she sucked their dicks. Sex had never been so fun and care-free! Franny’s once or twice a week rotation with her boyfriend had exploded to about eight or nine times a day. If she didn’t get her dick at least once an hour it was like there was a terrible burning sensation worse than hunger or thirst everyone was only too eager to help out with.

Anyway, everything at the office was newer but worse. The copy machine was really only good for scanning—which was great if you needed to Xerox off prints of your tits, but copies were kinda necessary. All the penis pumps were on back order and the new management seemed to consider them a redundant expense. The union was all for more nurses to cover the difference which meant a sudden influx of under-trained airheads with online medical degrees, wet pussies, firm boobs, and who are like super fun to make-out with. Which is nice. They gave Franny a boost in seniority and they all seemed to know cool new ways of eating pussy, but no one seemed to keeping track of how many guys they were expected to make cum everyday! That was a big one.

Franny flushed again at the innuendo. The big one, Franny felt like she was on auto-pilot to getting-fucked town. It was so hard to separate in her mind where the insane pornography of her life began and where the regular insane pornography guys take out their huge dicks and jerk off to when they don’t have a girlfriend that can suck them all day ended. Or like three girlfriends who could like, take turns, you know? Or like they could all just like work together all at once, and just suck out all the cum all in one go. That would be pretty hot.

“Yeah. I’m like, a LOT more sensitive now.” Gabby said it slowly, huskily. Words wrestling with involuntary sighs of ecstasy. “Like, you can lead me around by the boobs now. I just can’t THINK when someone’s playing with my nipples. The other day, I was actually drooling—”

“Uh huh, yeah.” Mumbled Franny incoherently.

“My husband’s friends just kept like kneading my tits and like playing with my nipples and it just felt, like, fucking . . .” Gabby stammered. There wasn’t a word big or pink enough to capture just exactly what she felt. Franny knew exactly what she meant, yet somehow it wasn’t what she meant at all.

“Noooooo. . . That’s not it—” It was hopeless. Gabby’s bouncing slowed dramatically and her whole body stiffened and shivered all at once, her eyes rolling back in blind physical joy. To prove her point, she tugged at her right nipple gently between her own thumb and forefinger.

“Wow. . .”

Gabby was so incredible. Her whole body wracked and flexed with crazy spasms as the boy’s huge dick slid into her. Her world exploded in new colors and rapid orgasms blurred them in a kaleidoscope of rocky crystalline pleasure. Faces stretched in desire rotated in interlocking patterns and the ringing in her ears pounded a magnificent elliptical chime, looping over and over, urgently pushing past each new climax. Franny politely waited for her to stop hyperventilating into the half-awake boy’s chest.

When she caught her breath. “And at first you know I was mad when he started fucking Mary from across the street but like – I had already fucked like half the guys there and let me eat her out afterwords so . . .” Gabby shrugged.

“It’s like every day, all we do is just—” and as if to emphasis her point Franny really put her

whole into efficiently tugging the fit college boy. Pumping him like livestock. “Fuck hot boys!” He shriveled in a crescent fetal position around Franny’s head, bursting right on her face and tits. Policy meant she had to properly dispose of any bio-waste so Franny made sure to keep her mouth as open as possible. It tasted like bubbling sugar that caramelized right on the tongue.

“You . . . say that . . . like it’s a bad thing.” Gabby wheezed, coming back to reality for a second time in the last thirty seconds. She straddled the wriggling dolphin body of her teenage patient between deceptively powerful thighs. He was revived enough to at least thrust back at her. Franny’s own two patients were no closer to recovery.

“But, like, don’t you remember doing something different? Like. . .” Between the Mad Men look-alike, the fit college guy, and the boyish teenage heart-throb eagerly ridden by one of the hospital’s horniest nurses, none of them had any injuries. They were just here to have their cum drained. They walked up, presented their cocks to the receptionist, and – thanks Obamacare – now we have to wring out all their delicious cum.

None of them should be taking this many boner pills! Too many guys think they can keep up with a woman just by popping those stupid little pills. News flash: it will never work! Women are just made differently, they need to be fucked all the time and guys are only good for what? Ten, fifteen squirts before they inevitably go limp.

Franny’s confidence glowed when she thought of how she could out-cum any man. Her boyfriend could normally go one-for-one, but he too would eventually run out after a few hours if she rode him hard enough. Pills aren’t going to change that. For women, there’s no glass ceiling on cumming all the time.

“Okay, yeah it’s great that we get to jerk off all these hot guys all day. I get it.” Franny did all she could to meet Gabby half way. Gabby gave her nothing and she was prepared to take half, as many times as she needed.

“And yeah, they’re really sexy and I like making guys shiver in pleasure. My clit is like, wow. Like all the time. Like, I can’t even—” She waved her hands like her pussy had eaten too much spicy food.

Gabby just laughed, she tended to do that when she was riding. She clutched at her breasts and all you could see were the whites of her eyes. Her clear fluids puddled on the bedsheets. Franny continued unabated.

“But like, what if . . . What if there was something else we should be doing? Like something other than just making all these guys cum and vibrators? This is like, a hospital!” Franny pointed at the red-cross on the wall, right above “hospital?” in green print – quotation marks and all. It was lit up in neon light and could be seen from outside.

“Like, when did we get that?”

It was surreal. Like it was so close to something you would expect to see in a hospital, but it was done up in the style of a nostalgic mid-western diner. It looked like you could order steak here. Yet there were large unexplained patches in her memory that looked and felt like something had been torn out of them. Or stepped on, indented viciously.

At their edges ten years of nursing experience trickled down in inky acrylic blobs, leaving behind trails of memory like an unfurling scroll. To the night classes and internships that got her started. To measuring out pills, and recording blood pressures, and reading charts, taking bedpans, old people, strokes, heart disease and gruesome injuries. When she looked at what her job had become it didn’t make any sense to her. There was just no way she was getting fucked this regular back then. And that was back in her twenties! God, all she wanted to DO was fuck.

“We must have had, like, what? . . . Three patients a day who needed to get their dicks pumped?” Franny asked, uncertain of herself. Her sentence floating away like a napkin in the breeze.

Three had to be it, like maximum. Like, that had to be it. There was no way she was in here doing all that medicine junk and fucking six guys a day. Unless she was doing them like three at a time or something, which makes sense, I guess. But, like, even that’s a lot of work! Like obviously I could have had way more than just three at once, like I’m thinking five or six at once tops, but organizing more than three people at once is so hard. You try to get three people meeting on a reliable schedule outside of work! It’s tough, like just positioning them. Guys are so weird about like touching dicks, even if they’re both inside you.

They had the hardest patients.

Her two patients were still so hard. So ready. So huge and imposing and magnificent, jerking them on her knees. Wringing them out like pounding her fists against a prison door, desperate for the salvation within. They were two beautiful, generous kings and she worshiped gratefully beneath their altars. Their delicious gunk raining down on her. It was like drinking lemonade through a cotton candy straw. So sweet it burned into resin.

“Now it’s just like all I do—”

She barely whispered the end of her sentence, fearing it to be true.

“Is make guys cum.”

The two of them fired right at her open mouth. They gushed heavy streams of molten jizz, raking her face and her hair and her tits with burning trails of desire. Franny was so happy. A feeling of contentment more grand and satisfying than any religious experience or chemical high invaded her very person. Her past, her memories, her identity – it was all there. It was real, but as if in the shape of the perfect dildo, ramming her pussy at impossible speeds. Of course she wanted to remember who she was, she wanted to remember so badly she dripped on the floor.

Franny’s body rocked its way through a rippling series of sympathetic orgasms. She twitched as if being tickled all over. Each wet contraction rubbing it in deeper, like a varnish, sealing the experience tight. There was so much. It was dangerous taking this much cum at once. It’s a well known biological fact that cum makes slutty bitches insatiably horny.

Jagged memories of someone who looked a lot like mom popped into Franny’s head, crackling as if spoken through a tin can with a bad connection. Mom was always full of stern admonishments about how men’s cum is yucky. How it smells bad. How it gets all over your clothes and you can’t wash it out. About laundry loads of stiff socks from my two older brothers, and how that was somehow my business! Would it kill you to help out? Preventative laundry she called it, and it had to be done at least twice a day.

She knew that much at least, remembered it perfectly. Word for word, like she had been watching reels of it for hours with a vibrator against her clit. So many cardboard stiff socks, of course they had been jacking-off. How had she not realized that? It was all so screamingly obvious now that she had time to think about it. A house full of teenage boys, no wonder mom had to do secret laundry with the door locked and why she would go through those rolls of condoms so fast. Once guys get to a certain age, they start seeing women in a different way and they never really stop cumming.

Everything is constantly accumulating jizz, being weathered by it. Eroded down beneath a constant tide of hot sperm you can never quite rub out. Piling up. Getting all over everything. In your hands and in your hair . . .

Guys just keep cumming on all your stuff and you can’t get any work done cause every thing is covered in yummy delicious cum and it tastes so fucking good and all I want to do all day is suck dick and cum! Even big powerful men get all cute and buttery when you have their dick in your mouth and they’re shooting down your throat and its like you cant breath cause you’ve got this huge fuckin’ sausage filling up your throat and it’s like, ‘oh-my-god I’m choking’, but like, once you get used to it, and you learn to use your throat to, like, swallow and make little air pockets so you can breath – so there’s really no reason why guys can’t, like, cum in your mouth all time.

Mom was super right too, deepthroating takes practice. But Mom was from another time! A grainy Sepia world of shared memories. Francesca remembered her mom perfectly, exactly as she was. Hardworking, unpretentious, caring, intelligent, and rambunctious woman carefully homeschooling Franny on how to suck dicks and get off at the same like in that unusually metallic, almost dubbed, voice of hers. For some reason Franny associated her Mom with being restrained, drugged with sensational uppers, and fucked to orgasm by big machines until her voice ran horse.

Franny’s patients came the entire time. The whole time. Through all that internal monologue, and the whole rambling slut-think about some ludicrously horny home-maker getting slammed all the time, thick slops of cum starchy as buttered mashed potatoes gushed out into her open mouth. It hit her like a shovel of dirt. Plopping a pancake of human jizz over her face that she eager slurped up as fast as she could.

Franny tunneled her way up with her tongue, parting two liquid white curtains around her pleased gasping. She was so happy, so out of breath and dizzy with pleasure. Her clit buzzed angrily between her oiled thighs. She could FEEL it, a raw diode glowing hotly. Even the slippery fabric of her sheer white thong was rough with sensation. She felt every invisible seam, her bud plowing through the micro-fiber like an asteroid crashing across it’s surface. A glistening, silky oil flowed down her legs non-stop.

It worried her a little. Francesca had a whole mysterious and unexplainable wardrobe at home with several shelves dedicated to pants she could never wear cause she was way too wet. Just water-proof thongs and stockings beneath these hospital blues. Plus they tended to help sluice jizz off the body rather than let it soak into the fabric.

Gabby swooped down to help lick it off my face. Gabby is suuuuch a good friend, we’ve been work buddies, like, forever. We’ve saved lives together, started families here. We’ve made whole youth soccer teams cum after that weird series finale where everyone on the winning team had adolescent erectile dysfunction and we had to try out that new experimental serum on them and it like, super worked? . . .

Her tongue felt hot and sloppy against my face, but I still felt really grateful to her for helping with that. Cum could be such a nightmare to clean up – plus, as she swept up and down, the rouge plums of her lips would brushed casually against my own, thrilling me with intimacy.

“I don’t know. Is this really so horrible?” Gabby breathed, our foreheads nestled together. The air drooled in a misty heat, it made Franny’s head spin. The fish-eyed perspective of being that close with someone else bent them together in a lovely kind of vertigo. “I love working here . . .”

It was impossible to resist. Impossible to look upon her fine featured face, lazy with happiness pleading for kinship, and not feel pulled towards it. Franny had the power to blow her away, to annihilate her unhappiness – to wretch the paper walls of her sadness apart and explode her reality with orgasms. What could be better? What could be more perfectly heavenly than to spend your days nestled in the company of friends with every empty inch of spaces stuffed to bursting with hard dicks drooling a suffocating mortar of hot cum.

Franny had to admit that yes, there was some base animal satisfaction to howling orgasms. That at first, she was really offended when her boyfriend just expected her to let his friends fuck her one after another at that last party. But I mean, when you stop to think about it, they all were pretty hot and she had to sheepishly admit that she did cum like almost immediately with all of them, and trying all their different flavors was super exciting. As far as she could remember, cleaning your friend’s face is just common curiosity. It’s polite and friendly, like high-fiving someone. Someone splattered head to toe in milky white deliciousness that makes you cum when you eat it.

“But this is work! We’re—we’re not supposed to just be fucking all the time. We’re medicine people.”

Gabby giggled. “Medicine people?”

“Not Medicine people—Medic. . . Medical People? We’re medical persons. We’re . . .” Franny looked over her uniform for a name tag.

New management meant new uniforms. Every trace of the previous owners systematically plucked and scrubbed from the now sterile gleaming white premises. Immaculate reception desks, orderly nursing stations, florescent lighting and white uniforms—all of it crisp, polished to a shine and smooth like plastic.

Franny couldn’t help searching it with her hands. Every part of her body loved to be touched. It’s like, have you ever tried to just stand perfectly still with like, no-one kneading your nipples or like, have a comforting male body fingering the hell out of your pussy? Franny had only really masturbated once a week or so—if that—not like she circled the date at the end of month in a big red pen or anything. Now she found herself doing it unconsciously, not really noticing what was happening until an unexpected orgasm rolled through her and the last few minutes of dizzy happiness and throbbing physical pleasure made a lot more sense.

Plus, what if someone wanted to fuck her? What was she going to say, ‘Sorry, I’m feeling really dry right now?’ That’s gross. You’re gross for thinking it.

Franny thoughtfully cradled the loose strands of silky white cum running down her chin into a shallow pool between her breasts. There was no name tag on her hips, or on her side, or under her breasts, or on the sides of her boobs, or when she pressed her nipples together and they embered hotly like two cigarettes passing a flame together. A name tag moved into view. One sewn in right beneath the collar and only just bobbing into view with each caress. Written in the red cursive switching of a fifties diner, it read simply: Franny.

At that moment, Franny couldn’t remember when she had stopped calling herself Francesca. It must have been in high school, the other kids had no patience for it. Franny didn’t really experience any more bullying than anyone else—it was the average she struggled with. When she thought of growing up, she remembered being in the center of a lot of boys. Pulling and tugging on them over and over, never able to get enough. It was practically Sisyphean, instead of rolling a big dumb rock up a hill she had to ravenously suck off all the boys in her class.

The other girls weren’t much better either. They all had really sexy bodies and loved to show off how good they were at making each other cum, and like, how tough and cool they were by fucking their boyfriends in public. Drugs they give kids today man. Sure it makes them pay attention, but is it really worth the undeniable sexual fixations? Yes it will ehlp you pass standardized testing, but it also teaches girls that they can only cum from PIV sex with multiple strangers at once.

“Oh yeah we’re Franny.”

“HA! You’re Franny.”

“What?”

“You said, ‘We’re Franny’. You’re Franny”

“That’s what I said. We’re—” Franny held up her name tag so Gabby could read it. It did indeed say Franny. It was a compelling case. “Franny.”

“No, bitch. That’s you. You’re Franny.”

“But . . Oh yeah.” Franny felt intensely stupid and could not immediately come up with a solution.

“Yeah. I’m Franny. . . .” That seemed profound enough. Cum was so so so potent. Every time Franny forgot just forgot just how much she liked it. Like she knew she liked it, consciously sought it out, but somehow every time her brain was never really able to communicate precisely why she liked it as much as she did until she was staring down a trough of the stuff. Forgot how much control it had over her. The silly justifications she would tell herself to keep slurping it up. How many times she had chosen to lick big dicks instead of call her mom? How many times did she duck out on church to go suck cock with her friends? Still, she pressed through to the core of the issue.

“But then like, what are we?” If not Franny.

“Sluts?”

“Nooo . . .” Franny did feel pretty slutty though. A mountain of evidence was piling up in that direction, but slowly and lazily, like billiards on a table with a short leg.

“Slutty medical people?”

That made a lot more sense. Way off base, ‘medical people’ going down like a watermelon, but at least they were narrowing in on something.

“Sexy medical people?”

Nope, not better. Medical People was just all wrong.

“No, it’s like, what do you call that fetish? You know—”

“What? What would I know about fetishes?”

“No, I don’t know—not like that—like, it’s like . . . ” Franny wheeled her wrists in the air, thinking. God, this was so obvious. It was like trying to play Pictionary with her words and her word was ‘cumming-really-hard-all-the-time’.

“You would know it. Trust me. It’s like really . . . like classic . . . I don’t know, what do you think of when you think of a fetish?”

“I think of some kind of weird doll shit. Cartoon Ponies or like, arm hair or something.” Gabby said it as she took over stroking the older man. Thoughtfully jacking his massive appendage so thick with blood it transparently throbbed red like a second heart. Every few seconds a release valve on the top gushed out a candied waste product women found so addictive and tasty, one of the first things the new owners did was hang those Labor approved messages in the break room reminding women to eat food at least once a week. Even though cum has all the fit, lean, and healthy life-sustaining nutrients you need, you really should eat out more. At least, that’s what the thought bubble coming out of a Stepford wife enthusiastically fellating her husband and eyeing the mischievous neighbor’s wife looking in through the kitchen window.

It had that strange Mona Lisa quality to it where the eyes seem to follow you where-ever you go. It gave the strangest impression that it was watching you. It really was a very compelling picture. Franny had never realized how much she wanted to be that woman. Wanted to have her life in order, be in charge of things. If only her throat wasn’t so incredibly inchy. If only I could just like suck a dick, or like two dicks. OR LIKE FIVE OR LIKE JUST JAM THEM IN-

There was that haze again. Taking over. A strange kind of horny oxygen that Franny’s brain viciously sucked in like ice-cream through a straw. Suddenly all she could see and hear was this one dick in front of her. An exciting pink staff bruised all the shades color can serve up. It loomed at her and the curvature was as if she could see every side of it at once. It was the center of the very universe. She could see it rise and fall, bobbing like a bouy on the tide of blood his equally massive heart struggled to push through. It called to her like drumming from inside a jungle. She was so thirsty.

“Why, what were you thinking? What about this is like a fetish?” Gabby tugged the man professionally, totally absorbed in the solemn clinical extraction of what now made two filled milk cartons of jizz loosely capped on the floor by her knees – and that was just what they had collected.

“Huh? What was . . . I . . .” Franny’s mouth was full of saliva. Something about weird fetishes.

“Like if all I knew about a guy, was that he had a fetish, that would be like a big red flag.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s supposed to be somewhat normal for guys to do that or whatever, but like—YEAH. Fetishes are for weird perverts that are like, ‘Oh yeah, I wanna jerk off to that girl in those hot clothes. Oh yeah. Sexy clothes are so hot.’” Despite all her years of professional experience, Franny could not quite replicate the ‘Jerking a dude off in mid-air’ hand gesture.

“That’s what I feel like, I guess—is what I’ve been trying to say. Like I’m having the amount of sex a ridiculous cartoon of myself would have.”

Gabby gave me a look of such solemn respect and consideration that I knew she would be my friend forever.“So what. Like, you’ve been reduced to a porno-stereotype?”

“Sounds crazy, right? And . . . maybe it’s not as bad as all that. Maybe I’m over-reacting. It’s been really stressful with the merger and everything. It’s just that a lot of these new procedures just make me feel like some kind of pin-up girl, you know?”

Gabby snorted. “Pin-up girl? Like the kind painted on the side of a old-timy bomber. Delivering Easter eggs to Hitler. I don’t mind being our generation’s Rosie the Riveter.”

“I guess. But, that’s not. . .

It was wrong.

“Right. . . I don’t feel like a triumphant torch bearer for woman’s liberation or sexual enlightenment. I feel like . . . like . . . like some crass whore from a dirty old fetish I can’t name cause I can’t even think straight!”

“Whoa calm down. Girl comon. Let’s concentrate. We can figure this out okay? We’re smart. What’s this fetish like?”

Franny felt a little bit better. It was first real expression that felt true in a long time.

“Well, it’s like—where the woman is all domestic and like—”

“Like a maid?”

“No, not like maid. More like a, like ahhh—” Black and white frills blossomed in her peripherals as a strange kind of dreamstate invaded her vision. Like a second layer of sight threaded together with what was real. Franny could see herself squeezed into one of those skimpy get ups, her ass somehow always exposed behind the waving feathery curtains of her ridiculous outfit. She could see herself dusting, cleaning, bending over, polishing her masters shaft, letting the family of the house fuck her stupid.

“No . . . more like a professional. Like a serious—”

“Like a secretary?”

“No—I mean, that’s closer—I like where you’re going with this . . . but no. It’s like a—and this is going to sound crazy, but it’s like a genre thing. It’s like you just said the drama version of my comedy.”

“You lost me.”

Franny contracted painfully. What she said was a perfect metaphor for what she meant, and more than that, she liked how it sound—which even in reasoning can be persuasive. She didn’t want to describe it any other way.

“Maids are a different genre of secretary, what are you talking about?” The leading orb of molten waxy cum slid over the ridge of Gabby’s thumb and down the backside of her hand.

“Like they’re the same! Like they’re different flavors of fetish and secretary is just more cherry.”

“And we’re looking for more cherry?”

“Yeah.”

“So more cherry than—more than a secretary. But still servile and domesticated, that’s hard . . . like maybe . . . the first lady? I don’t think that’s a fetish. That seems a little narrow-

Gabby only stopped when she noticed Franny pointing excitedly nodding, alternately touching her nose and and pointing at her.

“RIGHT! Not like, first-lady, that’s way off base—”

Gabby pouted, annoyed.

“But just that like—those themes! Common recurring themes of disempowered women whose labor is exploited by men for sex. We’re like, no different! We’re . . . ! We’re . . . !” Oh goddamnit Franny was so fucking close, she had it for a second there.

“People could totally have a fetish for the first lady.” Gabby said defensively. Walking back to her corner.

“Comon what are some more. Some real ones.”

“Girl, I don’t know. You brought it up. It’s like all fetishes, I guess. Just different costumes.”

“I just don’t want to be a fetish—and doing this makes me feel like a fetish. Like I’ve become some sort of erotic cliche.”

This was a new side of Franny Gabriela had never seen before. They had worked together for years now and Franny had always been an unflappable companion. To see her stripped of her confidence made her naked. Nude, with lines of cum draped over her shoulders and dripping from her breasts.

Gabby shook her head at the thought—repulsed, feeling out the idea like the stem of a flower and finding thorns along the way. Naked, her full breasts swaying in firm healthy pendulums on her chest, she already looked fresh and clean even after licking up half a pint of cum and rubbing it into her tits.

“Nooo. . . There’s more to a genre than just what people are wearing. Sure, like, noir movies may share a common iconography, but it carries with it an entire implicit moral universe. It has to justify the existence of those costumes and the people that come to fill them.”

Gabby could be so frustrating. She could transition so easily from squirting herself unconscious to swinging philosophical haymakers like some kind of drunken fist debater.

“Good thing that art history degree is still coming in handy.” Like a lot of people their age, Gabby had come to nursing not as her first choice. Thankfully she could take chides like that on the shoulder.

“Well, I mean it’s true.”

“Yeah, it is. But I mean, don’t genre-blending movies like the original StarWars or Evil Dead – two top shelf examples —” Gabby nodded, immediately conceding that both movies were of equal importance.

“Prove the mutability of their genre’s themes? The moral universe of John Wayne’s west can be re-appropriated in new contexts. It suggests that a genre is more than just a handful of similar looking things, it’s part of a larger chain of relationships. A short-hand for . . . different meanings. A genre is a dialect of meanings inside a larger language of cinematography.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Just give me more fetishes. We were so close. You said secretary? That was close. . .”

“What else is there?”

“I don’t know, what else do guys jerk off to?”

“Cheerleaders?”

“YES! Exactly! Classically, almost stereotypically erotic formulations of women.”

“Like . . . a secretary, but like, instead of a consummate professional and excellent typist, one that just has like big milky white tits and like, always sliding her pen in her mouth as if it were some kind of penis—and she like, goes around filing large stacks of paper and getting fucked on her desk!”

“RIGHT! Oh my god, like—right! Exactly! Like why not? Why should guys have to objectify women into a pair of luscious tits or like, great booties, just to make their boners shoot cum? Maybe more women would aspire to be professionals if they saw more women succeeding! Lady-scientists on TV taking control of their sexuality by having a choice in which of the dozens of virile young men get to fuck. You know, people like us.”

“Why do we have to be sexy too?”

“Like she wears like pant suits and pencil shirts with tight, you know, boob fitting white collared shirts and a collar that reads: Fuck-Slave.”

“NO! Like us! Like . . . professionals! Not just two dumb histrionic bitches in heat—” Franny stuttered through a moan so high and girlish she did not believe herself capable. Franny had backed herself into a corner, rubbing herself furiously. Her mound was slick and tense, touching it made her whole body stutter happily in pleasure. Franny had no idea when she started.

An irresistible rush of pleasure flushed through her veins making her legs shake and her head twitch. It whipped her blood into a carbonated frenzy and racked her body with insane horse-laughter at how silly she had become. It just felt so good. It felt too fucking good. Unreal. Unending. Oh my god I’m still cumming. OH MY GOD I’M STILL FUCKING CU-

It never died down. It never dulled or faded, or retreated a single step. The need to cum was always there, when she woke up in the morning and when she went to sleep at night. It didn’t matter that her mattress was still damp with sweat and ejaculate from the night before, it didn’t matter that every morning she woke up to the face of a different man, sandwiched between two fit male bodies – their tremendous dicks pressed against her abdomen. It was at least in part, not quite a memory – more like a fleeting impression – of clean, dry sleeping that drove her.

Finally Franny’s hysterical hyperventilating subsided into a manageable glow. “. . . We’re professionals. We went to school for this. We deal with health and stuff. Drugs. Pills. We . . .” Franny jabbed at the air as if harpooning innocent fruit. “We’re sexy—”

“Sexy nurses?”

NURSES! Oh my god, where did that word go? Sucking cum all day could make you sooooo forgetful. It’s like, when you’re cumming all the time, and getting to fuck like super hot dicks that taste like champagne– it’s hard to concentrate on pedantic baloney like what your job title is.

Nurse, I’m a nurse. A nurse. A sexy nurse.

“YES! Like sexy nurses!” Nothing feels better than actually being understood. “That’s exactly what I mean. It’s like we’re two sexy Nurses!” Franny said, pointing at herself and then at gabby back n’ fourth. “Not two demented bitches slurping cum off the floor for no reason. We’re nurses! It’s basically, like, for science.”

“Just two sexy nurses doing their job making hard dicks cum with our hands, or our mouths, or our pussies, or like anal if there’s like two cocks at once, or if he like. . . You know . . .” Franny mimed what she meant. Whatever it was, stretched her mouth as wide open as it would go and her tongue searched hungrily for it. Her hands molded an invisible column of spinning pottery. “If he was like, really lubed, you know?” Franny finished, blushing.

It felt so dirty to say. Lubed.

“And that’s the thing though, like, whats so sexy about being a nurse?”

It’s like being attracted to a janitor or the postman. An impossibly mundane job of relatively low status. Sure, heroic work and respected for that, but in the way a teacher might be respected. Generally overworked, underpaid, and definitely not glamorous or sexy. Franny looked every bit the part of a uniformed service worker. A starched white set of body-hugging scrubs, a shiny synthetic blend so plastic it could be wiped clean. Stretched to its limits, it covered her ass and tits in roughly the same scandalous proportion.

“Cause it can’t be about boobs or something cause that could be literally any woman. Why a nurse?”

Gabby chewed on it for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. Guys are just into that kind of thing.”

“But like, what kind of thing though? Nurses? Sexy nurses? Like, it’s almost anachronistic. It’s like a relic, from like, a blank-n’—white era of soldiers laid up with cozy buxom caregivers.”

“So? I get it, it’s a nice image. I’m seeing auburn hair, a beautiful face from old hollywood. A woman that can talk and fight but still just like, drop-dead fucking gorgeous. There’s . . . some, cut Chaning Tatem type suffering emotionally. Needs help . . . to uhhh . . . process the horrors of war?” These horrors apparently taking the shape of a vigorous blowjob. Franny was sufficiently embarrassed for the both of them.

“But I mean, like, hospitals are full of grizzly-ass shit. Who wants to be in a hospital? The only times you go to a hospital are for either gruesome injuries or some harrowing emotional journey. There’s nothing sexy about anything going on at a hospital.”

“I guess it’s all about the fantasy. Guy’s don’t look for reality in porn. They look for fantasy. In a fantasy, you’re not in the hospital because you treat your colon like a landfill, you’re in the hospital because you’ve stubbed your toe and someone needs to kiss it to make it all bwettter.” She whimpered her way through the last bit with a coy pout, massaging her patient’s engorged member like livestock.

“Right, and it’s all about what that fantasy means! Like, when I’m at home jilling off, I usually think about like, playing Scrabble or reading a book or something. It’s progressive and it doesn’t make me feel weird about like feminism or anything because you can totally tell they’re having real orgasms.” Like, there’s some things you just can’t fake. Trust me, I can tell when someone tied-down to an industrial strength Scrabble bondage set is faking their orgasms—and it is terrifying. Once they start giving you drugs to help get over the mental blocks of cumming freely in front of other people, the whole experience becomes a lot more enjoyable.

That, and some sensible house rules. If you want to play a word you have to be able to say what it means. None of this, ‘Well, the phone lets me use it’ bullcrap.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“What?”

“You masturbate to people playing Scrabble?”

“ . . . Noooo.”

Franny momentarily bowed out of the conversation to give her patient one long sensuous lick , giving her time to think and mop up some more of that delicious spunk. “Why? What do you . . .” Franny blushed again “Masturbate to?”

“Carlos fucking me in the ass.”

Franny pinched her nose in disgust.

“I know right? I was never really into it, but like, yesterday I passed him in the hall outside the apartment banging the hell out of some greasy black-haired bitch, and I was just about to tell them to take it inside, but like, she was just braced up against the wall and he was squeezing her breasts so tight while just battering that big fucking . . . Mexican Monster-Dick up her butt.” Gabby sawed with her arm stretched outright, her tight fist rowing severely through the air.

“And she was like, waaay into it. Like cross eye-ed and drooling, big dopey grin on her face. Cumming and gasping like that, pressed against the wall. She like, couldn’t talk right and cum at the same time so she was really just kind of like, snorting and babbling to herself. Eventually her legs shook so much she couldn’t hold herself up and she just kind of slid against the wall to the floor . . . and he turned to me, all dripping and unfinished – but like—his dick clean and oiled . . .” Gabby swooned.

“Gross.”

“Right?! Like that thing had just been in this strange girl’s butt, and it popped out dish-washer clean and smelling like burning sage. Like—it took everything I had to not just fall on my knees and blow him for hours.”

Her dreamy far-away expression soured. “Anyways, turns out she is some kind of famous butt-slut or something so now she lives with us.”

Gabby took to seriously scrubbing the grit off her patient, working him into a lather.

“I mean. . . I don’t like sharing. GOD, I feel so stupid saying that—like I’m some sort of monogamous Stepford Wife or . . . my mother.“

Franny snickered sympathetically, feeling quite a bit superior. She had met Gabreil’s mom last year and they were exactly the same. It was spooky how closely their mannerism lined up, how fastidious and casually no-nonsense they could be.

“But, I get it. Her butt’s like—” Gabby’s cheeks bulged like a puffer-fish.

“Like it’s crazy amazing. She says she doesn’t . . .” Gabby lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

“She says she doesn’t shit anymore.”

“What!” Franny responded in an equally low, unnecessary whisper.

“RIGHT! Like, so weird—TMI. But, I mean. Her butt is like, made for fucking. No joke. I don’t know what’s going on with that lady’s biology but, whatever it’s doing, it’s working. That woman cums in like a heart-beat—at nothing at all. Just yesterday she was talking like, ‘I’m going to ask Carlos if I can call my family’ and like, ‘I’m going home’ but as soon as Carlos walks in, she’s all like, spreading herself and yelling for him to come fuck her.”

“Carlos looks like a boy riding her. Like a little boy with a dump truck, she’s so easy. Her just cumming over and over like a big bucket of dumb, I’m getting jealous over nothing. If she didn’t give great head and was actually pretty nice once you get to know her, I would have probably said something about it.”

Gabby’s patient groaned and emptied nearly a pint of pearlescent goo down her throat. She hated any of that face stuff. Thought it was really gross. She much preferred when guys cum down her throat than on her face. A lot of the problem is just that guys tend to bend exactly the wrong way. You see there’s a trick to this, it goes-

“PUSSY!” The college boy screamed in clear English. It was the first coherent word out of him. Franny rushed to his side.

“Yes! What was that?”

“PUSSY!” He burst over and over, without any stimulation at all. Pushing great geysers of cum out of his body. Huge high-pressured beams of spunk, painful and laser-like.

“Hey, what’s your name buddy? What’s going on, what did you take?”

“PUSSY! NEED! PUSSY! NEED—” He thrashed against his bonds harder than before, the frame of the bed creaking badly.

“Calm down, focus. What’s your name?”

“FUCK PUSSY! NEED FUCK! FUCK PUSSY!” The arc of his cum drooped slightly as if depleted but as if a second bladder just released, roared back to full health – a desperate, almost suicidal release.

“Fuck, we’re losing him. Quick—Gabby—help me get him inside. Hurry!” Franny rapidly clamored aboard, straddling his lanky body.

“Prepped.” In between the spurts, Gabby heroically managed to snuggle an industrial strength condom over his dick and aligned the head perfectly at my slit. With a thumbs up from Gabby, I slid myself down over him and it was all star-spangled banners from there.

My world devolved into floating lakes orgasmic color. Vast planes of jizzy neon gack collided in fascinating arrangements. Franny came so hard she could hear it. Franny came with her pussy, she came with her chest, she came with her toes and with her ears. She came with her mind. A wet sponge finally wrung out in shimmering, sparkling fluid of rainbow sunshine and saccharine sweet ecstasy. She felt like a cat in the sun, only hurtling through outer-space where the captain’s chair rattles against your clit constantly and all the hot crewmen are banging you and calling you pretty even through you’re pretty DRUNK! LOL.

Each upward thrust hurled me out from beneath the surface of my subconscious mind. Each time he would grab onto my hips and pull me down over him was like a roller-coaster of a dolphin smashing head-first in and out of the water. It was like being violently shaken awake by someone trying to vomit down your throat and feeling all the acid turn all pinka and fluffy in your throat and it’s all washed away in irrattion surges of hyperbolic slut-think crashing into sudden waves of reason.

OH MY GOD LIFE IS REAL! WHO AM I? WHY AM I IN A HOSPITAL? WHY AM I FUCKING THIS GUY? OH MY GOD I’M CUMMING AGAIN! And it all goes black.

Either Franny was in a hospital administrating life-saving treatments to a patient in need or plunging head-long into oceans of electric green summer liquors that made her cum her pants off. Reefs of bright yellow Mai Tai and stringy pink-red veins of suspended Daiquiri were her curtains of daylight. A joker’s acid, washing away anything that doesn’t want to laugh and cum at the same time. Like an animal boiled down into a vapid skeleton with huge milky tits and a pussy that could milk a horse. The head of every penis connecting a blazing recursive circuit that read “CUM” in forty foot letters made out of the most yogurt soft pink felt. Franny came and sprayed so much she felt like a bottle-rocket.

“OOOHHHHH GODDDD—PUT IT BACK INNNNNN!!! PUT IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!” Someone was screaming and Gabby furiously tied off an inflatable balloon animal of filled condom and affix a fresh one for the boy. The boy just puffed and snorted like a hog scrounging for truffles. His big dumb penis wailing useless upwards at Franny’s backside, unable to find purchase.

Franny could see, quite clearly, how childish and hysterical she was being. She knew she must look like a frightened teenager, mascara running down her cheeks squealing to be fucked. She knew, but couldn’t stop herself from howling in impotent frustration at the momentary delay.

“FUCK ME! PLEASE—HURRY! GIVE IT BACK, FUCK ME! FUCK ME FUCKMEFUCKME—” The boy came back and so did I.

It’s hard to find yourself when everything is a hysterical mass delusion. There must be some great sense of it all. There has to be. It can’t all just be swirling tantalizing penises and Franny’s impossible horniness for them. She felt feverish; like a mare stamping her feet, blood-red with dick-madness.

Which was crazy. Franny’s a nurse.

“I’m a nurse.” Franny burbled helpfully. Gabby hosed her off in the shower area, the small yellow-lit room foggy with steam.

“Oh hey! Look who’s back! Hey there girlfriend, welcome back!” Gabby beamed, leaning in for a peck on the forehead. Franny blinked and wiggled indignantly, fencing with her brow.

“Awww come on. How do you feel?”

The warm shower did not take long to sink in. “Like I want to puke. My fucking head’s throbbing like a mother fucker.”

Franny said it wanting to sound cool, but it came out slow and she was exhausted. Bloated. You don’t just drink a gallon of jizz in one sitting. These goddamn cutbacks. There should always be at least two to three nurses for each red-ling patient. Not two, already over-worked nurses, for no less than THREE patients! It’s nothing short of an outrage. No matter how crazy-delicious and fun it is to suck three guys to oblivion, it’s not worth the consequences for that kind of hangover.

It felt sooooo good just to rest. Just to lay there and let her best friend splash her with silky warm water.

“Hey, are you alright? Do you think you can walk?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Here . . .” Franny patted the wide shower basin beside here. “Come lay with me.”

Gabby turned the hose down and tossed Franny some soap

“Alright. . . You can wash me now.” Gabby bent and slid in beside her, trading the soap. After some gentle squirming they settled into a healthy, whole-body kind of rhythm. An easy, playful, gentle way to cum. Behind the glass walls of the shower, they watched their three healthy patients check-out in the lobby.

Embarrassed newly-weds embraced. The salt-n-pepper type checked himself out with a 20$ co-pay. A father in the lobby was all but handing out cigars as his shrill wife brow beat their teenage son about the dangers of unsafe sex and how even if his sister is in heat and presenting herself—crying to be fucked – you’re her brother and that’s weird. You shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. So what if her pussy is a potent aphrodisiac? You’re just going to have to build up a resistance young man!

Behind the glass, Franny smiled and secretly agreed.