It’s been seven weeks now since I came in here. Seven weeks of lying in this bed, legs only just out of plaster and both arms still plastered up and unusable.

The only thing I suppose I should be grateful for is that I am my own private room in this private hospital. If things had been different, I could have ended up in some big twenty bed ward in a not so nice National Health Service general hospital. I’ve been told that to make the best use of what space they have in those hospitals they even have a mix of men and women in the same ward. Heaven forbid.

At least the driver of the car that ploughed into me, phoned his solicitor at the scene of the accident, and took his advice. He admitted guilt straight away and agreed to pay for my private treatment understanding that things would be easier for him when the case went to court.

 Yes, it could have been a lot worse for me. The specialist has told me that I have at least another three or four weeks before my arms will be released from their plaster-cast prison and many more weeks after that before I can go home.

Private room or not, however, I am twenty-two years old and need sexual relief frequently. At home I toss myself off daily when I don’t get any sex. I can’t masturbate with my arms incarcerated. I can’t turn over and hump the mattress because of the various bits of kit I’ve been attached to. I often lay with my eyes closed and fantasize, trying to will myself to ejaculate, but I never quite get there. When I am given my bed-bath each morning, my prick gets as hard as iron and sticks out like a flagpole. The orderly who normally baths me is old and not particularly good looking. She pretends not to notice my state of arousal and avoids any sort of contact with my erection that may cause me to cum. Cold bitch. Even a quick wank would be enough from her to be going on with, even as ugly as she is, but how can I ask her for that? The state I’m in, she would only need to give me one or two rubs and I would be there. Over the top. Pumping out my stuff. It wouldn’t be a big deal. It would take barely two minutes of her time. She takes longer than that trying to avoid touching it.

I even think about asking the old cleaning lady who comes in daily if she would help me out, but decide against it. Too risky. She might go running to her boss and accuse me of sexual harassment or something. I need relief. I need a wank. I need to cum. Badly.

As I lay on my bed late one evening, fantasizing yet again and hoping that this time just thinking about sex will take me over the top, a pretty young nurse comes into my room. She is sexy. My prick, already stiff, hardens even more and my balls are soon throbbing.  I’m lying on top of the covers with very thin pajama trousers on, she can’t fail to notice the state I’m in surely. Perhaps she’ll ignore it like that old bitch of an orderly does.

“Hello,” she says, in a voice so beautiful, so sexy, that I almost ejaculate at the sound of it, unfortunately not quite. “I was told you were up here in this room. I would have come to see how you were getting on sooner but I have been away at another hospital for six weeks on training,” she explains.

“Is there anything that you need,” she continues. As if she couldn’t see what I need. There is a huge advertisement for what I need sticking out in the front of my pajamas.

‘Oh come on nurse,’ I tell myself silently. ‘You can see what I need. Use your imagination. Give me a blow job, a hand job, anything to get rid of seven weeks of frustration.’

“I’m actually off duty now but I thought I would come and keep you company for a little while,” She explains. “I’m Mandy, or nurse Johnson when I’m on duty. And I know you are Peter. In fact I know some more about you too. I know your little secret.”

“Oh,” I reply. And what secret would that be?” I ask.

“Well … I was a nurse on night duty when you were admitted,” she tells me. “It was me who cleaned you up and got you ready for theatre. You were only semi-conscious so I don’t expect you remembered much.”

 I tell her that I do have a vague recollection of somebody telling me I would be in the operating theatre soon, and they were going to cut my clothes off me.

“That’s right. I did tell you that we had to cut all of your clothes off you. Except that there is one item that I managed to save.”

“Oh, and what item was that? Something useless like one of my socks or something?”

“No,” she says. “I managed to save your panties. Those little white lacey panties that you were wearing. I washed and dried them for you and they are in your locker next to your bed.”

“But … I …” I splutter, blushing.

“It’s ok,” she explains. “I’ve seen it all before. It’s not that unusual for a man to wear female underwear, and I’m sure you didn’t expect to get found out by getting dragged under a car like that.”

“No but … Look it’s still embarrassing. Anyway, they’re not much good to me now are they?”

“That depends. What you would like to do with them if you could?  Would you masturbate with them or just want to wear them normally?” she asks me.

“Well look at the state of me. I mean … Look at the front of my pyjamas.” I splutter. “What do you think I would like to do with them?”

“Oh that’s not a problem. I could help you out with that if you like. Would you like me to use the panties to masturbate you? Is that it?”

“I would love that, but I’m in a hospital, not my own bedroom at home. There are other people about. Doctors, nurses and all sorts,” I reply.

“This is a private room with a curtain that can be closed across the door panel. There is a ‘do not disturb’ notice outside on the door and a lock inside,” She explains. “I’m off duty as I told you, so my time is my own. Not that you would need much of my time by the look of you.”

She goes to my locker and takes out the white lacy panties. She gently unfolds them and holds them up. There is a little patch of pre-cum soaking through my pajamas and I am breathing heavily.

“Now, what would you like me to do? I will do anything you want. No, I’ll tell you what. I’ll use my own initiative. First I’m going to take off my uniform skirt and blouse. I don’t want to get any of your mess on them. I expect you will have saved up quite a lot of it by now.”

She removes the clothing and her shoes and uncovers a beautiful body now clad in a black lacy bra, a little pair of black cotton panties, black stockings and a suspender belt. How I don’t cum there and then beats me. What she has got on is exactly like my favourite get-up, the sort of thing I wear at home.

“Let’s forget about your panties for now. If I’m very careful not to put any weight on you, I reckon I can straddle you. How does that sound.”

“That sounds too good to be true. You mean actually fuck me?” I ask, not quite believing what was about to happen. “If you do, I warn you, I will probably cum almost straight away. It’s been seven weeks since …”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be okay for something else after that.”

Without saying another word, she pulls my pajama trousers down part-way then climbs gently on to my bed, positions her thighs one either side of me and pulls her panties aside. Gradually, she lowers herself onto me, careful not to press her body weight down, taking my throbbing erection and guiding it into her. She slowly, very slowly, begins to move up and down on me, my stiffness sliding in and out of her wet tube. It feels like heaven. So warm and tight, so soft and damp. I last for only a matter of a few minutes before I ejaculate inside her just as she plunges me deep into her, pumping and pumping my cum in strong jets. It seems to go on forever. Eventually the spurting subsides and she gently lifts herself off me, carefully adjusting the crotch of her panties to retain my cum which is beginning to ooze from her.

“There” she says. “You wouldn’t get service like that on the National Health. Do you think you can get hard again? I could do something else.”

My prick has not got fully soft and already it is on its way to being hard again.

“Wow! You don’t hang about,” She exclaims. “Do you think a blow job would help you to cum again?

“I’m sure it would,” I say.

“Okay then. But the rule is that you do not cum in my mouth. Can you promise me that you won’t?”

“I promise. And … will you wrap my panties around my prick?” I asked her.

“Just at the base and around my balls. It’s been so long since I felt them against me.

She does as I request. The feel of those panties touching me is heavenly. Then she kneels beside my bed, leans forward, takes my erection in her hand and puts about half of my length in her mouth. She is an expert. Slowly she moves my prick in and out while sucking gently, and she obviously knows the signs because as I feel my cum rising she pulls her mouth away, adjusts my knickers to cover the whole of my now throbbing erection, and masturbates me with her hand. A couple of strokes and I am spurting my cum into the panties, not so much this time but still a fair bit.

“There,” she says, when I have finished and begin to soften again. “That should see you alright for a while. I’ll be back when I can.”

She gets dressed, tosses my panties into my locker, blows me a kiss and leaves.

………………………………………..

“Wakey, wakey. Morning meds time.”

“What ...  What time is it?” As I wake up and see a middle aged male nurse standing by my bed with a small tray.

“Seven AM,” he replies. “Time for your morning meds. Oh dear. It looks like you’ve made a bit of a mess of your pyjama trousers in the night. We’d better get those changed for you. There will be a spare pair in your locker. I’ll just get them. Looks like you’ve ejaculated in your sleep. Nothing to worry about. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Bound to happen to a healthy young man like you. You’ve been in that bed for seven weeks. Can’t keep it stored up forever.”

“What ... In my sleep ... I don’t understand,” I splutter. What happened to Mandy? Nurse Johnson.”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” replies the male nurse. “No, there’s no nurse of that name working here.”

“But … Look, can you check in my locker to see if my pan … Some of my clothes are in there.”

“There won’t be any clothes in there. You probably don’t remember being prepared for surgery when you came in. You were barely conscious,” He says. “It was me who prepared you. I had to cut off all of your clothes.”

“No that can’t be right,” I say. ”What about my undies? Are they in my locker?”

“Like I said, I had to cut off everything. Even those cute little panties you were wearing. Sorry. Now, let’s get those pyjamas changed.”