Sunday 5 March 2017

Christmas With Nurse Nettles (F/m)


I suppose this should have been my Christmas piece, given the title. But sheer laziness and domestic distractions delayed. A sequel to Taking Care, which I enjoyed writing immensely. Reckon it is all those explicit showers. A particular fantasy of mine. Like the Simon of the piece I am probably a pervert. But, as my wife says, pretty harmless. Most of what I do these days is in my head. It makes those real times when I bend over, pants down, really special. Enjoy. Alfred Roy.

How do I start this? I am back home after ten heavenly days with Nurse Nettles. Ambrosine Nettles, the no nonsense nurse who had been taking care of me through the summer. (See my other piece called, unsurprisingly, Taking Care). Gives you the background to all of us. Me, the one armed Simon, my siblings Sophie and Adam, my strange dad, and nursie. It was a summer never to be forgotten. Especially by me. When nursie left, as she did suddenly, I reckon I was in love with her. She dominated my fifteen year old thoughts. Pervert my elder brother called me, but in a nice way. Perhaps I am, or becoming one. I got to enjoy the showers she gave me and, unexpectedly, I even more enjoyed the smacks she gave to my bottom. So much so I contrived situations that resulted in much more than a gentle hand slap to a bare cheek. Strange desires released and ultimately thwarted when she left. It should come as no surprise, it did not to a smirking Adam and Sophie, when dad announced a skiing winter holiday. For all except me. Not possible in my condition. One arm gone in a car accident and the other only partly mended. I was to stay with Miss Nettles for the Christmas period in her cosy cottage in the Cotswolds. More smirks from the revolting and knowing siblings. I could have jumped for joy. I reckon one small bit of me did. Or at least twitched. There, I have started my piece so telling of those ten days should prove to be easy. It was certainly a roller coaster ride.

Dad put me on the train the day before they all set off for Switzerland and Miss Nettles was waiting for me when it pulled into Cheltenham. She, like dad, said how disappointing it must be for me not to get a winter skiing holiday and I said the same to both of them. No, I said, I would rather be spending Christmas with my nurse. Perhaps it was the way I said it but both, separately, gave me a strange and similar look. It could have been along the lines of our Simon is growing up, I had turned sixteen in November, but I don’t think so. I think dad’s look was more like ‘be careful’ and Nurse Nettles was, well Nurse Nettles was more like ‘be good’. I had no intention of being either. Sophie and Adam would understand.

The first few days were a bit disappointing. I arrived at her cottage on the 20th of December and shopping and Christmas preparations were clearly the order of the day. Or week. Food shopping in Broadway and everything else shopping in Cheltenham and Stratford. Money seemed no object and we arrived back at her secluded cottage on the outskirts of Chipping Campden literally loaded with goodies of every description. A few friends and relatives were joining us on Christmas Day and an old and special friend the day after Boxing Day but, other than that, it was just us two. She told me this many times on our regular jaunts around the Cotswolds in her old but impressive BMW. Just us two she said until the New Year. That will be nice, Simon. And your dad has been very generous. That got me thinking. Was dad paying for all this? Did he own the cottage? She laughed when I voiced the latter thought. Good God, no. I bought it out of my earnings many years ago. She laughed again and pressed her foot on the accelerator. As we speeded along a country road I was becoming very familiar with, I suppressed the desire to ask if that was from her National Health nursing earnings. Some things are best left unsaid.

I said the first few days were disappointing. They weren’t totally as I still required help when showering. My one remaining left arm was improving but was still heavily strapped with plaster and bandages. The hospital told me that early Spring should see their removal and, with exercise, a return to normal. Adam had laughed at that as his eighteen year old mind could only envisage one particular form of exercise. Well overdue he reckoned. I said nothing. But it did mean I still needed help when showering. Since the summer a variety of nurses come medical helpers had done this duty but none, thankfully, caused any consternation to them or me. I was getting used to be being naked with strangers and as these were of the ageing and/or male variety my once a week all over obligatory ablutions passed without embarrassment to either party. I knew it would not be the same with Nurse Nettles, my Ambrosine. The prospect hung over me from the moment dad said I was to stay with her. At sometime in that pre-Christmas period she would say that I needed a shower. I knew it, she knew it, and it dominated my thoughts. The last time she had showered me, long ago in those summer months, I had my first and involuntary ejaculation. When you are fifteen you do not forget that.

It was after our second shopping trip, Stratford in heavy rain showers, that the hitherto unspoken promise was voiced. Dinner was in the oven and a pleasing fire was flickering in an old fashioned grate. A shower before dinner will do us both good, she said, after such an exhausting day. You first, you haven’t had one since you got here, and then you can watch the food whilst I have mine. So upstairs young man and get ready. Two thoughts instantly struck me. I was to undress myself, I could do that easily after so many practises, and the ‘get ready’ indicated some assistance. My bits twitched in anticipation and Nurse Nettles smiled. I think both of us were remembering the last time she soaped my naked skin. As Adam regularly said, our bruvver is a pervert.

It did me no good, perverted thoughts or otherwise. My shower was conducted with professional and clinical expertise. I was standing under it when she entered the bathroom, the crisp white nurse uniform adding to both the excitement and the formality. Warm water cascaded over my nakedness within seconds and a large soap bar scrubbed all of me with efficiency. As per her usual methods Nurse Nettles left no inch unwashed. With a confidence grown from familiarity, and lacking any embarrassment, I told her it was nice when she washed my bottom and the bits in front. All this prompted was an increase in the water temperature and a vigorous washing of my hair with a strong smelling shampoo. I protested and received a first firm smack of her hand to where nature intended. A first smack of this Christmas break. Inevitably it had the usual effect on me and as I stepped out of the shower a second smack to the same place followed. I now had sharp stings on each of my bare cheeks. Nothing else, except a knowing smile, as a large white towel enveloped a growing erection that was now thankfully covered up. Dry and dress, she said. Pyjamas I think and then keep an eye on the food. And you can open the wine, she said, at sixteen a small glass is permissible. I was a bit despondent that she had decided not to dry and talc me but given my excitement this was probably wise. I needed to calm down before dinner. I didn’t.

There was a good reason for that not calming down. For some reason, which soon became clear, Nurse Nettles had redressed in her nurse uniform after showering. We listened to some obscure classical music during dinner, a lovely beef stew, and she outlined the plans for Christmas Day. Two days hence. A nephew and niece plus the niece’s boyfriend and three villagers would make up a party of eight and I would be expected to help with the preparations. Then a quiet day on Boxing Day before the visit of a very special friend who, she smiled as she said this, I would like enormously. And in preparation for her, she said, I think it is time you were spanked.

 

‘Spanked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘You have, but do I need a reason?’

‘No Miss.’

‘Exactly. You have been wanting one ever since you arrived.’

‘Sorry. Is it that obvious?’

‘It was when I showered you, young man.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need to apologise. I was going to spank you anyway. I promised your father I would before Christmas Day.’

‘My father?’

‘Yes. He said smack Simon’s bottom at least once before Christmas. He will thank you for it.’

‘I might not.’

‘And make you more controllable and contented before the onslaught of all my friends.’

‘Ok.’

‘You don’t have a choice, Simon. So no need to agree.’

‘I am gathering that.’

 

And with that she pulled out her chair and bid me to rise and place myself over her knee. I had hardly had time to absorb it all. One minute we were eating our dinner and discussing Christmas plans and the next I was upended over her ample knee and feeling her large hand explore my pyjama covered bottom. It did not stay covered for long. Six or so hefty smacks to my behind and she pulled the pyjamas down and gave me a further twenty or so to my bare skin. They stung, especially as she increased the tempo and severity as the spanking progressed. By the time I rose, rubbing my behind, the heat emanating was extensive and fierce. Ow, I said, that hurt. Good, she said, a little taster before my special friend arrives. What does that mean? I said. You’ll find out was her only response. And with that she pulled up my pyjamas and cleared away the dinner. All questions were deflected and I went to bed intrigued, excited, and a little scared. I had been promised, or threatened, with something from someone I had never met. And I had to get through Christmas Day first. I fell asleep with a full erection, one that I was in no condition to satisfy. I needed help and my showering angel of a nurse knew it.

Christmas Day was hectic. It was lovely but hectic. The three villagers, all elderly males, were clearly old friends of Nurse Ambrosine, and her younger relatives made for a nice mix. Her nephew was only a year or so older than me and, after an uneasy start, we got on well. He and his elder sister were clearly very fond of our Nursie and during chats with him, another Adam, I learnt that she had helped her brother bring them up after their mother died. That got discussed over a sumptuous dinner and one bit of the conversation intrigued me. One of the elderly villagers, a retired architect, started it. Something along the lines about her smacking their bottoms to keep them in line. The conversation was not pursued, I reckon the niece was embarrassed, but I formed the distinct impression around the table that all the bottoms seated, except the niece’s boyfriend, had been vigorously smacked at some time by Nurse Nettles. I asked her about it that evening, when we were alone. She merely smiled and said all her charges, old friends and young relatives, were special. The following day, Boxing Day, she gave me my second shower and my best Christmas present. Ever.

 

‘That was nice, Miss.’

‘You deserved it. You needed it.’

‘I know. I can’t thank you enough.’

‘No need.’

‘And I didn’t feel embarrassed. Not with you.’

‘Even though you’ve only just turned sixteen and I’m, well let’s just say I am older.’

‘Ancient?’

‘Careful.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I understand Simon. Probably older than your mother and have just done something she never would.’

‘God, I hope not.’

‘You are a growing boy. You have needs and, let’s face it, you cannot do anything yourself.’

‘Not yet, no. Hopefully soon.’

‘Your father understands.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It was one of the reasons he wanted you to stay with me. You can spank him and wank him, he said. Quite seriously.’

‘Now I am embarrassed. Putting it like that.’

‘You shouldn’t be. It is perfectly normal.’

‘Being wanked by your nurse?’

‘You would be surprised how often it happens. Men, boys, need relief. Nurses know that.’

‘And fathers?’

‘Fathers know more than their sons ever give them credit for.’

‘I am learning all the time.’

‘And only sixteen?  Just thank yourself that you are lucky knowing someone like me.’

‘I have always thought that, Miss. Always.’

 

I have always, ever since the early summer. Dad was right. Nurse Nettles was exactly what I needed in my condition. Only one arm and that in plaster and hormones running riot. Hormones additionally fuelled by that same nurse baring my behind on occasions and spanking and caning it. Pervert, Adam said, but a nice one. I think he meant me not Nurse Nettles. She was special. The Boxing day shower was mid afternoon after a lovely walk through the Cotswolds countryside. I knew it was going to be special because she took me upstairs when we came back and took all my clothes off herself. She had that determined look about her which I only usually saw when she intended to discipline me. By the time my vest was pulled off and my underpants pulled down I had an erection that only a blind man could ignore. There was heavy breathing and not just from me. I felt a line was about to be crossed. The last time I ejaculated when being showered it just happened. This time I was sure it was intended. Especially when she said that things must be difficult for me, having no use of my arms. Arm, I said, I only have one. By that time I was stark naked and ready to step into the shower. She turned on the water and washed my hair, taking an age or so it seemed to me. Soap my body I was thinking, soap my body and everything else. Eventually she did. Arms, legs, back, chest, buttocks, shoulders. It was heaven. The water cascaded and the soap bar conducted its dance. Everywhere. Everywhere except my protuberance which screamed for blessed relief. I closed my eyes and wished as hands and soap explored all of my naked skin. And then her hands moved to my genitals. The soapy warmth touched all my personal flesh, my balls, my shaft, my bottom, my crack in between. Explored, teased, entranced. Cleansed. And then the hands, her hands, stroked my shaft up and down. Gently, but with no mistake. This time intended. This time she intended to give me that blessed relief. I knew it. She knew it. A Christmas treat for a frustrated boy. Her left hand cupped my full and eager balls, her right hand expertly worked my stiffened penis. Up and down with a fine finesse she stroked it. Stroked it and pumped it until, far too soon, I gushed forth a flood of semen which seemed to have been stored for months. Six, seven, eight times I spurted the cream that had been so pent up. As the hands squeezed and caressed I saw stars and flowers and rainbows and, eyes closed, gasped at the beautiful intensity of it. I did not want it to end. Forever. But eventually it did. My penis twitched and died and the hands lessened in their intensity. Balls were gently caressed and the one on my shaft eased its gripped. I sighed and did again as two sharp smacks hit my behind. Just to bring you back to earth, she said. Water continued its cascade and pleasant stings on my bottom vied with dying desire in my cock. That was beautiful, I said. She said nothing but, as she dried me, I sensed that the talcum powder she applied had an added gentleness. Almost as if, as it dusted my personal parts, she was saying well done. And much deserved. It was later, much later, as I was getting ready for bed that she reminded me of the morrow. My friend is coming she said. Just for the day and she is really looking forward to meeting you. She has never caned a sixteen year old and that, my boy, is the price for today’s pleasantries. All questions from me were deflected. Spent but excited, Adam and Sophie would understand, I fell asleep.

 

‘Can’t you give me a clue?’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, when for a start.’

‘When she comes back from Stratford.’

‘When’s that?’

‘When’s that what Simon?’

‘When’s that Miss.’

‘Around five I would imagine. She doesn’t like driving in the dark.’

‘But she isn’t staying here?’

‘No.’

‘She seems nice.’

‘She is, most of the time.’

‘But she likes caning people.’

‘Oh yes. Makes a very nice living at it.’

‘And you want her to cane me?’

‘It’s my Christmas present to her, and your cost for yesterday.’

‘I’m scared.’

‘You should be. She’s a no nonsense woman.’

‘And excited.’

‘Your father’s son.’

‘That’s what Adam and Sophie say. They reckon I’m a pervert.’

‘You are Simon. I realised that a long time ago. And so young. It usually takes folks years to understand this particular need.’

‘I still don’t understand. I only know the thought makes me feel funny.’

‘And you feel ‘funny’ now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then be patient. She’ll be her soon. And when she arrives she will take you into that other room, take down your pants and cane your bare backside. Hard.’

 

I gulped. We had met her earlier in the day. She was younger than Nurse Nettles, but not by much and with darker hair and taller, and reminded me of some of my teachers at boarding school. She studied me with an intensity that slightly unnerved. I could feel my feet shuffling. She was staying in a local hotel and needed to visit her elderly father in Stratford whilst she was here. Just dropping by to meet me, she said. It sounded like a threat as I am sure it was. And when I get back, before dinner she said, I will have my Christmas present. At that comment both Nurse Nettles and Christine, as she was known, laughed. I looked at my feet that were still shuffling nervously. Over a light lunch and wine for them, only a small one for Miss Christine as she insisted on being called, I relaxed a bit. Especially when I sensed that the whole thing may be an elaborate joke. I sensed that when my Nettles asked her if she had been busy leading up to Christmas. The usual clients she said, nothing special. The youngest was in his thirties and the oldest over eighty. It never ceases to surprise. She sipped her wine and said, looking at me, when you are twenty or so I should love to deal with you. Ambrosine says you are a natural. But I thought..., and tailed off as relief vied with disappointment in perplexed confusion. Nurse Nettles laughed. You see what I mean Christine. He doesn’t want to wait until he is twenty. So when you come back from your father you decide. A box of chocolates or ten minutes alone with Simon. She returned about four thirty and left around seven. She never got the chocolates.

 

‘So Simon, you like being caned?’

‘No Miss.’

‘Oh, I thought you did?’

‘No Miss. It hurts. I don’t like it. But.....’

‘You like what it entails. You like the build up?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘So a little pain on your bottom is a small sacrifice?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘Does that thrill you?’

‘What Miss?’

‘When I say that. A little pain on your bottom?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘The thought of the pain or the thought of your bottom being prepared for it?’

‘The getting ready.’

‘Having your pants taken down?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘Having your bottom bared for my cane?’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘In spite of the pain?’

‘Yes Miss.’

 

Nurse Nettles had left us. Left me and Miss Christine alone. A strange intimacy was created and both of us sensed it. She made me stand and walked around me, seemingly examining me. I sensed a thrill in my being, enjoying this subtle domination. I was dressed in jeans and Christmas jumper, a Nurse Nettles present, and the latter amused the tall and determined woman who assessed every inch of my body. She talked as she did so, playing her role and also living it. If this was a special Christmas present from Nurse Nettles, mine as well as hers, then Miss Christine was eager to ensure that both of us got full benefit. It was as she told me that I was to get twelve strokes of her cane, six on my underpants, that she started to undo my jeans. As the top button of my jeans was released she emphasised the six on my underpants, the new Calvin Klein’s she said. Yet another present from Nurse Nettles. She trusted I was wearing them. I was. Small, tight, pale yellow, with a blue band. I had opened the box on Christmas Day after all our guests had left. Miss Christine will like those she said. She was right. As she undid the remainder of my buttons and pulled the jeans down to my knees she admired the colourful display. Beautiful she said, and beautifully filled. And then she laughed. I am so going to enjoy caning your bottom, Simon, she said. And after six on your bright pants I shall take them down and cane your very bare bottom another six times. And as she said this she led me to the small table in the corner of the room. It was just the right height and had been dutifully cleared earlier in the day. I bent over it, my jeans by now around my knees, and made myself as comfortable as I could. Miss Christine was to my left. Dissatisfied, she made me grasp a leg of the table and arch my back and, as I did so, she turned up my Christmas jumper and pulled my jeans further down my legs. I need a good target she said, smoothing her hands over the yellow underpants as she did so. I sensed her adjusting the pants, ensuring that no obtrusive crease would spoil her view or detract her aim. Such a lovely bottom, she said, no wonder your Ambrosine likes smacking it. As she said this she picked up her cane. I had seen it earlier, in the corner. Long and medium thick, designed to hurt. It had been left there deliberately and, equally deliberately, I had not referred to it. But now I was destined to feel it and fear and anticipation induced familiar stirrings in my penis. When she laid it across my Calvin Klein covered bottom I was stiff. I remained that way all through the first six of Miss Christine’s cane. Partly because the strokes were fairly gentle, little more than stinging taps across my bottom, and partly because she kept up incessant chatter with every whack. Such a springy backside, so boyish, and so smackable. And so pert and willing. I think I could do this all day. Each utterance brought forth an extra stroke of the cane across me. I squirmed as the heat rose in my behind in spite of the gentleness. And then she stopped and eager hands inserted themselves in the blue waistband of my bright yellow Calvin Klein underpants. I sensed them slowly slipping down my thighs, exposing my naked bottom to her gaze. Nice and pink and warm she said, rubbing her hands over my upturned skin. Two lovely little peaches, two little shining moons, no wonder Ambrosine raves about you. My young stiffness burst to its fullest condition. This was heaven. And then she brought the cane down much harder across my bare behind, spurred on by the vision I assumed. It hurt and I squealed and did so three more times as three more strokes laced my skin. Christmas present she said, two more to go, hold tight. I did and squealed even louder when strokes five and six burnt into my bum. Ow, I said, and rose clutching my by now fiery bottom with my one free hand. That bloody hurt. Miss Christine merely smiled, pulled down my Christmas jumper, and said that swearing would get me on a report to Nurse Nettles. Then she gently kissed me on my cheek and pulled up my underpants. It was only then that I noticed my penis had shrunk in painful shock. Some Christmas present.

 

With one notable exception the rest of my Christmas break with Nurse Nettles passed without much incident. We saw in the New Year with those same old village friends who came on Christmas Day and all were extremely well behaved. Only one, an elderly chap slightly the worse for wine, hinted at things unspoken. How I wish I had a Nurse Nettles to stay with when I was sixteen, he said. And winked, mischievously. I merely shrugged as teenagers are supposed to do and Nurse Nettles smiled in silent approval. Given that the period from Boxing Day to the New Year lasted a week or so it was hardly surprising that I endured two more vigorous showers from my nurse. Both were extremely professional and efficient. And, from my view, disappointing. They were conducted early in the morning, quick as a flash, and me decently covered up with towels both before and immediately afterwards. I have to do this, she seemed to be saying, you are my patient as well as my guest. I said nothing. Christmas was clearly over. Except it wasn’t. She was due to drive me back home three days after the New Year and on our last full day she dropped a small bombshell. Two actually, one firing fear and anticipation and the other inducing an overdue thrill. Given what she said the two bombshells were clearly linked. I would not have had it any other way. As Adam and Sophie would say, I am a pervert.

 

‘Home tomorrow, Simon.’

‘Yes.’

‘So. There are two things I need to do.’

‘What?’

‘What, Miss’

‘What, Miss?’

‘One pleasant, one not so.’

‘Oh?’

‘And, as this is our last full day, it will make sense to combine them.’

‘Yes Miss.’

‘You say that as if you have some idea of what I intend to do.’

‘I think so.’

 

I was right. New Year, Christmas over. Friends and relatives all gone, including Miss Christine. Only memories remain. Memories of my final spank and a wank. As my father would put it. Both were heaven. Taken over her knee and, pants taken down, smacked vigorously on my bare bottom. To remember her by, she said. Twenty or thirty times. And then, upstairs, stripped and showered. Everything including my much reddened rear. And finally, searching mature hands giving me a blessed climax. One I could not do yet for myself. As I say, heaven. But then, Nurse Nettles was an angel.

 

Alfred Roy (c) 2017