Chapter 1: My Neighbour Vivian’s Patient Room

My hands trembled as I fumbled with the key to my house, a violent searing heat burned in me tearing through my chest. Sweat plastered my business shirt to my skin, my vision blurred from a sudden fever that had forced me to leave work early.

I struggled to fit the key into the lock, the door seeming to sway and look blurry in my fevered haze. I didn’t notice Vivian my next door neighbour until she was right beside me, her emerald green eyes piercing through my delirious haze.

Vivian was a rather pretty curvy, plus-size woman in her mid 60s, she had rather impressive 38DD breast or at least it seemed like It when I seen her from far away in passing.

Her breasts strained her red sweater, and her grey hair was woven into a sleek braided ponytail, framing a rather beautiful sweet face. That would easily let her pass for someone who was in their early 50’s.

“Jake, you look like death warmed over,” she said, her voice sounding firm yet worried with a kind warmth. “What’s wrong? Flu?Fever? Chills? Come now speak up, now young man.”

“It’s nothing Vivian just a mild flu I just need some resssss…,” I mumbled, my words slurring slightly as I clutched the doorframe, barely able to standup as my strength left my body.

Vivian suddenly stepped closer, pressing a hand that felt deliciously cool to my forehead, her touch firm but gentle, then she tilted my head back, her fingers delicately pulling down one my eyelids to check under my eyes. Her emerald eyes narrowed, assessing me like a seasoned nurse.

“That is nonsense,” she said, shaking her head, her braid swaying. She grabbed my arm, her grip strong, and began pulling me toward her house. “You’re coming with me young man to my patient room.”

“Your what?” I croaked, my fevered brain reeling and struggling to follow her words, my feet stumbling as she tugged me along.

“No arguments, Jake,” she said, her tone commanding but laced with care. “You know I was a surgical nurse I’ve seen boys your age collapse from fevers like this, and had to be hospitalized. I’m not going to let that happen to you so you’re coming with me.”

“I have a patient room it’s well equipped with a hospital bed. I used to train student nurses there back when I was the head surgical nurse at Mary General. You need proper medical care, and I’m going to giving it to you.”

Her emerald eyes softened as she gazed at me, but she continued walking briskly and tugging me along as she snot glances at my flushed and sweating face, “You’re burning up Jake, and I’ve got everything you need to get you stable. Trust me, I’ve nursed worse cases than you, and I know what I’m doing. Now keep moving you’re in no state to be left alone.”

I protested weakly, “I’m fine, really….Vivian it’s just a mild…..flllu” but her grip tightened on my hand as she pulled me up the steps towards her front door “You’re not fine, Jake. You’re pale as a ghost, sweating heavily and slurring your words. You have a high fever and it looks nasty. I’ve got a bed ready, and I’ll have you sorted in no time. Now stop fighting me or you will see what it’s like to be treated like a silly little boy.” Her motherly tone silenced me, and I nodded as I staggered along, my head pounding.

At her doorstep, she stopped. “Coat and shoes off when we get inside I like to keep my place clean and germ-free.” I kicked off my sneakers and shed my business jacket, as she closed the front door and led me inside the house her hand firm. “You’ve got no clothes or toiletries,” she continued, guiding me through her house, “but I’ll fetch some from your place later once you’re settled.”

“I have a patient gown you can wear, and Jake while you’re under my care you’ll follow my orders. That means no refusing any treatment I deem necessary. Understood?” Her voice was stern yet reassuring the way a season nurses sounds, as I nodded again, dazed and blurry eyed.

We reached a room that as she opened the door felt like I was stepping into a hospital room frozen in time, the centrepiece was vintage looking hospital bed that looked like it was from the 1950 maybe even the 40’s with a heavy white painted metal frame and foldable metal cot sides. The bed was draped in crisp, starched white sheets that smelled of clean antiseptic, with a thin cozy flannel blanket folded at the foot.

A small counter with cupboards and glass doors was built along the wall near the bed holding varied items like syringes, stainless steel trays, and packets of disposable white, yellow, and green surgical gloves. Equipment was dotted around the room, on a table an old fashion blood pressure cuff sphygmomanometer with a mercury column, a heavy chrome stethoscope, a classic enema kit with thick rubber tubing was also in view, a bulky electrocardiogram (ECG) machine with analog dials, and a mobile surgical light with a pivoting arm, was close by ready to shine on a patient.

The room had beige tiles gleaming under foot and the walls were painted a clean sterile white with the pot lights in the ceiling humming, and the air was thick with smell of latex and disinfectant, with a small white fridge humming in one corner.

“This room was my patient medical training room,” Vivian said, her voice proud. “I taught many young woman here how to be nurses teaches many things like sterile technique, bedding, patient care and examinations. It’s still fully functional and perfect for me to take care of you Jake.”

She pulled me to the bed and pushed me onto the bed, the sheets cool and rigid against my feverish skin. “Stay right there,” she ordered, her tone of a dominant nurse but caring, as she raised the cot sides of the bed with a clang. “Don’t you dare move a muscle, Jake. I need to change into proper medical attire to care for you properly, and I expect absolute obedience. You’re too sick to wander, and I’ve handled stubborn boys who thought they were tough but needed my care. Stay put, and I’ll be back in a moment to get you settled into bed.”

Her emerald eyes bored into mine, emphasizing if I tired to move in my condition I would regret it, I nodded, laying my head back onto the pillow, the white metal frame felt wonderfully cool under my fingers, as my fever raged.

Vivian went to a tall cabinets, its hinges creaking, and returned holding a neatly folded blue nurses scrub dress, a green surgical gown. She laid the gown on the end of the bed, and grabbed the blue scrub dress and stepped behind a folding patient screen in the far corner, the faint rustle of fabric was audible as she changed.

Vivian emerged transformed, and my breath hitched. The scrub dress hugged her voluptuous curves, her massive breasts straining the front, paired with black pantyhose and white clogs. Her grey braid gleamed, framing her beautiful face. For a woman in her 60’s she looked like someone who could pass for a sexy milf in her 50’s easily my feverish horny 29 year old brain thought.

She retrieved a white cloth surgical mask and yellow surgical gloves from a cabinet, tying the mask over her face, her emerald eyes sharp above it. She pulled the green surgical gown on next, tying it tightly to accentuate her curves, the fabric swishing softly. With a loud snap, she donned yellow surgical gloves, the latex gleaming under the light. I could smell the potent rubbery latex scent, of the gloves and watched feverishly mesmerized as the latex gloves molded to her hands like a second skin.

I stared, captivated by my next door neighbour Vivian’s medical transformation. The old lady I had seen in passing and exchanged pleasant chats on occasion now stood before me a mature and alluring nurse. Dressed now in a surgical gown, the mask and latex gloves, with the slight swish of her pantyhose legs rubbing together as she walked towards the bed. My penis stirred growing rapidly hard and straining my business pants as I lay there.

She approached the bed, lowering one of the cot sides, and went to another cabinet, retrieving a thin, pale green cotton patient

gown with string ties at the back, It was starched stiff and folded with precision smelling sterile and clean. “You need to change into this for hygiene and medical needs,” she said, holding up the patient gown. “I’ll help you.” I protested, my voice weak, “I can do it myself..Vi…:” but she cut me off, her nurses tone firm yet commanding. “Hush, Jake. I’ve seen plenty of young men naked in my nursing days and you have nothing to be embarrassed about that I have not seen before.”

“You’re also too weak to manage on your own, so let me handle this.” She went to the cabinet and, from a box pulled out a white plastic apron, its surface crinkling as she shook it out. She pulled it over her neck and tying it tightly over her gown, the knot pulling the fabric snug against her massive breasts, the apron’s sheen catching the light. Her surgical mask and latex gloves completed the sterile surgical ensemble, and she leaned closer, her gloved fingers brushing my arm subtly, sending a shiver through me.

As she helped me out of my sweat soaked business clothes, my erection sprang free, my rock-hard penis impossible to hide as she took down my boxers and pants.

I stammered and got even more red feel embarrassed, “I’mmmm… sorry, I’m delirious, I didn’t mean for…..” Vivian laughed softly behind her surgical mask, her emerald eyes twinkling with intrigue, an interesting glint sparkling in them as she studied my cock for a long moment, her breath catching slightly.

Her expression shifted, a mix of arousal and happiness flickering, though a nervous edge lingered in her eyes. “It’s a compliment for an old lady like me Jake,” she said, her voice warm but tinged with hesitation, the glint intensifying. I slurred, “You’re not old… you look amazing and beautiful. I’ve always sneaked peeks at your gorgeous big breasts trying to figure out the size.”

Her laugh deepened, her mask crinkling, her massive breasts heaving under the apron and gown, her eyes brightening with joy but still betraying a hint of nervesness. “Oh, Jake, you’re feverish and I think slightly

delirious, but that’s quite the flattering comment,” she said, her tone warm, her happiness growing as she savored his reaction, though her hands fidgeted slightly. “No matter, you’re in my care now, and I’ll take good care of you.”

She help eased me into the patient gown, her gloved fingers brushing my skin, lingering near my cock, the latex’s cool touch sending a jolt through me. My erection strained against the thin cotton, and her breathing quickened, her pantyhose legs shifting subtly, a slight flush creeping up her neck, a faint squeak from her apron as she moved, her nervous excitement growing. She tied the back of the gown and held me under the thin sheet.

She raised the beds cot side, and pulled over and turned on the surgical light, its beam bathing her in a clinical glow. She went to a shelf, retrieving a clipboard with a paper patient chart attached. “I’ll record all your readings, temperature, pressure, everything. Help keep things accurate and help me figure out what’s wrong with you,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a warm edge, her happiness evident as she noted Jake’s responsiveness at his crotch still.

My cock twitched again, and she noticed, her smile widening behind the mask, her arousal and joy deepening, though her hands trembled slightly as she jotted notes, her braid swaying, her gloved fingers brushing the chart gently.

“First, let’s check your temperature,” she said, walking to the cabinet and selecting a glass thermometer from a sterile tray, its slender form catching the light. “This gives an exact reading.” She shook it down with a flick, the gloves squeaking, and sterilized it with an alcohol swab, her gloved fingers precise. “Open your mouth, Jake.” Her fingers grazed my lips, the strong taste of the latex gloves electrifying, as she slid the thermometer under my tongue.

My erection pulsed, and Vivian’s emerald eyes sparkled, her breathing quickening as she leaned closer, her massive breasts grazing the bed’s edge, the apron crinkling, her expression a mix of arousal and nervous happiness. “Hold it under your tongue for five minutes,” she said, her voice warm, checking a wall clock as she felt my forehead with a gloved hand. “You’re doing ok, but you’re burning up.” The wait was torturous, my arousal blatant, and her flush spreading more, her pantyhose squeaking as she shifted, her internal joy at his reaction tinged with nervousness.

She removed the thermometer, read it under the light, and noted “100.8°F” on her chart, her gloved hand steady. “Very high

Jake, but we’ll manage it,” she said, her tone reassuring, her eyes flicking to my bulge with a happy, slightly anxious smile unseen by him under her surgical mask.

Next, she checked my blood pressure. “This old fashion blood pressure cuff ensures accuracy,” she said, retrieving a cloth cuff and bulb, the mercury column glinting. “It measures arterial pressure.” Her gloved hands tightened the cuff around my arm, the latex cool and slick, and she pumped the bulb, the column rising slowly. She than placed her stethoscope against my skin, its coldness making me shiver, my erection tenting the gown. “Breathe deeply but normally,” she instructed, her voice warm and encouraging, listening intently.

The pressure squeezed my arm, mirroring the pulse in my groin. “Your pressure’s 140/90 elevated from fever and… excitement,” she said, her tone light with joy, her massive breasts swaying as she adjusted the cuff, her apron crinkling softly. Her flush deepened, her emerald eyes locked on tented gown, her pantyhose squeaking, her arousal and happiness growing, though her nervous fidgeting persisted.

She recorded the reading, her clipboard clicking, and said, “We’ll keep an eye on that, Jake. You’re responding… strongly.”

“Your fever’s going to cause severe dehydration,” she said, moving to the side of the bed pulling out an IV stand with a audible snap that seemed to be built into the back of the bed.

“I’m going to run an IV line so we can deliver fluids and antibiotics to fight infection.” She snapped on fresh white surgical gloves, the snap echoing, and began gathered supplies: a glass bottle of saline from a fridge, rubber tubing, a steel needle, alcohol swabs, adhesive tape, and a latex tourniquet, each laid out on a sterile tray.

“I’m preparing the IV line,” she explained, checking the bottle of saline and murrming “good still valid was worried”, clamping the tubing, and priming it, air bubbles rising slowly. I stammered, feverish, “I don’t do well with needles, Vivian...” Her emerald eyes softened, her expression warm but nervous. “You need this, Jake. The fluids will cool your fever and stabilize you. I’ve done this thousands of times just trust me, you’re in safe hands. Please relax, and I’ll make it quick promise.”

She gently swabbed my arm, her gloved fingers lingering, and tied the tourniquet tightly, her fingers pressing along my forearm to find a nice juicy vein, pausing to tap a prominent one. “This one’s perfect,” she murmured, her voice calm but with a happy lilt. “This will sting briefly,” she warned, aligning the needle under the surgical light, the steel glinting.

I winced but tired not to move as she inserted it slowly, my erection throbbing despite my fear, as she adjusted the needle, securing it with the clear tape. She hung the glass bottle, adjusting the drip rate, each drop a slow rhythm. The 25-minute setup was meticulous, and Vivian’s chest heaved, her flush vivid, her massive breasts prominent under the apron. “You’re doing fine,” she murmured, her voice warm, her pantyhose shifting as she leaned closer, her gloved fingers brushing my arm gently, her happiness and arousal intensifying, though her hands shook slightly.

“My late husband loved getting IVs… the surgical gloves, the sterile ritual,” she confessed, her joy tinged with nervous excitement. She noted “IV started, 500mL saline” on her chart, her latex gloved hand steady.

As I lay there my fever worsened, my vision blurred and I became very delirious, but I swore I saw something unreal a few hours later as I half slept.

As I moaned and twitched in the bed I groggily opened my eyes and swear I saw Vivian sitting across the room on a low stool, her surgical gown and scrub dress were hiked up to her waist, her legs spread wide but her black pantyhose were actually crotchless, exposing a thick patch of grey pubic hair covering her pussy that glistening with arousal.

I watched I’m delirious shock as her latex gloved hands were feverishly working between her legs, two latex covered fingers were plunging deep into her wet, vagina, curling inside her, while her other hand looked like it was rubbing her clit in slow rhythmic circles.

She was moaning softly, her massive breasts heaving under the surgical gown, her emerald eyes half-lidded with pleasure, her pantyhose framing her exposed flesh. “Oh, Jake,” she gasped, her voice a low whispering moan, her fingers slick with her own juices, the latex gleaming as she pleasured herself, her hips bucking, her pussy clenching tightly around her fingers, a faint squelch echoing in the sterile room.

I than blinked, my fever burning, my breathing ragged, and my vision blurred as I closed my eyes in exhaustion. When I opened them again the vision had vanished and Vivian was beside me, gently wiping a cool, damp cloth across my forehead, while cool gel packs were packed around my body. Her latex gloved hand steady and soothing, while her other hand adjusted the IV drip.

Her emerald eyes looked clinical but concerned, a flicker of worry in their depths, though her flush and bright eyes betrayed her arousal and happiness. “You’re get worse and burning up Jake and you’re very delirious,” she said, her voice warm but firm, noticing my glazed stare. “We’ll get your fever down, Jake, and give you some relief I promise.”

As she set the cloth aside, her gloved hand grazed my throbbing erection through the gown, a fleeting, deliberate touch that sent a jolt through me. Her eyes softened with joy, a nervous smile hidden behind her surgical mask, her pantyhose swishing as she shifted, her own hidden arousal barely concealed.

My erection pulsed harder, and she leaned back, her tone gentle, “Stay with me, Jake I promise to get you healthy no matter what.”

My fever surged, chills wracking my body, and Vivian’s concern deepened. She took my temperature again but it took a while as I had trouble holding the thermometer in my mouth “101.9 °F……your fever’s too high, and we need to eliminate some possible reasons for it,” she said, her tone clinical but her emerald eyes bright with arousal and happiness, a nervous edge in her fidgeting hands. “I’m going to need to do a rectal exam to assess your prostate and rectal area.” She paused waiting for me to say more but insist alt there feeling to delicious to argue or question it.

She helped position me on my left side, her gloved hands firm yet gentle, guiding my legs to bend at the knees. She reached for a spare pillow, fluffing it briefly, and slid it under my butt, elevating my hips for better access. “This will make it easier,” she explained, her voice steady but warm. She retrieved a tube of lubricant, a sterile drape, a packet of green latex gloves, and a pack of baby wipes, the items clinking softly on a sterile tray.

She lowered the cot side with a soft clang and pulled back the covers, the cool air making me gasp and shiver as it hit my damp gown. She raised my gown, exposing my naked lower body, and draped the sterile sheet over me, its crisp, papery texture brushing my skin, adding to the chill.

As she began to pry me ass cheeks apart she tutted “Hmmm Jake some faecal residue at your rectum”, she murmured, “We need to teach you to wipe better back here it seems dear.”

She opened the packet of baby wipes, the faint scent of alcohol and aloe filling the air, as she gently partied my butt cheeks with one gloved hand, her touch tender but firm.

The cool, damp wipe glided over my rectum, cleaning thoroughly, the sensation both clinical and intimate, making my erection throb harder, her eyes brightening with joy at my response, her nervous excitement continuing to grow.

Vivian than snapped off her white latex gloves and opened the packet of sterile green latex gloves, the snap sharp as she pulled them on, the glossy green latex molding tightly to her fingers, gleaming under the surgical light.

She adjusted the light to focus on my lower body, its beam bright against crisp white of the bed. She opened the tube of lubricant with a soft pop, squeezing a generous dollop onto her left gloved hand, working it until her green latex gloved hand glistened.

“Have you ever had a rectal exam or prostate check before, Jake?” she asked, her voice warm and encouraging, her green gloved fingertip beginning to teasing the sensitive entrance of my rectum, circling slowly.

I moaned feverishly, my voice hoarse, “No never.” My body tensed instinctively, and she paused, her emerald eyes softening, a nervous quiver in her hands. “You need to relax more so I can exam you,” she whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, her warm thigh pressing against my leg through her pantyhose, the contact electric.

She lifted my gown up further, exposing my rock-hard erection, and her right gloved hand gently grasped my shaft, her touch deliberate, the green latex feeling cool and smooth. I moaned and pleaded, “Please,” as she began to slowly stroke me, her grip firm yet teasing, each glide along my shaft sending shivers through me, her eyes sparkled with arousal and happiness, her body almost vibrating with her nervous energy.

Her left gloved hand returned to my rectum, teasing the entrance with slow, circular motions, her lubricated latex finger began to inch in. “Good boy, let me in” she cooed, her voice warm, as her middle finger slowly sank into my rectum, the intrusion deliberate and intimate, the green latex gliding smoothly past my tight anal ring.

She explored gently, her finger curling slightly, feeling the warm, smooth walls, her movements precise as she probed deeper, seeking my prostate. Her right hand continued stroking my shaft, the rhythm synchronized, the latex material amplifying the sensation, my body trembling with arousal. “That’s it breathe deeply, Jake,” she murmured, her voice thick with arousal, her massive breasts heaving under the apron and surgical gown, her pantyhose swishing softly, her hidden expression a mix of joy and nervous excitement.

Her right hand paused briefly to reach for a sterile green cloth from the tray, positioning it gently over the head of my penis to catch my ejaculation, that she could tell was building. Her right finger found my prostate, pressing firmly, the sensation electric, like a jolt of pleasure and pressure radiating through my pelvis.

She massaged it in slow, deliberate circles, her green gloved finger expertly applying just enough force, the latex slick and unrelenting, while her right hand resumed stroking my shaft rhythmically.

I gasped and moaned, my body arching against the pillow, the beds frame rattling. The combined stimulation of her finger massaging my prostate and her hand stroking my shaft with the cloth friction poised to catch my release pushed me over the edge.

I climaxed loudly, a small cry escaping my lips as I ejaculated into the sterile cloth, thick spurts of cum soaking it, the release intense and shuddering. Vivian’s right hand grasped my penis holding the cloth firmly over the head, catching every pulse to prevent any mess, while her left hand, with her finger still in my rectum, gently teased my balls, coaxing the last drops of semen out, her movements slow and deliberate, the green latex slick against my sensitive skin.

“What a nice, healthy response that was,” she cooed sweetly, her emerald eyes smoldering with arousal and happiness, her surgical mask crinkling with a joyful smile, her nervous energy softening slightly.

Her breathing grew ragged as she continued, “My late husband used to love this type of exam, the latex gloves, my nurse’s uniform it was one of his sexual fetishes.” Her voice dropped to a warm hushed whisper, her flush vivid, “After, we’d have rather messy and wonderful sex.” She leaned closer, her thigh still pressed against my leg, and added, “We’ll get you healthy, Jake. Your nurse Vivian will take care of you.”

She slowly withdrew her finger from my rectum, the green latex glistening with lubricant, and set the cum-soaked cloth aside. Opening the pack of baby wipes again, she cleaned my penis and anus with gentle, thorough strokes, the cool wipes soothing my sensitive skin, her gloved hands tender but precise, her eyes bright with joy at my responsiveness.

She then helped gently laid me back on the bed, fluffing the pillows under my head to ensure comfort, and pulled the covers over me, the sheets cool against my fevered skin. She checked the IV drip, adjusting the flow with a practiced hand, ensuring the saline dripped steadily. I slurred deliriously, “You’re so incredible, Vivian… your sexy nurse’s uniform, your surgical outfit, it’s wonderful.”

She chuckled softly behind her surgical mask, her emerald eyes twinkling with happiness, a nervous flush on her face, “I’m happy you think so, Jake.” Her tone was warm, her joy deepening, though her nervousness lingered.

With a snap, she peeled off her green latex gloves and untied her plastic apron, the crinkle loud as she shook it out. She gathered the gloves, plastic apron and the cum-soaked sterile cloth, walked to a biohazard bin in the corner and disposed of them with a soft thud.

Returning to the bed, she untied her green surgical gown, pulling it off and folding it neatly, revealing her blue scrub dress clinging to her voluptuous curves, her massive breasts straining the fabric, and her black pantyhose accentuating her thick thighs. The surgical mask remained tied over her face, her emerald eyes bright and smoldering with arousal and happiness, a nervous edge in her posture and hands.

Vivian sat gently on the edge of the bed, her weight causing the mattress to dip slightly, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. She hesitated, her breath uneven, and in a low, unsure voice, she asked, “Jake…would you………..like to see how much I…….enjoyed giving you that rectal exam and prostate massage?”

Her emerald eyes darted to his, a mix of arousal, happiness, worry and nervous vulnerability flickering in their depths. I nodded deliriously, my voice a weak, hoarse, “Yes.” She took a deep, calming breath, her massive breasts rising under her scrub dress, and gently parted her legs slightly, her movements tentative.

She took one of my hands in hers, her skin warm but trembling slightly, and guided it to her upper thigh and pulled it up under her scrub dress, her touch hesitant but deliberate. My fingers traced the black silky texture of her pantyhose up her thigh, the sensation electric despite my feverish state.

As I reached the top hand pushed mine to her crotch, I expected to find the thicker material of a pantyhose crotch, but instead felt bare skin and coarse, thick pubic hair. I gasped, my fevered mind reeling, realizing she was wearing crotchless pantyhose with no underwear, confirming that my earlier feverish vision of her pleasuring herself was real, not a delusional dream.

Vivian’s legs trembled slightly under my touch, her breath catching as I tentatively reached further, feeling the radiating heat of her vagina. My fingers ran through her thick pubic hair, damp with arousal, and I gently touched her vaginal lips, running a finger slowly from the bottom up, her wetness slick against my skin. I brushed her swollen clit, and she moaned softly, her voice thick with pleasure, “You’re so gentle, Jake… thank you for not being repulsed by my thick unkempt pubic hair or how aroused I am.”

Her emerald eyes softened with gratitude and happiness, her flush vivid, her nervous tension easing slightly. I tried to touch her vagina again, my fingers trembling, but she gently but firmly pulled my hand back, her voice thick with arousal yet resolute, “I’d love to go further, Jake, but you’re very sick and need your rest.” Her tone was caring, laced with a loving, lustful edge, her eyes gazing at me with a new emotional intensity, a mix of affection and desire. She adjusted my covers, her movements tender, her pantyhose squeaking softly, her expression radiant with joy and a hint of nervous anticipation.

She stood, turning off the surgical light with a click, then switched off the room’s dimmed pot lights, plunging the room into near darkness leaving only a small night light casting a soft glow across the bed.

Leaning down, she kissed me softly on the lips through her surgical mask, the sterile fabric brushing my lips, and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my darling patient.” She said raising the cot side with a soft clang, ensuring I was secure, and I heard her footsteps as she left, the door closing softly behind her.

My body sank into the sheets, exhaustion overwhelming me, and I passed out with my dreams strange and filled with odd feeling about Vivian.

I woke screaming, my body drenched in sweat, thrashing against the bed, my fever raging. Vivian was at my bedside, her strong hands gripping one arm tightly, her emerald eyes wide with concern beneath her surgical mask, her blue scrub dress and black pantyhose visible in the dim night light.

“Jake, your fever isn’t breaking yet,” she said, her voice thick with worry but laced with happiness and nervous excitement as well. “You’re too delirious and strong for me to handle alone, and I can’t let you hurt yourself or me. I’m going to need to put you in full psychiatric restraints to keep you safe till you’re calm. I’m also going to install a urinary catheter so I can increase your fluids but allow you to pee it out without wetting the bed.”

Her tone was firm but caring, her eyes bright despite her concern. I moaned feverishly, my voice hoarse, “Please don’t tie me down, nurse…” My body shuddered, my vision fading briefly, then I whispered deliriously, “I’ve never been catheterized before…” As my strength waned, my hand went limp in hers, and I murmured, my voice fading, “But you look so pretty and sexy… loved your crotchless pantyhose, and I do like you in latex gloves…vvvv”

Vivian’s expression softened, a mix of sadness and concern clouding her features, but her emerald eyes sparkled with lovely joy at my compliments, a flush creeping up her neck. She released my limp hand gently, her movements tender, and turned on the room’s pot lights, bathing the space in a stark clinical glow.

She moved to a locked drawer, using a key she retrieving a set of thick white leather psychiatric cuffs lined with soft, supple material, designed to secure a patient firmly without risk of injury, their buckles clinking softly, along with a wide leather chest strap for added restraint. “I can’t have you hurting yourself, Jake,” she said, her tone firm but warm, her emerald eyes gleaming with arousal and happiness, her hands trembling slightly. “Your resistance is a concerning sign if you keep fighting, I’ll need to administer drugs to keep you calm and perform extra procedures.”

She snapped on a pair of yellow surgical gloves, the snap sharp, the glossy latex molding to her hands, gleaming under the light. She approached with the first cuff, whispering warmly, “You’re such a special patient, my darling, but I need you secure and safe” I mumbled incoherently,

and deliriously, my body trembling weakly, and Vivian cooed sweetly, “Shh darling, I’m here for you, Jake,” her gloved fingers softly brushing my arm, the latex cool and soothing.

She gently pulled back the crisp sheet covering my left arm, exposing my sweat-dampened skin, and carefully wrapped the cuff around my wrist, the plush material cushioning my fevered skin as she tightened the leather, securing it to a special ring and strap built into the bed’s frame, the buckle clicking firmly. She moved to my right arm, uncovering it with a gentle tug of the sheet, her gloved fingers tracing my skin briefly before wrapping the second cuff, the material soft and cool, buckling it tightly to another spot, her movements precise yet tender, the latex squeaking softly.

My penis began to harden again, tenting the gown, and she noticed, her latex gloved hands deliberately grazing my erection, her touch light but intentional, sending a jolt through me, her eyes bright with joy and nervous excitement. “I’ll take care of my darling patient,” she whispered, her voice warm, her expression loving and lustful.

She continued to my legs, uncovering my left ankle by folding back the sheet, her gloved fingers brushing my shin as she wrapped the third cuff, the material snug against my skin, buckling it to the bed’s lower spot with a soft click. She repeated the process with my right ankle, uncovering it carefully, her touch lingering slightly, the cuff cool and plush, securing it firmly.

Finally, she applied a chest strap, lifting the sheet to expose my torso, the wide leather band pressing firmly across my chest, the lining soft against my fevered skin, securing it tightly to the bed’s sides, the buckles clicking ominously. “There we go, nice and safe,” she cooed, her voice warm and intimate, her braid swaying as she adjusted the straps, her gloved fingers lingering on my chest, her joy and nervous arousal amplifying the clinical intimacy.

With me fully restrained, Vivian retrieved a digital ear thermometer from the cabinet, its sleek design glinting under the light. “Let’s check your temperature again,” she said, her tone clinical but warm, her happiness evident. She gently inserted the probe into my ear, the device beeping after a moment, and she frowned at the reading, murmuring to herself, “Not good… 103.2°F. I need to call Celeste to consult tonight.”

Her emerald eyes flicked to mine, her concern deepening, but her joy and nervous excitement remained as she noted the temperature on her chart.

Vivian began preparing for the catheter procedure, lowering the bottom part of the cot side with a soft clang and bringing over a sterile tray containing a Foley catheter kit, sterile lubricant, alcohol swabs, a sterile drape, and a special sterile sheet with a cutout designed for the penis to protrude through, each item arranged with precision.

She adjusted the under bed straps to give my legs more slack, carefully loosening the ankle restraints slightly to allow movement. She pulled up the covers, exposing my lower body than gently lifted my hips, sliding a disposable blue sterile sheet under my butt, its crinkly texture cool against my skin, ensuring a sterile field.

She peel back my gown, revealing my rock-hard erection, still rigid and ready. Her breath caught, her emerald eyes widening with a mix of joy, arousal, and nervous astonishment. “Oh, Jake, you’re still so hard and such a handsome one too,” she murmured, her voice warm and happy, her flush vivid as she studied my cock, her pantyhose swishing softly, her hands trembling slightly.

She stepped away briefly, returning with a small disposable green sterile cloth and a tube of lubricant, placing them on the tray. “Your penis is so hard, it’ll make the catheter insertion very painful,” she explained, her tone warm yet clinical. “I’m going to need to give you a latex gloved handjob to reduce your tension first.”

She moved to the cabinet, rummaging through its contents with a soft clink of glass and metal, and returned with a syringe and a packet of lidocaine gel. “After, I’ll inject this lidocaine gel into your urethra to numb it, so you won’t feel the catheter going in,” she said, holding up the syringe, its tip gleaming under the surgical light.

She smiled the surgical mask crinkling, her emerald eyes softening thoughtfully. “I haven’t used this technique since my late husband passed,” she said, her voice wistful a little sad, yet joyful. “I’m so sorry you’re this sick, Jake, but I’m so happy to finally have someone I can take care of and perform medical procedures on again.

You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?” I nodded deliriously, slurring, “You’re gorgeous, Vivian… so beautiful and sexy love your big breasts.” Her smile widened, her flush deepening, as I asked, my voice trembling, “Will it hurt?” She leaned closer, her bare hand brushing my thigh, and cooed, “No, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel so good with this latex gloved handjob you’ll be relaxed, and the lidocaine gel will ensure it won’t hurt at all,” her tone warm and reassuring, her eyes bright with loving lust.

Vivian began donning full PPE, retrieving a green surgical gown and disposable plastic apron from the cabinet, tying them tightly to accentuate her curves, her massive breasts prominent, the apron crinkling loudly.

She snapped on white surgical gloves, the snap sharp, and opened a packet of special sterile green extended-cuff gloves, double-gloving over the white ones, the snap resonant as the green latex stretched over her forearms, their sheen catching the light.

She turned on and adjusted the surgical light to illuminate my lower body, and squeezed a generous amount of lubricant onto her green extended-cuff gloved hand, the latex glistening under the light. “Your penis is so beautiful, Jake,” she cooed, her voice soft and warm, her emerald eyes locked on my erection as she wrapped her glistening fingers around my shaft, the slick, cool texture of the gloves feeling electrically arousing against my sensitive skin.

Her touch was gentle yet deliberate, her strokes slow and soothing, gliding from the base to the tip, her thumb circling the head with a tender swirl, the extended cuffs brushing my thighs, adding a subtle friction.

“Jake you won’t be upset if I do some extra medical procedures on you while you stay with me, will you?” she asked, her tone warm and slightly nervous, her massive breasts swaying under the apron, her pantyhose squeaking as she leaned closer, her joy and arousal evident.

Her other gloved hand began to gently massaged my balls, her fingers rolling them softly, the latex’s smooth, lubed surface sending shivers through me, her touch expertly balancing pressure and tenderness.

The glistening green gloves glided up and down my shaft, the lubricant creating a slick, squelching sound, each stroke deliberate and gentle, her fingers lingering at the tip to tease the my head, drawing guttural moans from me. “Such a gorgeous cock,” she whispered, her voice thick with arousal and happiness, her breathing becoming ragged, her nervous energy softening into incredible joy.

My body arched against the restraints, the leather creaking, the chest strap holding me firmly, pleasure building intensely. She quickened her pace slightly, her green gloved hand moving in a rhythmic, tender dance, the latex’s unrelenting grip pushing me to the edge. I moaned loudly, my voice hoarse with pleasure, and climaxed, thick spurts of cum erupting into the small green sterile cloth she held grabbed with her other gloved hand, the fabric soaking up the cum to avoid any mess.

She continued stroking gently, milking the last drops, her touch soft and tender, ensuring every drop was captured. “Such a nice ejaculation,” she cooed, her emerald eyes smoldering with joy and arousal, her mask crinkling with a happy smile.

She leaned closer, whispering, “When you’re less sick, I can’t wait to swallow your yummy load with my mouth, Jake.” I blinked, my fevered delirious mind reeling, unsure if I’d heard such sexy talk correctly, her words igniting a fresh wave of arousal despite my delirium.

Vivian checked her green gloves for mess before gently adjusting my legs, guiding them into a butterfly pose with my knees bent and feet together, her gloved hands steady but tender as she repositioned the loosened ankle restraints to accommodate the new position, the leather creaking softly.

She retrieved the special sterile sheet with a penis cutout, its crisp texture crinkling and carefully draped the sheet over my groin, feeding my still-sensitive penis through the opening so only it was visible under the harsh beam of the surgical light, the green surgical drape framing it starkly against the sterile field.

Standing above me in her full surgical attire green gown, plastic apron, green extended-cuff latex gloves, and surgical mask her massive breasts prominent and her emerald eyes gleaming, the scene felt profoundly clinical yet charged with sexual intimacy.

I slurred deliriously, my voice hoarse, “This feels so intense and sexy, Vivian…” Her eyes sparkled with joy, a flush deepening on her cheeks, her nervous excitement palpable as she nodded subtly, acknowledging my words.

She snapped off her used green gloves, disposing of them in the biohazard bin, and opened a fresh packet of green sterile surgical gloves, the snap echoing as she pulled them on, the glossy latex gleaming.

“I’ll need to order more surgical gloves and medical supplies,” she murmured to herself, her tone thoughtful, her emerald eyes flicking to the cabinet as she adjusted the new gloves.

She returned to the tray, filling the syringe with lidocaine gel from the packet, its clear, viscous texture catching the light. “This will numb your urethra completely,” she explained, her tone clinical but warm, sterilizing the tip of my penis with an alcohol swab, the cold sting making me flinch.

She gently inserted the syringe’s tip into the tip of my urethra, slowly injecting the gel, the cool sensation spreading inside, numbing the sensitive tissue within moments. “There, that’ll make the catheter passage painless,” she said, her gloved fingers steady, her pantyhose swishing softly, her eyes bright with joy.

She prepared the Foley catheter, lubing the tube, its tip gleaming under the surgical light. “I’m begin inserting it slowly to reach your bladder,” she said, guiding the tube into my urethra with steady pressure. The numbed tissue felt only slight pressure, no pain, and when the tube reached my bladder, I sighed in relief, the sensation oddly soothing.

Vivian attached a syringe to the catheter’s inflation port, injecting sterile saline to inflate the balloon, securing the catheter in place, the faint pressure barely noticeable. She connected the catheter to a urine bag, hooking it to the end of the bed, its transparent surface glinting under the light. She noted “Foley catheter placed, 16Fr, lidocaine gel applied, balloon inflated, urine bag attached” on her chart, her clipboard clicking, and replaced the nearly empty IV fluid bottle with a fresh one, the glass bottle clinking softly as she hung it, adjusting the drip rate, her movements precise, her expression radiant with happiness and nervous arousal. “Hmm will need to order new updated saline bags as well” she murmured.

Unnoticed by me, Vivian moved to the fridge in the corner, its door opening with a soft hum, and retrieved a small vial and syringe, preparing an injection with practiced precision. She returned to my side, gently pulling my head to her chest, her surgical gown crinkling as I nuzzled against her, feeling the hardness of her nipples beneath the gown, her massive breasts warm and comforting. “You’ve been through a lot, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm, as she suddenly injected a syringe into my IV port, the cool rush of the sedative drug rushing into my arm almost instant.

I grew woozy, my vision began blurring, and she gently laid me back on the bed, fluffing the pillows. “I need to clean you, change your sheets, and you need rest, so I’ve given you a strong sedative to help you sleep,” she explained, her tone caring but firm, her eyes gazing at me with loving lust. I tried to speak, my voice slurring, “Vivvvv…” but she shushed me softly, her gloved fingers brushing my lips. “Sleep now, my darling patient,” she whispered, as the drug began to pull me down.

My consciousness flickered, fighting the sedative’s pull, my eyes closed but my senses clung to fragments of reality. I felt the chill of ice packs placed around my body under my armpits, against my groin, along my thighs their cold bite seeping into my fevered skin, a desperate measure to lower my temperature.

Through the haze, I vividly recalled Vivian preparing to bathe me. She donned heavy-duty PPE, layering a thick latex apron over her green surgical gown, its glossy surface crinkling loudly, and snapped on elbow-length, thicker latex gloves, their snap resonant, the matte latex gripping her arms tightly, extending past her elbows. She peeled off my patient gown, the fabric rustling as it fell away, leaving me naked on the crisp sheets, the restraints holding me firm. Her gloved hands inspected my penis, lifting it gently, the thick latex cool against my skin, her touch clinical yet lingering. I hazily caught her murmuring, “I’ll need to shave you soon…and check your other areas with a scope to rule out further possibilities.”

The sponge bath began, the warm, soapy sponge gliding over my chest, arms, and groin, her movements thorough, the latex gloves squeaking softly, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic soap and latex.

As the sedative deepened its grip, felt the end shift and her rolling me as she expertly changed the sheets. Later I overheard a longe conversation, Vivian’s voice bright but tinged with concern as she sat at a small desk, her pen scratching notes on my chart. “Celeste, his fever’s holding at 103.2, persistent, severe delirium,” she said, her tone professional but laced with worry, happiness, and nervous excitement.

“He’s responding well to the catheter and IV fluids, but his arousal…it’s remarkable. Every procedure with latex gloves, restraints, the sterile setup he’s so engaged, so responsive.” Celeste’s voice crackled through the phone, warm but equally concerned. “That’s worrying, Vivian. A fever that high isn’t breaking, and his delirium’s a red flag. Keep checking his temperature every 30 minutes with the digital thermometer and keep the cooling packs at his place armpits, groin and thighs. If it goes above 104°F, the moment it goes over call me, no matter the time of night, and I’ll come right over. I’m bringing drugs acetaminophen or ibuprofen for the fever, and morazepam to calm his delirium if needed. We need to get this under control.”

Vivian nodded, her braid swaying, her voice steady but anxious. “I’ll monitor him closely, Celeste. He’s young, strong, but so sick yet he loves the medical procedures, just like my husband did. The way he reacts when i touch him with gloves latex and the surgical gown, it’s so intoxicating.

I’m ordering more supplies sterile surgical gloves, catheters maybe scopes. I haven’t felt this alive since…” Her voice trailed off, wistful and a little sad but then she brightened. “I’m so happy to have someone to care for like this again.” Celeste’s tone turned curious, teasing, “You sound thrilled, Viv, despite the fever. Is it just the nursing, or is there more?”

Vivian chuckled, leaning back, “It’s everything really the precision, his trust, his enthusiasm. You’ll see when you meet him.” Celeste’s excitement surged, “I’m already packing my kit! I’ll be there first thing tomorrow to consult. Maybe we can try some of our old techniques together.”

Vivian’s voice softened, warm and joyful, “He’d love that, I’m sure. His chart’s filling up, but there’s room for many more procedures.” They both laughed, their shared anticipation palpable, Celeste adding, “It’s been too long since we’ve had a patient like this. I can’t wait to meet him.”

I fought to stay awake, my mind grappling with the sedative effect, the ice packs’ chill anchoring me to the moment, but my body grew heavier, my thoughts fragmenting. Who was Celeste? What would tomorrow bring? The questions swirled, feverish and unanswered, as the sedative finally overwhelmed me, pulling me into a deep, drugged sleep, as Vivian and Celeste’s voices faded into the darkness.

End: Chapter 1

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