Ron Taylor: Hot for dad

Without warning she let all his dick slide from her mouth. Betsy started kissing the underside of his shaft, kissing it with slurpy, smacking noises, making her way toward his tight, small scrotum. She let go with her hand just as her lips touched the edge of his jewel-sac, and she found that his nuts were small enough to suckle. Her mouth strained when she opened wide, but she got his balls inside, and she held them for a long, long time in a drooly caress. She didn't even have to suck. The pressure of her mouth on his delicate stones was enough to make Terry groan and squirm as much as his constraints would allow, and Betsy could feel the bed wobbling beneath them. Wouldn't that be a pisser, if the bed collapsed, and the attendants who came running to investigate found the hospital's most efficient candy striper still in the act of going down on a helpless patient?

It wouldn't happen. She'd been screwed on hospital beds and she knew they could take a hell of a lot of pounding. Her cunt still dripped whenever she remembered the young intern from med school at Columbus who'd been here last fall. He had a permanent hard-on, and it always seemed to point in the direction of Betsy's jiggly ass. She'd tried him on for size – he was the biggest she'd ever taken, over seven inches long, and thick, too – in the linen closet, on unoccupied beds, in an empty operating room, and once in the maternity ward waiting room on a slow day. And they'd never been caught. So why should it happen now?

Betsy hummed around the nuts she suckled, and she thought Terry would go out of his mind! Her eyes shot toward his face. He was so red-faced he could have camouflaged himself as a grape and hidden out in the Gallo vineyards. His eyes bugged out and his hands twitched in the air. Betsy gave his nuts one last suck, then let them pop free. Her hand immediately fisted around his erect pecker, and she stroked him up and down the way she'd done boys before she found out that fucking beat hand-jobs.

"This can last all day if you want," she purred at him. "I know how to streeeetttttcccchhhh it out."

"No, don't," he insisted breathlessly, "just let me come! I want to come so badly! In your mouth, Bets let me come in your mouth!"

"Mmmm," she trilled, pursing her lips, then licking them. She eyed the tip of his cock. It was wet, sloppy from her spit and from the natural fluids a man gave out to juice up his dick for intercourse. Well, he wasn't going to get the chance to screw her. Not in the shape he was in. Soooo…

Betsy gobbled him up once more, stuffing his cock into her mouth. This time she didn't try for depth or speed. She just engulfed him in her sweet ocean and sucked like his wettest dream come to flesh-and-blood life. Her tongue made lazy semi-circles around his tool where it was imbedded, and sighing hums of delight seeped from her mouth.

That was the funny part, she thought. She didn't really like Terry at all. Not as a person. He'd made fun of her, and Betsy did not care for being made fun of. The sting had been with her far too long. But his prick felt just like a prick in her mouth, and it tasted just like a prick, with a salty, meaty flavor, and she could really groove on sucking it. She could get off on the idea of his gushing into her mouth, too. The jism he'd been storing up since Friday at least. There'd be a flood of it, she was certain. Big, gobby spurts of cum. She knew so well how they'd feel and could be pretty sure of how they'd taste.

"I wanna cum in your mouth, Bets," he was groaning. "I wanna cum in your sweet, gorgeous mouth. Oh, don't stop, you hot-mouthed bitch! Keep sucking!"

A blonde girl named Betty or Beth or Betsy or something, had shown her the ropes this morning.

Sibyl Bogart wasn't sure of her way around the hospital. One of the veteran candy stripers, a blonde girl named Betty something, had shown her the ropes this morning, and she'd been gadding around like a freckle-faced Florence Nightingale ever since, but she had no idea where she was in the spacious building right now. It was fun, though, and it got her out of Daddy's way for a while. Oh, she hated to be away from him, of course. Sibyl had been motherless for twelve of her eighteen years, and sometimes she felt as if she'd been fatherless, too. Daddy was always in some exotic country, reporting for some newspaper chain or big magazine, and she rarely saw him. Now that he was home to stay, he cherished every moment she could be with him.

He was like a young girl's dream come true. Big, rugged, handsome in a real-man way (how could she ever have hero-worshiped a dinky twit like Danny Osmond? she asked herself). He'd been places and done things. He knew half the world's leaders on a first name basis. In spite of the State Department he'd interviewed Ho Chi Minh and Fidel Castro in their palaces long before that was a popular journalistic sport. She loved to hear him tell stories from his travels.

But he was busy now, trying to get two books finished. Paperback adventure books, based on his own adventures. He'd gotten big advances for both of them, and a movie deal was in the offing for one, even before publication. And she was in his way at the summer house, always underfoot, interrupting him. They'd come here so he could work in peace, in the bucolic setting of southeastern Ohio, but he couldn't work with a worshiping daughter at his heels. So she'd sacrificed her reunion time for the present and taken up volunteer work here at the hospital. It was okay. By October they'd be settled in California with all the time in the world for one another.

"Peppermint!" someone called – it was the address form for candy stripers until the girls had become faces. Sibyl turned. "Here," said an orderly. "Take this to Doctor Waverly." Sibyl nodded quickly, wondering who Doctor Waverly was. The orderly was gone before she could ask, but a nurse said she thought Waverly might be on third floor this time of day. Sibyl headed for the elevator.

She didn't see him – or her – in the corridor, but she wasn't familiar with the hall's turnings, and so she went with hope. On her way back down the hallway, Sibyl noticed a sign, hung from a doorknob, which read DOCTOR IN CONSULTATION – DO NOT DISTURB, and the name of Jeffery Waverly, M.D., was rubberstamped underneath.

She touched the doorknob. It said DO NOT DISTURB. But maybe this was very important. She looked at the envelope. You couldn't tell from the outside. Maybe she'd just peek into the room, make sure Dr. Waverly was there, see if he was busy with something serious. He couldn't do any more than yell at her. She turned the knob as quietly as she could and peeked round the edge of the door. "Oh, good Lord!" she said.

Betsy's head whirled, Terry's cock jumping from her mouth to wobble wetly in open air. She looked at the partially opened door and saw the face of a candy striper – the new girl, the shy red-headed one. "Oh, close the Goddamn door!" she barked, her hand catching Terry's cock for steadying.

Sibyl had half her body inserted in the door's aperture, and there was no real reason for her to enter the room as opposed to departing. Perhaps she still expected to find Dr. Waverly in here someplace. She didn't understand – even afterwards, she never understood why – but she stepped inside and closed the door firmly. The sound of closing was a cue to Betsy, who returned to her task at once.

Sibyl had known something unusual was going on, but not till now could she see it. She'd noticed that the patient's gown was pulled up very high, she'd seen that Betsy Pike was sitting on the bed, her head bent over the young man's lap, and now she could see that Betsy was carrying her candy stripe duties to a point which regulations probably wouldn't have approved. She was – good Lord! – she was putting the boy's penis in her mouth and she was – sucking it! – loudly, voraciously, with big smacks and quick jerks of her head.