GUEST BLOG: The Nurse and the Impaler

My wife and I arrived at our friends’ house with our overnight bags on a cold autumn evening for their Halloween party. The host was one of my closest friends. He and his wife were always gregarious and often threw parties though we didn’t see them so much since we moved away.

I had chosen to wear a Naughty Nurse outfit, an outrageously short skirt which barely covered the tops of the hold up stockings that my wife had lent me.

I laughed to my wife that I could feel the bite of the chilly air on my thighs under my skimpy skirt as we paced to the front door. She responded with a sympathetic rub down the front.

The door opened to reveal my friend dressed as Count Dracula, white shirt, black trousers, and a black high collared cloak, triggering memories of Bram Stoker Dracula’s, one of my favourite films. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he caught the movement of my wife’s hand away from my crotch and took in what I was wearing.

He smiled to show some party fangs then invited us in dramatically with a theatrically booming voice, “welcome, welcome friends, enter of your own free willl! Muhahaha!”. Ever the joker.

We embraced and exchanged hellos, then began mingling with the other guests in the living room; many friends I hadn’t seen for a while. The atmosphere was lively, music pumping and drinks flowing. The table was suitably decorated with black candles, skulls and spiders’ webs and generously laden with bottles and snacks.

I had a great time catching up with people, commenting on their costumes while trying to keep in character and being deliberately suggestive and flirty much to everyone’s entertainment: questions about checking people’s pulses, offering to apply pressure to swollen areas, or give mouth to mouth.

My friend was the perfect host, moving from group to group making sure everyone’s drinks were topped up. I enjoyed watching him easily engage with people, I had a certain admiration for him even after all these years.

My friend certainly seemed to be impressed with my outfit; as we were engaged in conversation by the table he leaned in close to tell me what a good job I’d done with the stockings, deliberately brushing my arse as he reached for some nibbles. This was a side of my friend I hadn’t really seen before, though I wasn’t offended by it. If anything it sparked a seed of curiosity in me. My wife appeared oblivious to this, engrossed in her conversations with others. I heard her laughter, she looked over and waved to me.

Soon, another beguiling comment as he passed me, “You know you’re scarily provocative with those legs”. I was definitely flattered by the compliment, and for a brief moment felt totally desired, the alcohol blurring the boundaries of friendship and reason. Maybe subconsciously I became more attentive to my friend, drawn by the gothic intrigue, watching him apparently totally in control of the chaos in the party and his surroundings.

I was dancing at one stage and saw my wife and friend engaged in conversation, leaning in to each other’s ears and touching arms and wrists in a friendly way. I felt a pang of envy seeing my wife with Dracula. Her eyes darted over to see me watching them; she appeared to mouth “it’s ok” as if reassuring me but I felt a certain conspiracy between them. My friend looked over at me, a hint of predatory amusement on his face despite his reassuring smile.

My inner contradiction swirled but my self searching was broken by a whooping from the people around me as a favourite song came on.

We mingled more.

Later in the evening as I was coming back from the toilet Dracula came over to intercept me, and on a pretext of adjusting my nurse’s lapel watch, pulled me close to him, telling me he may need some medical attention later as my outfit was making him feel faint. I laughed at his comment and gave him a playful slap on the wrist for the benefit of the other party guests, but secretly revelled in his attention. I subtly pushed my leg against his; his eyes instinctively dropped and I rewarded him by quickly lifting the front of my skirt just a fraction and giving a tantalising glimpse of my stocking, subtly shielded from the rest of the party by his cloak.

Eventually the party had died down and people had left. My friend’s wife had gone to bed already. I was still drinking with my friend and my wife but she looked tired. I told her that I was going to stay up for another drink and tidy the room a little with my friend. She kissed me and thanked Dracula for another fantastic party. She gave a wry smile, winked at us and told us to have fun before padding off towards the stairs. She paused, turned back with a wicked grin and told me to enjoy the ride before climbing upstairs.

We began to tidy up; I took some glasses through to the kitchen to wash them up. I heard Dracula step into the kitchen too, my back to him, my hands in the soapy suds. Keeping in his character, he put on a husky Transylvanian voice and said, Nurse, you have been an alarming influence all evening with your wanton attire, it’s me that’s supposed to be the scary one tonight!

I froze briefly then turned to see him standing with his cape spread dramatically, grinning. He stepped towards me; I felt my pulse quicken. Still looking directly at him I offered jokingly, “Dracula, have you come to bite my neck and take your fill of me?” and titled my head offering my bare skin. He laughed something about that not being a bad idea, then moved with surprising speed and playfully enveloped me with the cloak, a hand firmly on my side. He held my head in place and went to bite my neck. I could feel his hot breath on my earlobe, and heard a low growl. I honestly hadn’t anticipated his reaction – this seemed very physical and real now. I felt his hand slide down to my thigh, still outside my skirt, finger the elastic at the top of my stocking, then up, stopping on my backside with a gentle squeeze. My heart quickened and my throat dried. What was I expecting earlier? My outfit and innuendo had certainly raised the stakes but how far was I willing to take the role? I heard him inhale as if I was his prey, his stubble slightly prickly on my ear.

I allowed his sharp ragged teeth to graze the taut skin of my neck. His probing tongue slid wet and hot. I felt my veins throb, exposed and vulnerable. A moment of panic hit me and I flinched; through my tight throat I whispered “no marks, please”.

The Count pulled away yet his hand remained resting heavily on my arse.

“Come”, he said as he left me at the sink, “we have work to do in the other room”. He was right. I felt an immediate but short lived relief.

I hastily dried my hands and followed him, my heart pounding in my chest. I was still desperately curious and willing to use my character as cover.

Back in the dimly lit living room my friend was waiting for me in front of a chair, clearly ignoring the remaining clutter on the table. Our eyes locked, I was sure he could sense my apprehension and curiosity. I stepped close to him, now feeling very exposed in my skimpy costume. He learned close to my ear. I felt his hot breath as he quietly and slightly nervously said “Nurse, I think you should check my vampiric vital signs”. He shifted his stance, spreading his legs a little to show a bulge in his trousers.

I started to speak. “My liege… let me…” but the words trailed off. I dropped my eyes, now very self conscious, and pulled at his trousers, undoing the button and pulling down the zip. I slipped my hand inside his boxers and took hold of his half erect cock. I swallowed. My friend put a hand on my arm to reassure me. I released my grip then searched further down to hold his balls, squeezing gently, then more forcefully. I regained some composure and tried to laugh as I told him to cough, fighting to return to my medical role.

His cock twitched against my wrist. I took it in my hand again feeling the blood throb and strain through the veins as it hardened in my grip. “The blood is the life”, I whispered, more to myself than anything else.

He let his trousers and underwear fall to the floor then stepped out of them. The sight and feel of his cock was exhilarating. My friend ran his hand under my flimsy skirt, up my leg. I felt the change of sensation as his hand moved from the lace of the stockings to the skin of my thigh. My cock pulsed. He took hold of it and we began to wank each other, still standing in his living room.

My breathing was shallow, I closed my eyes to fully concentrate on the feeling of my friend’s hand stroking my cock. As I rubbed his shaft, caressed the tip with my palm and ran my thumb round the rim I felt him strain, leaking precum. I brought my hand to my mouth, licked it to taste my friend’s sweat and salty fluid, spat quietly into it then resumed my caress. I was lost in my actions and consumed by the sensation of his hand working me when my friend abruptly pulled away, my cock suddenly cold without his hand. I looked at him, eyes wide. He struggled to speak.

He was trying to find some suitable words but instead choked out simply, “Can I.. I want…”

I feigned ignorance.

“You want to play your impaler card?” We both laughed at the absurdity. I felt my cheeks redden but was now wholly consumed by the play. All I could think of now was resolving the unknown.

I turned my back to him and bent over the arm chair, spreading my legs and swaying my bottom. “Is this the operation you wanted?”

He tore off my boxers, ran his hands up my thighs once again, then stepped closer, forcing the tip of his cock against my tight arsehole. He pushed hopefully, naively, against me but friction worked against us. He continued to tease me as I lifted my head and found some olive oil on the table just within reach; I shakily poured some into my hand and reached round to lubricate my ring, pushing my finger inside, then generously slathered the impatient cock. My friend pushed against me again, this time I felt my muscle yielding, stretching to accommodate his rod. I spread my legs a little wider and pushed my hips higher to give him better access. Together we worked him slowly in, past the initial resistance, then deeper, gently pulling back a fraction before pushing further in again and again until I felt him wholly inside, his thighs hot against mine.

He gripped my hips and held me, thrusting in and out of my arse, using me. The sensation was startlingly arousing; my body fighting against my brain to reject the intrusion, the painful stretch and exquisite ache, my friend violating my most personal space while our wives slept just upstairs.

It felt utterly perfect for a naughty nurse.