[Fiction] The Sparkle Project

[Runesmith]

Dead patients certainly took up more time than living ones. Lynn wearily shuffled out of the ICU room, avoiding the family huddled outside (that was someone else's responsibility, thank god), looking for an empty EMR workstation to sit down and chart the failed resuscitation effort. The hospital management expected nurses to not only assist in resuscitating patients, while jumping at every order the physicians yell (brandishing charged defibrillator paddles, like idiots), but also remember every jab and shock given during the chaotic few minutes, including the exact times they were given, and chart all of that in to the electronic medical record once done.

Their recently-installed, cutting edge, fifty thousand dollar patient monitors (which had part of the word "intelligent" in their model name, probably added by some overpaid marketing guy with a bloated ego) only sent vital signs (which, during a code would look like - heart rate = 0, breaths per minute = 0, blood pressure = 0/0, Pulse Ox = 85... big surprise) to the EMR. An underpaid and over-worked nurse had to remember everything else and key them in to a bloody computer. For that kind of money those monitors should have something like Alexa built-in that would understand everything being yelled out during a code, and automatically chart in to the EMR, like they do with vital signs, she reflected. Lynn was clearly in the wrong job - she should have the job of that marketing guy.

However, Lynn had an ace up her sleeve. Whenever she ran to attend a code blue, she would switch on the audio recording on her phone and put it in her scrubs pocket. Recording anything without permission in a hospital was a big no-no, and she could face disciplinary action if found out, but that was a risk she was willing to take. She could listen to the recording afterwards and chart the meds without missing anything.

Before she could locate a quiet alcove where no one would notice the earphones, she heard a booming voice yell out, "Lynette!" It was Melissa, the unit secretary - an ancient and irritating hag who made it a point to get everyone's name slightly wrong. "While you were busy, you got a fancy gift box delivered. By some fancy courier, none the less. I left it in the pantry. So you got a boyfriend now?" she announced to the whole world.

"Thanks, I'll get it later," Lynn answered, heading to the other end of the ward. No, she didn't have a boyfriend, but had no desire to discuss that with the woman that most nurses called Melisandre, after the red witch in Game of Thrones - in reference to the witch's appearance after taking off the necklace.

Most nurses actually found boyfriends to be a burden (unless they were also nurses). After a grueling shift, all you wanted to do when you got home was to fall down on the bed and sleep... then eat... maybe masturbate, then sleep again (and then wake up and go back to work). Boyfriends needed constant attention, and most guys seemed to think of nurses as the bimbos depicted in their favourite porn movies - always horny, ready, and creative. With her 8th year in critical care nursing, Lynn had settled down to the tried and tested one-night-stand-on-your-day-off strategy. The box must be an early birthday present from her sister... although, why would her sister send it to the hospital instead of to the apartment?

She almost forgot to take the box when she left. It was small, light, a perfect cube wrapped in shiny purple foil, adorned with a pink ribbon, and no card. There was no rattle when she shook it. It maybe just an elaborate prank, an empty box with nothing inside... but even as a prank, who would spend money to deliver an empty box by courier? And what was the point anyway?

When she finally got home, she fell asleep with the box still unopened on her bedside table. After she woke up, and after a slapped-together sandwich and the cursory masturbation, she remembered the box.

It was packed full of styroform beads that immediately spilled out and clung to everything. Nestled inside was a smaller box that looked like the boxes that engagement rings came in. When she opened it, Lynn found a small USB stick instead of jewellery that she thought it might contain.

Her curiosity aroused, Lynn booted up her laptop and plugged the stick in. Inside the stick were six video files, numbered 1 to 6. She clicked on the first, and after the customary annoying spinning wheels that software engineers loved to add just to piss off people, the video started to play. It started with a black background, with the song "Pour some sugar on me" by Def Leppard - one of her favourite 80's songs. The words "Happy Birthday" appeared letter by letter as a cute little unicorn hopped across the screen. The video ended with a "Play Next?" message on the screen.

Lynn clicked on the second. It started with the same song, but it sounded like the song was not a sound track, but was coming from a radio in the background of a video recording. When she recognized the video, Lynn's blood froze in her veins.

[Runesmith]

Lynn had grown up in a rather conservative, very close-knit, middle-class family, with her mother and sisters. The all-woman household had made her somewhat shy with the boys at school, and her mother's steadfast refusal to date had instilled in the girls the feeling that they should follow suit. Not that she had much chance to go on dates with boys either - she was always with her mom or a sister no matter where she went. As a result, she was a late bloomer when it came to the dating scene. It wasn't until she was at college that she had even gotten the chance to speak to guys alone.

She hadn't had a boyfriend until the second year at college, and had been a virgin up to that point. With studies being a priority, none of the relationships at college really worked out, and when she graduated and landed a job with a prestigious healthcare network she bid goodbye to her then boyfriend with no real regrets.

Rob had been in a way, her polar opposite. The scion of a wealthy physician couple, he had breezed through medical college, oozed confidence and glowed with youthful exuberance. As soon as he had walked in to the ward on the first day as an intern, all the nurses were swooning over him, with Lynn being no exception.

Rob never had girlfriends. He had girls. He partied. He enjoyed every moment of his life. Still, he wasn't a poser playboy. He simply had that charm. Women were attracted to him long before they even knew how rich he was.

Rob, on the other hand, never flashed his wealth. There was no flashy sports car, no designer clothes. He was serious about his chosen profession, was compassionate and caring with the patients, had excellent bedside manners, and had an extremely curious, intense, and intelligent mind. These were the main reasons why Lynn developed a serious crush on the young intern.

Lynn took an effort to change her roster to match his schedules. During long boring night shifts they chatted, joked, flirted, and consoled each other when they lost patients. Rob told her about his intention to join Doctors without Borders and help people in Africa and Asia rather than take over his parents' private practice. Still, Rob treated her more as a colleague and friend than a potential love interest.

Lynn wasn't upset that she didn't get invited to his birthday party, just a week before his internship ended. She wouldn't have felt comfortable with his circle of friends anyway. Instead, two days later, when they shared the night shift again, she baked him a small cake and brought it to the hospital. It was summer holiday time, and there were hardly any planned surgeries scheduled. The ward was practically empty. There would never again be a chance for the two of them to be that alone at work. That was also probably why she took that crazy decision to bring a bottle of vodka as well.

That was a violation that could have cost her job. So was sneaking in to an empty day surgery room with Rob and doing vodka shots from paper cups. Having sex on the procedure table would have been grounds for instant dismissal. So was recording those videos, with her dancing and stripping to the tune of Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and going down on him.

Rob had recorded those videos on HER phone at her insistence. His phone was lying on a procedure cart playing music. HER phone was the only one that had had those videos. She had never even sent them to Rob. Some time later, she had probably erased those... or that phone probably died and she threw it away. She couldn't even remember.

That had been the first and last time they had been intimate. Rob finished his internship and a few months later flew to Somalia or Sudan or somewhere wih a DWB mission. He hadn't kept in touch. Lynn had known he wouldn't.

How had those videos surfaced now? Who had sent them? More importantly, what did they intend to do with them?

[saltychip]

As always... I love it

[Runesmith]

Unable to stop herself, she clicked on one video after the other. Lynn had led a sheltered life, and this was by far the craziest, most impulsive thing she had ever done, and up to this day she couldn't tell why she had done it. Maybe it was the fact that she would probably never see or hear from Rob again once he finished the internship. The strangest thing was that she had never felt guilty about it - the sex part that is (she did feel terribly guilty the next day about all the protocols they had broken, and what could have happened if a patient had had an emergency while they were distracted). She hadn't prayed to the lord for forgiveness, as she had done previously and since after casual sex. This had felt different - like having sex with a boyfriend.

The video showing her stripping off her scrub top followed by the bra... the one where she is kneeling in front of him and pulling his scrub pants and Calvin Klein briefs down in one smooth motion, and taking his erect cock in to her mouth while her hands were still gripping the pants... She couldn't remember actually whose idea it had been to take the videos. She couldn't remember a lot of details from that night... but the videos were bringing the memories back.

The video where he is bending her over the procedure table, pulling her scrub pants down exposing her white cotton panties, slapping her ass playfully before pulling her panties down and thrusting deep in to her... As she watched, she felt an unusual feeling of arousal spreading through her and a slight wetness between her legs, even though she had masturbated less than half an hour ago.

The one where she is lying completely naked on the narrow procedure table and he gets on top of her, trying not to make them both fall off as he kisses her passionately... she could almost feel his tongue in her mouth.

Why hadn't she ever watched the videos that had been on her phone? Was it a sense of shame? Or was it fear of what she had let loose that night? As she watched him cum inside her, clambering off the table, the two of them scrambling to wipe everything before remembering that the camera is running... she decided that it was because maybe it would have been too painful to watch. She had felt empty inside when he had never bothered to call or text, even though she knew he wouldn't, and even though he hadn't made any such promises.

There was one more video left.

As she feared, the final video wasn't sex. It was set to the same Def Leppard sound track, with a Star Wars crawl of text. It was a message for her.

[Runesmith]

Lynn read the words as they scrolled up the screen.

Well, you certainly did pour some sugar right there, didn't you?
Do you like watching yourself fuck like a dirty little slut?
No, don't lie to yourself, Lynn... After all, these videos did get you wet, didn't they?
More than any porn you've watched.
What about the thought of a stranger watching you do these dirty things?
That gets you wet too, right?
Again, don't lie to yourself.
You see, I know you better than you know yourself.

Regardless of how you were brought up, inside you is a cum guzzling whore that is waiting to be unleashed.
Believe me, you want it unleashed.
Just think about your life has been in the last few years.
Work, sleep, an occasional vanilla fuck...
Maybe you masturbate, but I doubt that gives you much fun either.
None of the cocks you have had in your cunt have aroused you as much as you were aroused that night, have they?
Have you ever wondered why?
I'll give you some time to reflect on that...

The words crawled off screen and only the sound track remained playing on a black screen. Lynn was in shock. Whoever this was, they knew a lot about her... her public life and her private... and even, apparently, her thoughts. The worst thing was, some of the things they said about her personality and thinking seemed... well, admit it, Lynn... they were also true. Yes, she could feel the wetness down there. And reading herself described in those demeaning, dirty terms - instead of anger and outrage, they seem to be making her... well... somewhat even more... excited.

In Lynn's life, sluts were always other girls. The girls in school who knew how to attract the boys and did dirty things with them. Like Sally, who bragged about sucking off the guys in the football team. Like the girls in the cheer-leading squad who were rumored to make out with the players behind the bleachers after practice. Or Jasmine, the skanky Filipina nurse at work whom Lynn had seen emerging from the on-call intensivist's room, with her scrubs and hair in disarray practically every time a male intensivist was on night shift (and yes, Jasmine openly flirted with many of them)... and also once when that very pretty Dr. Janice was on-call. Now that's someone Lynn would even call a whore (which is exactly what the other nurses called Jasmine behind her back).

Fuck was a very dirty word for making love... but in a way, she didn't actually make love with her occasional one-night stands. There was no love, just sex.

And that word this video used for her vagina... that was so, so dirty. At home, they had never even used a word like pussy. It was always either vagina, or "the lady parts". That word... the word "cunt"... that was so dirty and demeaning. And yet, just thinking "I have a cunt" made her lady parts embarrassingly wet. How did the person who sent her the video, whoever they were, know her so well? They weren't kidding when they said they know her better than herself.

A new set of words started crawling up the screen while Joe Elliot was boasting that he was sticky and sweet from his head to his feet.

Did you think about what I said, Lynn?
Were you honest to yourself?
Do you know why the things I said seemed to cut way too close?
Because they are true, and you know that.
You aren't living your life as who you really are.
You are living your life the way your mother wanted you to be.
Like you family, relatives, and friends want you to be.
A good girl.
This is why your life feels so empty, grey, and aimless.
This is why you don't feel alive... Alive, like how you felt that night.
Do you really think that is something bad?
Can something so good really be bad?
Do you want to discover who you are?
Do you want to be free of the invisible cage that holds you in?
Think about it. What's your answer?

No? Are you too afraid to learn how to live the life you were born to live?
Don't worry - I am not going to send these videos to the hospital or post them on the internet.
You will be safe...
Well, hopefully... I mean, it's not something I can guarantee, right?
I mean, in this digital world, things always have a way of coming back.
Like these videos you made long ago.
If I found them, the chances are that someone not as nice as I am might find them too...
Unless I remember to scrub them from the place where I stored them online.

Is your answer yes?
Are you courageous enough to start this journey?
Do you want to bring color in to your black and white existence?
Do you want to live, instead of just existing?
Do you want to feel instead of going through life numb?

If you are curious enough to discover yourself, download the messaging app called Kik, and create an account for yourself.
Then send a message saying "I am ready" to the following user...

After the 2nd time she repeated that video, Lynn reached out to her notepad and wrote down the username in shaky handwriting. It was only around the 3rd or 4th time she viewed it that she understood the subtle, rambling, and loosely worded threat. That hadn't actually been necessary. The wetness soaking her white cotton panties was proof enough of that. The fact that she wanted to read those dirty, demeaning (and true) words over and over again was proof of that.

[Runesmith]

However, before she went further there was something she needed to rule out. Lynn was no stranger to stalking people on Facebook, and she did regularly check Rob's profile. There were only two people who even knew those videos existed, and she was the only one who had a copy - she was pretty sure she never sent Rob those videos, especially as he disappeared from her life just a few days later, after perfunctory goodbyes and a box of donuts in the staff lounge.

It couldn't be him. His profile pic showed him smiling with a bunch of kids in an impoverished village in Mali. His status was set to "in a relationship", as it had been for many months. Most of the photos also featured that pretty Belgian eye surgeon who had been responsible for that status change. She had to admit - they made a perfect couple... young, happy, vibrant, tanned... the kind of photos that you see in magazines.

Arranging the courier delivery of a USB stick while being halfway across the globe was not beyond the capabilities of someone who had access to the kind of resources Rob had, but it seemed unlikely. Not only was he smitten by his blonde, green-eyed, Flemish goddess, he would probably not even remember who Lynn was by now. As she logged off the fake "Carol Wilkins" profile she used for stalking, she was surprised that she felt somewhat disappointed. She had been secretly hoping that maybe he had broken up and had remembered her, and... well.. actually, the thought of him sexually blackmailing her (maybe in to doing things even more daring than the videos) excited her, while it also simultaneously angered and disgusted her.

It took her some courage to download Kik and create an account. She used the same "stalker" email address, and when the app bullied her in to giving a phone number, she entered the number of the burner phone she had used long time ago when setting up the fake Facebook account. Not that these precautions made much sense when her blackmailer obviously knew her name and where she worked.

It took her a while to figure out how to search for the username - the stupid app kept showing her other, unrelated users while she was tapping out the username, and the one she wanted only appeared after she had keyed in the whole username. She was right not to trust an app this crappy with her real phone number.

With shaking fingers, she tapped out "I'm ready" and clicked "Send".

[sexyseniorctzn]

Always look forward to seeing these. You are good. Thanks for a great read.

[Runesmith]

There was no reply. A tick mark with a "D" appeared, showing that it was delivered, but there was no indication that it was read. Lynn paced nervously around the small living room unsure what to do, when the phone rang.

It was her sister, calling to ask what she would like for her birthday. As usual, her sister quickly turned the call in to a rambling rant about her boyfriend, her boss, her bitchy friends, and of course, about their mom. Her sister's world only revolved around herself.

During the call, the phone buzzed a couple of times, but it didn't register with Lynn. She was too busy trying to ignore the voice on the line while making the requisite sounds of agreement, while fidgeting and worrying about the strange situation that she seemed to be in. More than fear, she felt a strange sense of excitement, and that was the reason for the worry. Any reasonable person would have either ignored the threat, or would have gone to the police. Instead, Lynn had done exactly what that person had told her to do.

The call lasted more than an hour, as usual. It was only after a cool glass of water and staring out of the window wondering why she hadn't received a reply yet, that she remembered those buzzes.

The first message read, "Very good. So you have decided to cooperate. I am quite sure that wasn't just because you were worried what I might do, right? I mean, I did tell you that I won't leak the videos. You were more worried about what you might miss out, LOL."

That, undeniably, was true. Lynn's life has always been bland and ordered, and when it came to sex - strictly conservative. Even with the guys she occasionally brought home, she rarely did anything crazy - where "crazy" was defined as going down on him.

The second message contained a prediction that turned out to be true. "If you put your hand inside your panties and touch your cunt lips, you will find them dripping wet. That's how excited you are right now." It was scary how well this person... this man... knew her.

"I want to see how wet you are. Spread your legs and take a pic of your panty crotch and send it to me. Use the camera function in the Kik app so that I know that the pic is current," demanded the third.

Even with the occasional guy she brought home, Lynn undressed with the lights out. Other than during that romp in the procedure room, no man had seen her naked, let alone in her underwear. But this was worse than an underwear pic. This was an underwear pic that was very humiliating, because the person seeing it could see how aroused she was... and she was getting wetter by the minute just with the thought of it.

Before she could think herself out of it, Lynn pulled down her thick pajama pants, spread her legs and took a photo. It was blurry, and you couldn't see anything. She steadied her hand and tried again. This time it wasn't that bad - there was a tiny wet spot where her juices had soaked through the double lining, but you really had to look to see it.

With trembling fingers, she clicked "Send".

[Runesmith]

This time the answer took less than a minute. "Is that a wet spot I see? You must be oozing a lot to soak through those granny style incontinence grade undies... Now, be a good slut, and pull the crotch aside and show me your cunt."

A hot flush of embarrassment spread through Lynn's body, seeming to settle on her face, and that place between her legs. It was not just because the man had seen the wet spot, created in the first place by his demands. It was not just because of the demeaning tone of the last message, nor the dirty word he had called her, nor that word he had used for her lady parts - again. There was something else - a dirty excitement, just like that time she and Rob had made that video. This was something dirty. Showing her... her lady parts (she couldn't bring herself to even think of that word he had called it) to a total stranger on the internet was disgusting... and taboo. And yet, the thought of that stranger looking at it, admiring it, and maybe even pleasuring himself while looking at it, filled her with a taboo tingling excitement, and her lady parts were responding in a way they had never done when she watched porn and masturbated.

Lynn dropped the phone on the couch, and after almost tripping over the pajama pants lying on the ground, paced about the room nervously, trying to get this crazy thought out of her head - the thought of actually complying with the order she had received. That's when she felt, with each step, the weird feeling of her lady parts rubbing together while dripping wet. She pulled her panties down and let them fall. The panty crotch was soaked in her juices. Leaving the panties lying there, Lynn padded back to the couch. Before her front brain could talk her out of it, she picked up the phone and opened the app. Placing one foot up on the couch, she placed the camera between her legs and tapped the button. This time, she clicked "Send" without even looking. She knew it would be everything he wanted.

A minute later, the phone buzzed. "Excellent," read the message. "That's even better than what I asked for. I can see how wet you are. Mmm... I can almost smell your arousal. This has turned you on more than you ever thought it would, hasn't it?"

That was true. There was no way she could deny it. This was not the Lynn she knew. This was someone else, and that... that slut... was getting wet from this.

The second message followed less than a minute later. "That's enough adventure for today. Now for your reward - masturbate now. It will feel incredible."

That first sentence filled her with contradictory feelings - relief that it was over, and disappointment that it was over. She realized that she was rubbing herself... in the middle of the living room with one foot on the couch. The man was right. The orgasm was out of this world. Not like those lacklustre orgasms she got from masturbating to porn. She lay on the couch, basking in the glow, like some shameless slut.

She picked up the phone and looked at the photo she had sent. It showed more details of her down below than she herself had ever seen. The long, dirty blonde pubic hair had soaked and matted with the juice seeping between the gaping lips, a drop of which hung from one of the lips, gittering like a lightly milky opalescent bead. The clitoris was obscenely swollen, peeking out from its hood.

Then she saw the last message again, and realized the significance of the words "for today."

[Simon'sDares]

great storie. keep up that god work pleas

[Runesmith]

During the shift, using one's mobile phone was frowned upon but none of the nurses actually cared. Those nurse managers, who entered practice during the dark days of crappy SpaceLabs monitors or Ohmeda ventilators that went crazy at any hint of electromagnetic interference, had an irrational fear of phones being used in patient rooms. The truth was that since the early 2000s medical devices had been made to specifications that could withstand a hundred times more than what a mere phone could throw at them - a truth that was ignored, just to deprive those newly minted RNs of the wisdom of clincalc.com.

The patient was pale and the skin was cold and sweaty. Lynn realized that she needed a SOFA score before she could call the physician. Instead of spending forever for the damned Epic terminal to start up, she pulled out her phone to do a quick calculation. That was when she noticed a Kik notification. She didn't have the time to bother about that at the moment.

After that craziness (including putting in a large bore access in a barely-there vein) was over, Lynn headed to her "quiet place" to read the message. The "quiet place" was the ICU room 17, the designated VIP room (aka Crisco Christie room, in honour of a certain lard ball that had stayed there after a CABG), which was kept deliberately empty until needed. Unlike the other ICU rooms, this had a toilet that could be locked from the inside (and unlockable from outside only during an emergency using a special access code). It was more private than the thin-walled break room toilet, so most nurses used it for private calls.

Lynn opened the app with trepidation, and the bloody thing made her watch a 15 second video ad first. She took those seconds to compose herself. She had been hoping that there would be no message, but at the same time, she knew she'd be disappointed if there wasn't. No message would have meant that whoever it was wasn't interested in her anymore, and for some reason that would have felt like a rejection.

"I want to see you piss. Take a nice long video showing your cunt clearly, and your piss from the beginning to the end. And sound - I want to hear it."

Lynn felt her face burning as it turned a bright shade of pink. Sexual things were already humiliating, but this was way too much. Of course she had peed in secluded places with her friends during hikes and the occasional concert, but it was hidden, discreet, and they all averted their eyes, except when offering/taking tissues. And it was always girls. No guys had ever seen her pee - not even the guys she had had sex with.

There was no refusal, no bargaining. It was almost as if Lynn actually wanted to please this person. Pulling down her scrubs pants with her heavy duty panties and sitting down didn't seem to give a good angle, no matter how she tried. She had a full bladder, and there would be no second takes on this one for a few hours at least.

Lynn stood up, got out of her crocs, pulled off the scrub pants and underwear, and squatted on the toilet with her feet placed carefully on the seat. A slip and fall would be a disaster, and very hard to explain. Leaning back against the cistern, she got a good angle on the camera. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on letting go.

[Runesmith]

The video was somewhat shaky, but it had perfectly captured how the first few drops escaped between her labia, followed by a hesitant, tentative trickle, which was then followed by a hissing, gushing, embarrassing torrent. Yellowish at first, giving way to a clear, sparkling Champagne hue, the stream had come close to splattering the phone. The sound was... loud. Too loud. Her face a bright shade of red, Lynn watched as the end of the video showed the last remaining drops glistening on her labia.

Should she send such a dirty, embarrassing thing to a stranger? This was disgusting. How could a man get aroused by seeing a woman peeing? It was so intimate and invasive. Lynn was sure that most married couples had never seen each other pee. Her mom definitely wouldn't do something like that even in front of her husband. It was then that she noticed that the last few drops that were still hanging were rather viscous. Too viscous to be her pee. Remembering that she still hadn't wiped, Lynn ran a wad of toilet paper along the area and inspected it. It was not just pee. There was quite a lot of clear vaginal secretions on it.

That embarrassed Lynn even more... because it confirmed what she already knew. This dirty, filthy act of recording herself voiding her bladder for someone else to see had made her aroused. That was shameful... But thinking about how shameful that was, made her even more aroused. After hitting send, Lynn masturbated, squatting on the toilet. The orgasm was powerful and almost made her fall off her perch. Lynn had never masturbated on consecutive days - one "round of fumbling" as she mentally termed it, was enough to quieten her urges for several days. And she had never, EVER, masturbated at work. In fact, she would have been horrified to think that she would do something like that. Now, not only had she done it, but she had had one of the best orgasms ever. With trembling fingers, Lynn sent the video on its way, and got down carefully from the toilet and dressed herself, and discreetly exited the Crisco Christie room.

She was distracted during the rest of the shift, and felt as if she was walking on cotton. There were several buzzes on the phone, but she ignored them. She simply couldn't handle any more orders or demands. On top of that, her DECT phone chimed with a notification that she had been assigned a new admission. That would be a lot of work.

The new admission was a 63 year old male patient admitted with signs of stroke. The hospital didn't have a dedicated neuro ICU, and stroke patients were admitted to the general ICU. They generated a rather heavy initial workload, and nurses were assigned in pairs to handle a stroke admission. She saw with an inward sigh that her partner would be Jasmine. Jasmine was a capable nurse, but she tended to rattle off non-stop about everything under the sun while she worked. Male (and conscious) patients loved her. This one was unconscious and oblivious to the charms of a petite, big-breasted Filipina.

As they worked on the patient, Jasmine rattled on as usual, about her crazy landlord, the demands for money from her family back home, how her brother had got some girl pregnant, and everything else that come in to her mind. She only stopped when it was time to insert the urine catheter. "Oh my gawd", she exclaimed in her sing-song Filipino accent, "Uncle has a really big one. Waaw."

The patient did have a rather large penis, and it was engorged. This is a common occurrence in some types of stroke patients, where the influence of the parasympathetic nervous system predominates due to damage to the frontal cortex, and usually not a good indicator for a full recovery. It did, however, make catheterisation easier.

"This is so big," continued Jasmine as she applied Lidocaine gel on the catheter. "Guys in the Philippines have really small dicks, you know. That's why I like the guys here. What's the longest one you've had, Lynn?"

"Umm... I've never had a tape measure handy," replied Lynn dryly, hoping to stave off further discussion. Jasmine giggled, "You don't need one, silly woman. When you give a hand job, you grip the dick with your fist, right? The four fingers of a woman's hand together are about three inches wide. So if you just need one fist - three inches... sad face emoji. Two fists, six inches... smiley face emoji. Two fists and the head still poking out - well, that's what I call heaven."

"I don't give hand jobs," Lynn replied, trying to fight back the blush creeping across her cheeks. She focused on disinfecting the glans with the iodine soaked swab.

"What? Are you serious? What do guys go out with you for?", asked Jasmine in a genuinely surprised voice. "Okay, here's another way. When you give a blow job, and you take it all the way in until it hits the back of your throat, what's inside there is about 5 inches. I mean, if you really deep-throat it."

"I've never given a blow job," Lynn lied. Well, it was a half truth anyway. The only guy she had given a blow job to in her life had been Rob. Since then, she had never bothered with blow jobs, and refused when a guy asked for it. Most guys just spread her legs and rammed it in anyway. Using Jasmine's data, Lynn did a quick mental estimation and put Rob's length at around 6 inches. That thought made her feel dirty enough to feel a flush of new wetness between her legs.

"No way!", exclaimed Jasmine. "Wow, white girls have it really easy, right? You don't give hand jobs or blowjobs and guys fall all over you with rings in theur hands. We hard working Asian girls clean, cook, do the laundry, and then give our guys blowjobs and swallow... And they still cheat on us when we are abroad working and sending them money," she added bitterly. Lynn continued to work in silence, working the catheter in. The brief pause in the chatter was a relief.

"Hey, we should hang out sometime," added Jasmine, as a gush of urine flowed from the Foley catheter in to the kidney tray, "Maybe I could teach you some stuff. You know, the stuff you don't learn in school." The flow of urine reminded Lynn of what she had done just half an hour earlier, making her blush deeper behind her surgical mask, and she fumbled as she reached for the saline syringe.

"Mmmhmm", replied Lynn non-committally as she inflated the balloon while Jasmine attached the urine drainage bag to the catheter port. It was only when she got home that she remembered to check her phone.

[Runesmith]

As she picked up the phone, it buzzed. "Any plans for tonight?" appeared on the notification, and Lynn's heart stopped. She definitely didn't want to meet her blackmailer, and most definitely not tonight. An instant later, she noticed that it was not a Kik message, but from iMessage. The message was from Jasmine.

It was a bit annoying. Jasmine has been always very friendly to her, but Lynn didn't really like the chatty, petite girl much. In fact, when Jasmine first joined, Lynn had been assigned as her "buddy" for a month, to help the new nurse get up to speed, and during that time, Lynn had been rather rude to her. Still, Jasmine always had a sunny disposition, and had always been nothing but nice to her. Lynn sometimes felt bad about the way she had treated Jasmine in the early days, but she simply couldn't bring herself to like the Filipina.

Lynn replied, "Nope", knowing the next message would be "Wanna hang out?". She wasn't disappointed. Leaving it on unread, Lynn checked for Kik messages, but there were none. Curious, she clicked on the app icon to see if her message had been delivered. From the way the app started up, she immediately realised that it had hung earlier. Not only had her message been delivered, but there were three unread messages, whose notifications had not been announced.

Cursing the buggy app, and the fact that her blackmailer had chosen to use such unreliable piece of crap, she clicked on the messages.

"Very nice," the first one read. "I can see you cunt was dripping wet, and not just from the piss."

The second had come in about half an hour ago. "I want you to go to Club Phoenix tonight. Wear a short skirt with white panties. There I want you to dance with three men, and while dancing, I want you to grind your crotch on them and touch their crotch with your hand."

The third was even worse. "After the third dance, I want you to take off your panties in the club area (not in the toilet) and leave them under your table."

Lynn's face resembled a ripe strawberry as she read it. This was impossible. This was so dirty. Yes, she had the occasional one-night stand, but she wasn't a club slut (as her mother derisively called girls who partied hard). She preferred to sit and wait for a man to buy a drink for her, and then have a couple of non-body contact dances before thinking about taking him home. And taking her panties off in the club area? That's so dirty. Would anyone notice? Somehow just the thought made her treacherous cunt warm and wet.

Club Phoenix wasn't the kind of club she preferred. It was, in fact, full of club sluts, and on her one and only visit there, in the toilet she had heard very clearly the sound of a girl giving a blow job and choking as she did it.

If she were to go there, she would need someone who could keep an eye on her and get her out of trouble fast. Jasmine's message had, in fact, been a godsend.

Opening iMessage, she replied, "Okay. Wanna go to Phoenix?"

The answer was immediate. "Wow, someone sure wants to party, huh? I am up for it. We both have tomorrow off, so let's go wild."

She didn't have a short skirt, but she did have the mid-thigh little black dress that she always wore when she went out. That was the sexiest thing she had in her closet. She had to think twice about the panties. If she was going to leave it somewhere, she should wear something cheap or old that she wouldn't mind throwing away. But on the other hand, if this man wanted her to leave her panties in the club, most likely he would collect them... for his own perverted reasons, no doubt. So she should wear something nice.

Even before the logical part of her brain could ask the question why the fuck she should care about the opinion of a pervert who was blackmailing her, she had grabbed the pair of nice silky, cream coloured, bikini cut pair that she usually wore when she went out to pick a one-night stand. She'd have to do some underwear shopping tomorrow.

When her Uber reached the club, Jasmine was waiting for her. During the ride, her imagination had run wild with ideas about what the man would want to do with her panties... Was he going to sniff them? Keep them as a souvenir? Masturbate with them? She had seen many things during her rabbit hole forays of porn videos on XNXX trying to find something "respectable" to masturbate to. As she got out of the car, she realised that her thoughts had made the crotch of her panties wet. Well, the man was going to have a bonus.

[Runesmith]

There were people queuing up at the club, but Jasmine grabbed her hand and walked right up to the head of the queue. The ebony mountain of muscle at the entrance glanced at them, and his face lit up as his eyes settled on Jasmine. "Hey Jazz, nice ta see ya", boomed the bouncer, flashing a toothy smile, opening the rope barrier. "Hey Tony, great to see you too... Oh, she's with me", smiled Jasmine, pointing at Lynn. They both squeezed through, and Lynn didn't fail to notice the bouncer's hand giving Jasmine's buttocks a squeeze as they did. "Hey, don't do anything too crazy in there, ya hear me Jazz? Don't make me throw you out, 'kay?" guffawed the bouncer behind them.

"You seem to be pretty well known here", ventured Lynn as Jasmine whisked her through a dark corridor towards the club floor. "I come here sometimes", replied Jasmine playfully. "Tony likes me because I blew him once in the back alley once... It's always good to have the bouncer in your pocket. You know, it's true what they say about black guys - I almost choked to death on that thing."

That was typical Jasmine - always a bit too much information than you asked for. That revelation, however, made Lynn question her assumption that Jasmine would be a good wingwoman to rescue her from trouble. Jasmine would most likely be unable to recognize what sane people considered trouble.

The club was full, but Jasmine had reserved a booth for them. Lynn felt relived - it would be much easier to discreetly remove and leave her panties in a booth, than say, a bar stool. Yes, she definitely hadn't planned this well. It was a good thing that she had Jasmine there.

Lynn looked around nervously to see if she could spot anyone that could be her blackmailer, but no one seemed to be paying her any more attention than the usual gaze of men checking her out at a club.

A thought popped in to Lynn's head. What if the guy asked her to dance with three guys just so that he could be one of them? Maybe the perv wanted to have her hand on his crotch, but wanted to remain unknown, hence the three guys thing. So most likely, he'd make a pass at her, to make sure he is one of the three.

However, the guy had obviously not thought this through. He didn't, for example, tell her to accept any guy making a pass at her. Lynn grinned as she plotted her revenge. She would frustrate the little perv. She will decline all guys who make passes at her, and instead, she will pick her own targets. Let the dumb prick watch and squirm as she does to other men what he wanted for himself.

It didn't even take a minute for a guy to make the first try.

[Runesmith]

He was actually the kind of guy Lynn would have flirted with - a tan, muscular stud good enough for a one-night stand, probably a bit younger than herself. Definitely not someone Lynn could recognize. Still, the blackmailer would not brazenly make her come out for a hump session if he thought she could recognize him, would he? She turned down his offer of a drink much to the chagrin of Jasmine, who immediately started flirting with him. However, the guy, obviously rattled by Lynn's curt rejection, stammered a few words and melted back in to the crowd.

"Hey, why'd you just blow that guy off, instead of blowing him? He's a hunk," protested Jasmine. "Aren't you out to have fun?"

"Tonight, I want to be the predator, and not the prey," replied Lynn, surprised at the steeliness in her voice. Jasmine appeared surprised as well, started to say something, then thought better of it. That was probably a very rare moment, when Jasmine swallowed what she was going to say, thought Lynn to herself.

The next guy had a pick up line ready. "Hey, is your name Google?" asked his voice from over her shoulder. "'Cos you have everything I am searching for." Before Lynn could come up with a clever retort, she realized that the man was talking to Jasmine. Because of the stalker's plan, Lynn had assumed that all men who would come up to them would be hitting on her. Jasmine's exotic looks and sluttiness obviously out-shined any effect that Lynn's revealing black dress had.

Jasmine gave a giggle, as if it was the first time she had heard that lame line. "Oh, you must have been searching for hot Asian nurse porn then, you naughty boy," she said, patting the empty space next to her on the bench seat. The guy immediately slid in without hesitation, and Lynn found that to be irritating. "My name's Ron, but you can call me tonight or tomorrow," came the next lame line, and Jasmine giggled again and moved closer to him. "That depends on what you are packing, Ron," she said suggestively.

The man ordered a round for them, and Lynn watched Jasmine flirting shamelessly with him. When Jasmine started groping his crotch, Lynn had had enough. She got up and headed to the dance floor. The two martinis, one courtesy of Ron, had given her the courage that she needed. She zeroed in on a tall, skinny black guy dancing solo on the floor. He gave her an appreciative smile as she shimmied up to him, trying to match his moves. The guy slowed down, realizing that the girl in front of him was not even at a beginner level. He matched her awkward moves as she slowly moved closer.

"Imma gone foa a minit an' u already fixin' up with some ho?" came an irate voice behind her, an instant before she was rudely pushed aside by a curvy black girl in a tight purple dress. The man and the woman started arguing on the dance floor, and Lynn immediately put some space between her and them, weaving through the dancing throng.

Immediately, she spotted another target. A short, pudgy, middle-aged guy, in a white shirt and suit pants, next to a similarly dressed taller guy. They both looked out of place in the club, most likely out-of-towners on a business trip, looking to let loose after a day of meetings. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Lynn walked up to the short guy and started gyrating her hips in front of him. He was surprised, and with a delighted grin, he joined in. Lynn put her palms on his shoulder, straddled his fat thigh and began to grind her crotch on it, her short skirt riding up exposing her cream panties. The arousal was immediate. It felt shameful, yet liberating and powerful to be doing something this dirty in public, and not caring about it. Her right hand left the man's shoulder and cupped his crotch. "Fuck," she heard him exclaim breathlessly. Immediately dismounting him, she turned to his companion.

The taller guy was very happy to oblige. She saw the short guy watching with disappointment and bewilderment as she started humping his colleague's thigh, just like she had done with his. When she touched this man's crotch, she could feel that he was already hard. Her task done, she immediately spun around and walked away from them, hearing the shorter guy stammer out behind her, "w-wanna grab a drink?"

Lynn felt like a femme fatale from a movie. It felt powerful to arouse a man, but leave him hanging and hungry. Men could probably never do that to a woman, because when a man was aroused, he is committed. When a man is aroused, he loses his power. It's the same for a woman, but a woman could hide her arousal and women were trained from childhood to control their desires. That arousal was making the crotch of the panties uncomfortably wet, though. Actually, Lynn couldn't wait to get rid of the panties and get rid of that iky, sticky wetness. That thought ought to have shocked her, but she was beyond caring as to what her old self's conservative values dictated. This new found freedom was exhilarating.

"Woo... Someone's in a wild mood tonight," Jasmine's voice intruded. Lynn swirled around to see Jasmine on the dance floor with Ron. Had she seen everything? It seemed like she had. Hopefully she wouldn't talk about this all over the hospital. Wait, who was she kidding? This is Jasmine. Of course she would tell everyone.

"You certainly raised the bar, white girl! Now I really have to work to keep up my LBFM reputation," laughed Jasmine, grinding against Ron's thigh as Lynn had done with the men. Ron bent and whispered something to her ear and they both laughed. "Hey, wanna give a rub on Ron's other leg?" yelled Jasmine above the music. "That side is still free and I am not the jealous kinda girl." Ron was grinning from ear to ear.

Lynn shrugged, mouthed a no, and turned around, looking for another victim. That's when a horrible thought barreled in to her brain like an out of control freight train. What if the stalker/blackmailer was Ron?