The hospital at seven in the morning is a liminal place, caught between silence and chaos. The night shift lingers, pale and exhausted, while the day staff trickle in with fresh uniforms and half-finished coffees. I was already in the pharmacy, leaning over a pile of medication charts, when I saw her for the first time.
She came in with the head nurse, walking a little too straight-backed, the way people do when they’re trying to hide nerves. She was new. Fresh out of school, the head nurse explained, starting her rotation with us. A graduate nurse with her first real ward assignment.
Her ID badge swung on its lanyard as she nodded, smiling politely to the handful of staff who looked up. When her eyes flicked to me, she smiled again — soft, careful, like she wasn’t sure of the right level of friendliness. I gave her a nod and a professional smile back, but something caught in me instantly.
She was tall, slim but not fragile, blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail. The kind of beauty that didn’t need effort. What really struck me were her eyes. Green, sharp, cat-like, too striking for her shy demeanor. She held my gaze for just a second too long, then dropped it and looked back at the nurse beside her.
And I noticed her feet. Even then. White Crocs, standard issue. Ugly things, but on her they became something else. The way her ankle looked slender where the strap cut across it, the curve of her arch when she shifted her weight. It was just a glance, but it stuck with me all morning.
We didn’t speak that first day beyond the brief introductions, but I caught myself glancing up whenever she walked past the dispensary. She moved quickly, but not with confidence yet — more like she was hurrying to prove herself. Always polite, always a quiet “thank you” when someone helped her.
Over the next week I started to hear her voice more. Soft, careful, almost apologetic when she asked for help with something. She triple-checked everything before doing it, the nervousness of someone new in the system. But every so often, I’d catch her smiling — a real smile, not the polite one. It transformed her face, made those sharp eyes brighter.
I made excuses to talk to her. Showed her where the extra stock was kept. Explained some of the quirks of our ward routines. At first her replies were short, her eyes darting down, her hair tucked behind her ear as though she didn’t quite know where to put her hands. But slowly, gradually, she warmed.
It started with a laugh.
It was a late shift, the ward unusually calm, and I made some sarcastic comment about the charting system being designed to torture us all. To my surprise, she laughed. Not a polite laugh — a real one. She clapped her hand over her mouth like she hadn’t meant it to escape, her cheeks pink.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t laugh at that.”
“No,” I said, smirking. “You should. It’s true.”
After that, something shifted. She still carried herself with shyness, but when she was around me, it was as if a little of the weight lifted. She started making small jokes back. Little nudges, tiny bits of banter. And every time, she blushed afterward, as if she’d surprised herself by being bold.
I noticed her more and more. The way she brushed her hair back behind her ear when she concentrated. The faint floral scent of her shampoo when she passed close by. The way her Crocs slipped off her feet when she stood at the counter too long, stretching her toes against the floor. She had long, delicate toes, pale skin, toenails painted pale pink one week, clear gloss the next.
I tried not to stare, but sometimes she’d catch me. Not directly — but I’d glance up to see her watching me from across the station, eyes darting away when I met them. Once, she was balancing on one foot, the other bare, toes flexing against the cold floor as she adjusted her shoe. When she saw me looking, she blushed furiously, shoved her foot back into the Croc, and busied herself with paperwork.
That image stayed with me all night.
The weeks passed like that, tension building in small increments. A brush of her arm against mine when we squeezed past each other in the corridor. Her shoulder leaning against mine briefly as she pointed at something on the chart. The way she smiled now — fuller, more confident, but still tinged with shyness.
One evening I asked how she was holding up. She sighed, leaning against the counter.
“Honestly? Better than I thought I would be,” she said. “But it’s a lot. My body feels like it’s constantly tired.”
“You get used to it,” I said.
She shook her head, grinning faintly. “Maybe. I ran a marathon last weekend. My feet haven’t forgiven me yet.”
That word — feet — made my cock twitch instantly. I tried to play it cool. “A marathon? And you’re still doing shifts here? That’s insane.”
She shrugged, blushing. “It was stupid, I know. My feet hate me for it. They’ve been sore every day since.”
I glanced down. She’d already slipped one Croc halfway off, her toes curling against the floor. My eyes lingered too long, and when I looked back up, she was watching me, expression unreadable. Then she quickly pushed her shoe back on and changed the subject.
But the air between us thickened after that.
Another shift, a week later, she leaned against the counter beside me, hair falling loose around her shoulders instead of tied back. It was late, quiet, the ward lights buzzing overhead. She smelled fresh, floral, like she’d just redone her hair.
“My feet are killing me today,” she murmured, stretching one leg out, flexing her ankle.
I glanced down. Her Crocs were already on the floor. Both feet bare against the linoleum. Toenails painted again, a soft pink. She wiggled her toes absently, then looked up at me with a shy half-smile.
“Maybe you need a massage,” I said, my voice low, testing.
Her eyes widened slightly, then flicked away. “Are you volunteering?”
My chest tightened. I smirked. “I can multitask.”
Her cheeks flushed. She hesitated only a second before lifting one foot and setting it lightly on my thigh. Her skin was warm against the fabric of my scrubs. Her eyes darted away, her body language nervous, but she didn’t move her foot.
I started slow, my thumb pressing into the arch, circling. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes briefly, lips parting.
“That feels… really good,” she whispered.
I pressed deeper, sliding fingers between her toes, massaging each one carefully. Her breathing shifted. Not just relaxation — something heavier. Her chest rose faster. Her green eyes opened, watching me through her lashes, shy but unable to hide the heat gathering there.
I leaned down, brushing my lips against her instep. She froze, breath sharp, pupils dilating.
“You…” she whispered, voice trembling. “You’re really doing that.”
I looked up, meeting her eyes. “And you’re loving it.”
Her blush deepened, but her foot pressed against me harder, almost urging.
I dragged my tongue slowly along her arch, sucking her big toe into my mouth. She whimpered softly, her hips shifting against the counter. Her shyness trembled at the edges, breaking.
Then she shocked me. She spat lightly onto her own toes, smearing it with her finger, her cheeks flushed crimson. She looked at me, her voice still shy but steady. “Open your mouth.”
Her voice still had that tremble of shyness, but the words cut through me like a command. I obeyed without thinking, lips parting. She leaned forward, eyes locked on mine, and let a slow line of spit fall onto her toes. She rubbed it with her finger, cheeks flushed, then raised her foot higher until it hovered just over my face.
I stuck out my tongue. The spit smeared across it, salty and obscene, and my cock throbbed hard against my scrubs. She gasped quietly, almost shocked at herself, but she didn’t stop. Instead she grabbed my jaw with her free hand and kissed me, hard. Wet, messy, desperate. Her spit mixed with mine, coating our lips as our tongues tangled.
When she pulled back, her breath was ragged, her green eyes blazing with something I’d never seen in her before.
“Take these off,” she whispered, tugging at her scrubs.
We tore our clothes off in a rush, fabric hitting the floor. Her tits bounced free — small, perky, nipples already stiff. My cock sprang forward, heavy and aching.
She dropped to her knees before I could move, her shy eyes flicking up at me once before she opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around my cock. The heat made me groan out loud. She took me deep, gagging softly, spit bubbling and running down her chin.
She pulled off with a wet pop, drool clinging from her lips to the tip of my cock. “You taste so fucking good,” she whispered, then stuffed me back down her throat, sloppy and desperate.
Her shyness was gone now. She gagged herself on me, spit splattering her chest, tears forming in her eyes. I groaned, gripping her hair, watching the drool coat her chin.
“Fuck, you’re filthy,” I muttered.
She moaned around my cock, and the vibration nearly made me lose it.
I yanked her up, kissed her hard, tasting spit and precum on her lips. Then I pushed her back onto the counter, spreading her thighs. Her pussy was glistening, dripping wet already.
I buried my face in her, licking her clit, sliding my tongue up and down, devouring her. She gasped, clutched my head, grinding her pussy against my mouth.
“Oh god… don’t stop,” she whimpered.
I slid lower, tongue circling her tight asshole, licking it until she squealed.
“Oh fuck,” she cried out, shuddering. “That’s so dirty.”
I pushed my tongue in, fucking her ass with it, lapping at every inch before dragging back up to her pussy. She shook, moaning uncontrollably, lost in it.
Then I pulled back, panting. “Turn around,” I ordered.
She obeyed instantly, bending over the counter. I pushed into her pussy in one hard stroke, sinking deep. She cried out, muffling it with her hand.
Her pussy gripped me tight, wet and hot. I slammed into her, hips slapping against her ass, one hand gripping her hair, the other squeezing her waist.
“Harder,” she gasped. “Please… harder.”
I growled into her ear. “You love being my little slut at work.”
“Yes,” she moaned, voice breaking. “Yes, I love it. I’m your slut.”
I pulled out suddenly, my cock dripping wet with her juices, and pressed it against her ass. She gasped, eyes going wide.
“Wait—”
“Relax,” I muttered, sliding the tip in, spit and pussy juice slicking the way.
Her body shuddered, and then she moaned loud, almost screaming, as I sank deeper into her tight ass.
“Oh my god,” she panted. “You’re in my ass… oh fuck.”
I fucked her slow at first, then harder, her ass stretching, gripping me like a vice. She was shaking, drooling onto the counter, lost in the filth of it.
When I pulled out, her ass gaped slightly, glistening with spit and cum. She turned, eyes wild, and without hesitation leaned down and sucked my cock into her mouth.
Ass-to-mouth.
The sight made me groan, nearly doubling over. Her tongue swirled around my shaft, licking the taste of her own ass off me, moaning as she did it. Drool poured down her chin, soaking her tits.
“Fuck… you’re a dirty little slut,” I groaned, watching her swallow me whole.
She pulled off, gasping, eyes blazing. “I want it all,” she said, voice husky. “I want everything. I want your spit, your cock, your cum. All of it.”
She pushed me onto the floor, climbed onto me, and slammed herself down on my cock again, her pussy soaking, dripping wet. She rode me hard, tits bouncing, hair falling into her face.
“You’re mine now,” she growled, her shyness completely gone. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, my cock pulsing inside her.
“Good,” she moaned, grinding down harder. “Now cum in me. Fill me up. I want to taste it leaking out of me.”
Her pussy clenched tight, milking me, and I lost it.
The orgasm ripped through me, hot and violent. I exploded inside her, filling her pussy with thick spurts. She screamed, cumming with me, soaking my cock, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Cum leaked out instantly, dripping down onto my balls. She grinned, panting, and slid off me. Then — filthy, wild — she bent down and licked the mess off my cock, slurping my cum and her juices mixed with it, swallowing it down with a moan.
The taste of her ass still lingered on me, and she took it all, every drop, eyes locked on mine as she did.
When I finally collapsed back, panting, she straddled my chest, spit dripping from her lips, cum still leaking out of her.
And she whispered, “Next shift, I want more.”