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Nurse Jones, singin' in the rain


All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones, singin' in the rain

>From Nurse Jones,

Another snapshot from Nurse Jones' album. Actually, a page ripped
from my diary of last summer. Well, not really a diary. Just a
disorganized stack of diskettes.

Anyway, here's something that should please you horny little
lurkers.

-*-
Summer, 1992

It rained last weekend. It has been a dry, hot summer up to now,
and we weren't really expecting rain; When it came it was one of
those warm, heavy tropical downpours that we get down here in the
Deep South. The tree limbs sag under the weight of the water. It
comes straight down, soaking everything, so heavy it kills even
the wind. The roaring noise it makes can be alarming the first
time you hear it.

Anyway, we had had a strange evening and the four of us were in a
flaky mood and we went outside and stood in the rain and got
soaked to the skin and THAT reminded me of something that happened
three years ago when we were still in Chicago. We weren't into
bondage then.

This doesn't happen every day. It only happend once in my entire
lifetime, so don't get the idea I enjoyed it.

Basically, I got caught in the rain on the way to pick up Jay. He
was working temporarily helping some people with a problem at
their office. If this had happened at his regular office where
the people knew me, I wouldn't be able to post about it without
outing myself. In fact, there are a number of good stories I'd
like to tell you but they would out me in an instant if I posted
them. Darn it.

Anyway, this rainshower in Chicago was nearly as heavy as we just
had here.

I was wearing a white cotton dress that is perfectly respectable
when dry and (I discovered -- not very much to my surprise)
transparent when wet. The trouble was, I was wearing practically
nothing underneath: Not only was it hot (Chicago can be awful in
the Summer if the breeze off the lake stops), but I was planning
to surprise Jay and do sexy things to him and see if I could get
him to leave early since it was just a consulting job and he
could keep his own schedule. White panties was it, underwearwise,
and they were very thin cotton. Respectable, but thin.

The dress was absolutely sopping plastered to my thighs and my
ass and my back and my breasts and stomach and everything. If I
pulled it away from my skin it looked less transparent, but I
couldn't hold everything away at once and it stuck to me like
glue. It was sopping wet.

Plus my $5 sandals got wet and I slipped and the strap broke
so I had to squish around in one sandal.

And squish I did, through two hallways and up two flights of
stairs past everyone and his brother to get to where Jay was
working.

People were sticking their heads out of offices and going and
getting their buddies to have an ogle. And when I got to where
Jay told me to meet him he was gone and the door was locked and I
had to go all the way back down and ask one of the secretaries to
let me in to wait. On the way I found a ladies room and ducked in
to dry off. God I looked awful. As though I had fallen in a
swimming pool. Which reminds me -- but that's another one of
those stories. Definitely pooled my assets on that one, though.

Anyway, the towel dispenser was one of those with the
continuous cloth loop on it and I was too short so I was reduced
to toilet paper which melted and stuck to me in little bits, but
at least I looked merely damp instead of like I was shrink-
wrapped. Thank God one of the secretaries took pity on me and
loaned me a raincoat to cover myself with.

And thank God there was a comfy cotton lab coat in the office
to wear when I finally got in. With almost enough buttons. So
there I was in a strange office reading a magazine about
computers which I was not at all interested in at the time, and
my dress and panties are over a chair in front of a space heater
and a fan and finally he comes in with two complete strangers and
there I am with nothing under this lab coat but me and one of
them (not the attractive one) keeps looking at my panties on the
chair and back at me and back at my panties, and Jay is loving
every minute of it, the bastard.

Still, mission accomplished.

I think today I might have been able to handle -- even exploit --
the embarrassment. Not then, though. I was pretty vanilla then.

In order to leave, I had to walk through those halls wearing the
lab coat and by then the whole building knew I wasn't wearing a
stitch under it. It was excruciating.

I thought a lab coat was supposed to lend an air of authority.

Nurse Jones,
far too much air and
very little authority.


 
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