The Preventer, Part 5
By the end of the second out-of-coma week, my cast shell decreased a bit. Replacing the giant headpiece called Minerva, the new Risser cast went up just to the jawline so that it could be a perfect collar to immobilise the neck. The body cast and the DHS remained the same, but the two shoulder spica casts shrunk into dual long arm casts. Wrapping my arms between the armpits and the wrists, the LACs captured the upper arms as well as the lower parts, and I wasn’t able to flex the elbows, which were fixed at a right-angled pose.
My relative freedom grew a bit, though I remained fully dependant on assistance. Trapped in big casts, I wasn’t able to do anything else but reading the daily business journals. While on the subject: the Bible, which Sister Mary Alice had given to me, just collected dust, put in the uppermost corner of the cabinet.
‘How are you today? Do you like your new casts?’ At ten o’clock sharp, Dr Rehnquist paid his usual daily visit to me.
‘It’s a bit better. However, sometimes my bones ache terribly.’ I grimaced as the stabbing pain ran along the nerves because I dared move up the casted arms from their pillow nests.
‘I’m sad to hear it. Surely, physiotherapy will help you, Mr Robertson. May I help you with anything else?’
‘Sister Mary Alice would willingly meet you twice a day.’
‘I need a more mundane way of excitement.’ I disliked his idea about seeing the nun so often because I wanted something beyond an intellectual debate about morality and religion. ‘Would you mind calling this number? 555-1234.’
The phone number of the local Bunny Club could be familiar for him, as well, since Dr Rehnquist could hardly conceal a smile. Yet, in this room, he couldn’t talk like a fellow club member.
‘Mr Robertson, I must warn you that you enjoy the hospitality of a medical facility. And not that of a nightclub.’
‘You told me that I can’t leave this place because I permanently need proper medical care. I’ve been here for a long time. I’m made of flesh and blood. I need services, which you cannot provide for me.’
Dr Rehnquist produced a weird grin. Although he had seen my bones and blood in the operating table, he didn’t believe that a Wall Street broker could be a human being like him.
‘Doctor, please,’ I begged for his mercy.
‘I can’t call this number from any of the office phones. And I can’t use my mobile, either.’
Having looked at my body swaddled in white, he scratched his head. Understandably, he didn’t want the Bunny Club phone number to be on any of his call lists.
‘There must be a public phone box somewhere near here.’ I sent a frontal attack against his fading resistance.
‘Oh, my gosh, Mr Robertson, you’re my most problematic patient so far,’ he yammered. ‘And what about the money? This service isn’t free.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that my account at the Bunny Club is still open. Tell them that they can charge it on me.’
‘You must be incredibly discreet, or else I’ll personally push your wheelchair down the staircase,’ Dr Rehnquist warned me again, wiggling his index finger. Yet, he left the room to get a call girl for me.
About two hours later, the door of my room opened. The next visitor wasn’t Dr Rehnquist with his stealthy rubber-soled shoes. This high-heeled footwear made a hard rhythm of knockings, hit against the floor.
The footsteps suddenly ceased, after she stopped to get through the first shock when she saw my casts. The female was invisible for me since my head was ‘frozen’ in the unbending cast scarf and jacket. However, she turned up soon, crossing the visibility border. Instead of choosing any of the chairs, she sat down on the bedside, right next to my plastered body.
The young girl was so close to me that she filled up almost my entire field of view. Her ultimately feminine figure charmed my mind, and her scent was fascinating, too. The dense cloud of sex pheromones, which kept pouring from her body, almost stupefied me. She was tall, with curly, long blonde hair reaching the shoulders. Trying to veil her hot shape, she wore a very modest, long dark dress, with long skirts, too. Despite the serious-styled clothes and having an obviously fake pair of glasses, this young girl looked like an excellent student of a Christian College, who would be ready to club herself to death at any minute.
‘Oh, excuse me, Mr Robertson,’ she apologised since the size of my extensive cast coverage had astonished her so much. ‘I never imagined that...‘ Stunned, she was fighting to find the right words. ‘It is in-cred-i-bly big’.
‘The previous cast was even bigger.’
She just smiled, not believing that any bigger cast could exist.
‘I’m Alex. What’s your name?’
‘Jennifer Bunny. Oh, I’m your cousin,’ she told me while making a conspiratorial wink.
‘I was told to be discreet and cautious.’ She recited the advice, however, it was impossible for her to neutralise her drawing power. ‘I can’t tell anyone that I’m from the Bunny Club. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be suspicious if you regularly meet a family member.’
Though she spoke very smartly, I couldn’t focus on the content but the style. Every word left her lips as sexily as Marilyn Monroe had been singing the ‘Happy Birthday’ for her Mr President.
Her kind laugh warmed up my cold heart. Sitting next to me, she slowly stretched out her right hand to touch the uppermost layer protecting my chest.
‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt,’ I wanted to be her broken knight in a piece of armour, which was hammered from plaster cast.
Boosted by my wish, Jennifer’s soft fingers carefully landed on the surface of my carapace.
‘Wow, it’s like a stone,’ she said after the first impression.
She lifted up her hand to contact the upper rim of the Risser cast, which fully encircled my neck. Her hand slowly wandered down along the immense rind, beginning its journey at the rounded edge of the neck cast. Next, she checked the all-encompassing flat torso cast down to the belly. Then she probed the hardness of the right LAC. At the end of the journey, she found my fingers poking out of the gauze-stuffed cast opening. Our fingers tenderly interlaced.
‘It must have been a damn big accident,’ she assessed the observable pieces of dressings.
‘Absolutely. This isn’t a mummy cosplay,’ I assured her of the realness of my casts.
She released my hand, turning her attention to the blanket-covered lower body.
‘I hope that your dick isn’t plaster-casted,’ she giggled.
‘Go and check it!’
Hearing my unclear answer, and driven by her curiosity, she grabbed the corner of the blanket. With a quick hand movement, she unfolded the woollen sheet. Seeing the cast-stuff, which she found under the blanket, Jennifer simply stopped dead. Her hand froze up in the air, with fingers still holding the bed cover. Most likely, even the sizeable double hip spica wasn’t a mean sight. But, the ‘tower’ in the middle was like an icing on the cake. The thing, which captured her attention was a low (oh, I mean high, very high) cast cylinder, which proudly projected out of the white cast field covering my groins.
I bet Jennifer had never imagined that a penis spica cast could even exist. The girl bent down to discover the size, the shape and thickness of the ‘tower’. Also, she took off her fake glasses, which she simply dropped to the floor.
‘Are you absolutely sure that it won’t be painful for you?’ she asked after her mind restarted.
‘Let’s find it out together.’
‘I... I won’t ride it,’ she told me after her fingers kept probing, tapping and petting its rough surface again and again.
‘There are other ways for you to make me happy.’
‘How?’ After long minutes, Jennifer peered at my face again, and not at my imprisoned dick.
‘I can’t do it.’
From their pillow nests, I elevated both of my arms, which were unusably confined in long arm casts. Having elbows firmly bent at a right angle, the action radius of my hands was rather limited, and I was prevented from doing anything below the belly button.
‘Don’t be so afraid,’ I said.
‘No, I’m not afraid. But give me a minute so that I can tune myself into doing it.’
Jennifer smiled and stood up. She took some dancing steps around my bed, following the rhythm of an inaudible piece of music. With closed eyes, she was adorably cute. I tried to read her moving lips.‘Standing in a crowded room / But all I see is you / Like a spotlight follows where you are...’
‘Sophie Ellis Bextor?’ I asked.
My question surprised her. She opened up her eyes, her body froze in the air in the middle of a soft and graceful movement. She looked at me.
‘You don’t like it?’
‘On the contrary. Please, go on.’
‘Music is my life. But now, I don’t want to sing it loudly,’ she laughed. ‘This is a hospital, isn’t it?’
She closed her eyes again and continued her silent singing.
‘Do you know I never want to leave your side / Desire swallows up my pride...’
‘Just one more thing, Jennifer. Lock up the door. Or else the nurses would think that we’re committing incest, cousin.’
‘That would be very shameful. Especially for you, cousin,’ Jennifer said, tittering.
Rocking her hips, she turned around to get to the door. After returning, she took her place again on the side of the bed. Chuckling, she elevated her arm. Her slim hand slowly approached the top opening of my penis spica cast.'Cos I just can't fight this feeling. We should be lovers...’
She quietly recited the song, as if murmuring an incarnation.
At first, she tapped the uneven outer surface of the cast tower. Then, encouraged, her index finger sank into the dark and mysterious hollow of the penis spica cast. It moved down in the vertical cave until it found my member. Her warm fingertip touched and tickled the tip of my penis. And the magic happened, indeed.
Awoken by the gently pat, I got an erection. Explosively expanding, my penis quickly filled up the empty space of the cast silo. At first, it was a wonderful sensation, feeling the gentle embrace of the ample inner paddings. But, within seconds, I realised a construction failure, which the surgeon had made when building up the prison for my sexual organ.
The cast tube was a bit narrower than necessary. I moaned, experiencing the feedback of the tight squeeze.
‘Should I call the doctors?’ Hearing my loud groan, Jennifer got pale, and she stepped toward the door.
‘No... it’s creepily... gooood,’ I mumbled.
Confined in this way, I went through the most matchless sensual session of my life. The gripping ecstasy, which took control over my body, was enjoyably excruciating. Despite the thrusting movement emerging from the depth of my loins, my penis wasn’t able to make the containment wider, thus soon, the pulsation spread out to all part of my body, and bounced back from the rigid walls of the fitting cast shell.
Pain and Pleasure. These two different feelings finally flowed up and merged into an uplifting emotional state, which pushed my mind toward the crowning moment. I was immersed in it, yet there was a clear corner of my head, which was still able to form words.
‘Towel..., put a towel... on it,’ I said, grasping for air.
Jennifer tittered as she had never seen a fully casted guy, whom his own orgasm indulged and tortured. Luckily, she reached for the piece of cloth to cover the fountain just before its erupting jet could stain everything.
to be continued<--Previous (Part 4) Next (Part 6)-->