Chapter 1: Intrusive Thoughts

I don’t remember the crash. I remember the fight I had with Sarah, a fight that started with an argument about Lilly and her ‘crush’. I remember leaving our house for the bar, hoping a few hours apart would give us both a chance to cool off.

After the third drink, my memory goes blank, then I have brief flashes of an ambulance interior before everything fades to darkness.

My first clear memory is waking up in the hospital, feeling disoriented. The gaps in my memory and the hospital setting made it evident that something serious had happened.

I tried to sit up. That was a struggle. I was sore everywhere, and by the time I’d gotten myself upright, I was out of breath and it felt like I’d just run a marathon.

“You’re awake,” this was said by a young woman in scrubs who’d just walked into my room. She was cute, with strawberry-blonde hair, and a light dusting of freckles that ran across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “How are you feeling?” she asked smiling warmly as she made her way to the foot of my bed.

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus,” I replied, and she chuckled lightly.

“Well, you were in a pretty severe car accident,” she said, maintaining her bright and cheery demeanor. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Malcolm. Malcolm Tide,” I answered.

She nodded encouragingly. “Good. And can you tell me where you live?”

“What?” I asked.

“Your address,” she clarified.

Without thinking, I recited my address. Only it was completely wrong—different house number, an unfamiliar street, a neighborhood I didn’t recognize.

A flicker of concern appeared in her big blue eyes, but her bright smile didn’t falter.

I was quick to cover and gave her the correct address. “That other address is where I used to live, before I was married.”

Though it was a lie—I’d never been to the first address—she seemed to accept it. “That’s alright,” she said. “Your memory might be a little muddled while you recover.”

“I don’t remember anything about the accident,” I said.

She nodded sympathetically. “That’s common with severe trauma. The important thing is you’re still here, alive and mostly in one piece.”

“Mostly?” I asked, a note of apprehension in my voice.

Noting my fear, she quickly reassured me, “Don’t worry, you didn’t lose anything vital. Arms and legs are still intact.” She leaned forward and playfully pinched one of my toes through the hospital sheet, giving the digit a little wiggle. “Fingers and toes all accounted for.”

I smiled. Her optimistic attitude was infectious and I was relieved to learn that I hadn’t lost a limb.

“Unfortunately they did remove your penis,” she said calmly, almost as an afterthought, her voice keeping every ounce of sunshine and cheer that it had a moment ago. When I stared back at her in confusion, she added, “The doctors had to amputate it.”

“My penis?” I said, my brain refusing to process the information.

She nodded and set down the clipboard she’d been carrying, placing it on a chair next to my bed. “I’m Molly, by the way. I’m one of the nurses assigned to provide your aftercare and milk you.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and, at the time, I lacked the mental bandwidth to process what she’d said. But it was easier to focus on the word ‘milk’ than the devastating news that they’d amputated my penis. “Milk me?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing unpleasant,” she said with a wink to reassure me. She was a pretty young woman, apparently my nurse, and probably half my age, but there was something flirtatious about that wink.

An alarm chirped from Molly’s pocket and she pulled out her phone silencing it and placing it on the chair on top of the clipboard. “Time to empty you out,” she declared, and then she started to undress.

I watched mutely as Nurse Molly removed her scrubs, carefully folding each article of clothing before placing it on the chair.

Her underwear was plain and utilitarian and she blushed a little as she stepped out of them. She mumbled an apology, explaining that it hadn’t seemed important while I’d been unconscious. “I’ll wear something fun tomorrow,” she said. “I know what guys like.”

Once she was naked, Molly stood and let me look at her. She had a slim athletic physique and I pegged her as early twenties, a few years older than my stepdaughter Lilly. There was a slight quiver in her body, a tremor that suggested she was nervous about being naked in front of me. That only added to her charm.

I had so many questions about the accident, about my amputated penis, and about what it meant to milk me. But the one that came out was, “Why are you naked?”

Doubt flickered across Molly’s features, a hint of uncertainty and maybe even hurt. She lifted an arm self-consciously to cover her breasts. They were small, but perky like the rest of her, and I’d already noticed hard pink nipples poking out at me. Her other arm moved to cover her crotch, which had a small patch of strawberry-blonde of curls above a plump set of lips. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice soft and vulnerable. “I know I’m not pretty enough.”

Her reaction made me feel like I’d kicked a puppy. Molly wasn’t a model, but she was undeniably pretty. She had a cute, girl-next-door look. If she’d been one of Lilly’s friends coming over for a sleepover, I’d have probably snuck a few discreet peaks at her petite form.

Of course, she’d look even better with a few bruises and tears in her eyes.

That was a dark thought, and reflecting on it made me immediately feel awful.

Molly read my shame as disgust, and the poor girl burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m so stupid.”

Seeing her cry like that tore at my heart. But I’d been right about the tears, they only made Molly more beautiful.

Imagine witnessing those waterworks with her underneath and struggling to get away.

Another intrusive thought. I put it aside, steeling myself against any outward display of the self-loathing it made me feel. “No, no, it’s okay,” I said, quickly reassuring her, not wanting her to feel bad about herself. “You’re beautiful, I just didn’t understand.”

She stopped crying, sniffling as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course,” I said. “I was just confused about why a sexy piece of ass like you would want to get naked for an old, broken man like me.”

As soon as I’d said it I’d known it was inappropriate. It was also the sort of thing I’d never say to a woman, and certainly not to a stranger I’d just met.

Strangely Molly didn’t seem at all offended. “Oh,” she said, her voice light and excited. A flush of pink spread across her features and her breath caught in her throat. “You think I’m sexy?” she asked.

I nodded, feeling more than a little awkward. “I do,” I said, “and you have a fantastic body too, very fuckable...” I cut myself off. Now it was my turn to blush.

“I only mean, your body is great,” I stammered trying to clean up my previous words.

Molly giggled, a light, airy sound that made me think of bubbles and butterflies. And how sweet it would be to grind her little clit between my teeth.

A low growl rose out of me unbidden, accompanied by an impulse to grab the bitch. Not a bitch, a girl, I reminded myself, a very young, nervous and inexperienced nurse.

A set of holes to break and bend to my will.

Molly’s breath hitched, a soft mewl escaped her lips, and I saw a shiver run through her. She’d lowered her arms, placing them back at her sides, and I was staring at her body with undeniably predatory interest. The flush of color in her cheeks deepened and spread, traveling to her neck and chest. I could see the rapid beat of her pulse in the soft swell of her throat, and I noted how her perky, little tits rose and fell with each intake of breath.

Two perfect little chew toys.

I shook my head at my own thoughts, reinforcing my resolve. “I’m sorry,” I offered. “I’m really not like this. I’m a husband and a father. I’d never...”

Throw you onto the ground and violate your every orifice.

I shut my mouth, clenching my teeth. I was getting carried away and had no idea what might pop into my brain or out of my mouth.

Molly moved closer, reached out, and gently placed her hand on my arm. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice gentle and free of judgement. Her thumb brushed against my skin, the lightest of touches, and I couldn’t help but shudder. “My ex was older,” she said, fingers moving down my arm, taking my hand into her own. She touched my wedding ring, tracing the band with a finger. “He was also married.”

She leaned down and took my ring finger into her mouth, sucking it softly, lovingly.

After a moment she pulled back, biting her lip as she looked up at me. “He broke me in good,” she told me.

I looked at my finger. It was wet and shiny with her spit. The gold of my wedding ring had a luster that I hadn’t noticed in years. Molly kissed it gently. “We should finish your treatment before Sarah arrives,” she said. “I don’t want to have to explain why I’m naked to your wife.” Molly’s voice was light, but her fingers tightened around mine for emphasis.

“Not to upset you again, but you still haven’t explained the naked thing to me,” I said, tugging lightly on Molly’s hand.

Molly grinned. “I don’t have an extra set of scrubs,” she laughed, “and you’re sort of a sprayer.”

“A sprayer?”

Molly extracted her hand from mine and reached for my bedsheet. “Let me introduce you to what some on the nursing staff have been calling the firehose,” she said, mischievously.

She pulled down the sheet with a single swift motion, exposing my naked groin and abdomen.

I flinched not wanting to see the stump or sewn-over flesh that remained from the removal of my cock. I’d been trying not to think of it, and between Molly’s nudity and the oddness of the last few minutes, I’d been able to maintain my denial. But now that the sheet was gone, there was no avoiding reality.

Only what I saw was so strange that it defied any expectation of reality. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at the massive, swollen thing that had replaced my penis.