Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie DixonЧитать онлайн книгу.
eyes opens and remains open long enough to become a wink. The swine! Unfortunately I am not wearing tights and the dirty beast has no difficulty in slipping his fingers under my panties and tugging the fuzz at the entrance to my love cave.
I have half a mind to shout the place down and say hang the consequences but as usual there are other people to consider. My parents would be horrified if it came out—I mean, if it was revealed that I had been forced to shelter in a semi-naked state under a bed even though it was not my fault. I don’t want to cause them any heartache. Even the wretched MacSweeney merits some consideration. He is so drunk that he does not really know what he is doing and if he is discovered under the bed his career will be over. I suppose I will have to put up with it.
Shameless wriggles even closer and to my disgust I feel his love truncheon following the trail blazed by his exploring fingers. This is too much! I would not have thought it possible but with a twist of his hips he presents himself beside my front door and slides into my silently protesting body. It is rape, brutal rape! If he had hit me over the head with a sandbag he could not have taken me more against my will.
Very slowly he eases his pussy pummeller backwards and forward and I clench my fingers so tightly that my nails dig into the palms of my hands. The sensations of disgust that sweep through my body like mighty ocean breakers are almost too overpowering to describe.
“Here you are, Matron.” Labby has come back into the room.
“Thank you—hic, Nurse. Oh dear, this is most unusual. I don’t think I’ve had hic-hiccups for years. Who are you on duty with?”
I hold my breath and even Shameless stops moving for a moment. “Nurse Dixon, Matron. She’s in the toilet. She’s got a bit of an upset tummy.”
“I think I’m going to have one after the meal we had tonight—hic. So much rich food.” She starts rabbiting on about the Patrons’ Dinner and it becomes clear that she is settling down for a good chat. “I like keeping up the old customs.” Shameless nods vigorously and gives a thrust of the hips and I close my eyes. The man is no more than a beaSt “Of course, it was different when I was a gel …” Oh my gawd! Another trip down memory lane. This should be good for half an hour. Supposing Night Sister rolls up?
No sooner has the thought occurred to me than the door bursts open. “Nurse, what do you think—! Oh, Matron. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s all right, Sister. We were just having a little chat. I thought I’d have a look round on my way back from the Patron’s Dinner.”
“We’re very glad to see you, Matron. Was it a good dinner?” It is all I can do to groan silently. I never reckoned Night Sister as a grade one crawler.
“Very nice, thank you, Sister. We had turtle soup and …” … fried fillet of plaice and roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. I could repeat the whole menu out loud. How long can they go on for? My right leg has gone to sleep and I only wish that a particular part of Doctor MacSweeney’s anatomy would drop off—permanently!
In fact it is another ten minutes before Matron says that she had better be getting back to bed and another ten minutes before she actually goes. I wait for the door to close on the three of them but it is only Matron who toddles off, still burbling about the good old days.
“What were you doing in here?” Sister’s voice sounds colder than a game of strip poker in a cold storage unit.
“I was doing a stock check in the linen cupboard and I wanted to see whether the beds were made up, Sister.”
“Humpf. You’re getting very conscientious all of a sudden, Nurse.”
“It helps to pass the time, Sister.”
“Where’s Nurse Dixon?”
“I think she’s picked up a bug, Sister. She’s gone to the loo. Matron knows about it.”
“If she’s not feeling up to the mark she’d better go back to the nurses home. A sick nurse is no good to anyone. I can stand in for her.”
“I’ll ask her when she comes back, Sister.”
As Night Sister prepares to leave the disgusting MacSweeney gives a few last wriggles and his mouth pops open in an exclamation of happy release. How revolting! I have really had a bellyful of the man.
“Goodnight, Nurse, I expect to find you on the ward in future.”
“Yes, Sister.”
The door opens and closes and I wait a few moments before pulling down my uniform and scrambling to my feet.
“You were marvellous,” I say to Labby. “You handled everything brilliantly. That creature handled everything, too. I’d like to kill him.”
We peer under the bed but Doctor Seamus MacSweeney appears to be sleeping peacefully. There is a smile on his face.
I am very distressed by my experience with Seamus MacSweeney—especially when the dirty brute shambles off into the night with no more than a belch in my direction. Even when he sobers up he does not apologise. “Like a velvet fox glove,” he husks, settling his hand on my mons venus. “Let’s probe for pollen.” It really is too bad when you consider that my silence probably saved his career.
I am also getting increasingly choked by the extent to which my virginity is becoming threatened. Like most girls I want to be delivered in mint condition on my wedding day and at the moment some of the post marks are gettting dangerously near to spoiling the issue.
Of course, once again, to all intents and purposes, I was raped, so my mental condition is in no way threatened. This is by far the most important factor but I do worry sometimes about the effect these unwelcome pussy pummellers are having on my spasm chasm—I don’t want it to be turned into alley valley before my wedding day. The man I marry will no doubt be sophisticated and have had lots of experiences with girls freer than myself and I would hate him to get the wrong impression.
Thank goodness I am on the Pill in these free and easy times, when no girl is safe from attack.
Christmas is approaching fast and the white trimming on the robe of the Father Christmas in the local department store has already turned grey. I had been expecting to go home on the day, but there are so many nurses who come from faraway parts of the country that I quite understand when I am asked if I will stay on duty and take some leave afterwards. Geoffrey has asked me to the New Year’s Eve Dance at the tennis club and so this will fit in very well.
Christmas at home is always the same anyway. Natalie and I agree not to give each other anything, Dad gets three pairs of Marks and Sparks socks and Mum a jar of bath salts she never uses. We all make excited noises as we open the presents we have helped each other wrap up and Natalie starts eating glacé fruits before breakfast Dad goes off to the boozer and gets paralytic and Natalie watches the carol service on the telly and says which of the blokes in the choir she fancies moSt Mum gets on with the cooking and has “a little glass of something to keep herself company.” By the time Dad gets back from the pub covered in lipstick, she is as pissed as he is and Natalie has started on the chocolates filled with Babycham. We all sit down to dinner at about three o’clock and Dad says a few words about family unity, before tearing Mum off a strip because he reckons the turkey has not been in long enough. Natalie has to go upstairs after three mouthfuls and we find out that we have just missed the Queen’s speech. We get the telly on in time for the national anthem and Dad insists on us all standing up—he gets very patriotic when he is pissed. The Christmas pudding won’t light because Mum has poured olive oil over it instead of brandy and Dad breaks his dentures on one of the lucky threepenny bits that have been used for so many years they have a coating of green mould on them. After dinner we decide to go for a walk but by the time Natalie has come out of the toilet it is dark so we spend the rest of the day in front of the telly. Dad falls asleep with his hands down the front of his trousers and Mum nods off