A Public Facility

Sequel to Sperm Count

I know many of you think I must be a terrible person. I mean, what kind of professional agrees to personally help a patient collect a sample of semen? What kind of nurse pulls a guy’s cock out and jerks him off in the exam room? What kind of girl allows herself to get fucked on an exam table with an office full of people listening through the door?

I got in a lot of trouble for that one. Practically any nurse or doctor caught having sex with a patient is going to be fired and potentially lose their license. It was all so completely stupid and irresponsible. I still like to think it was beyond my control.

Of course, that’s not true. Dan didn’t rape me. Not really. He used a little force. I like to be forced, and he knew it. We were previous lovers, Dan and me. Three months in a heated affair, but this was years earlier. We knew each other well, and we knew we were forbidden to see each other.

The main reason I didn’t get fired was Gordon. By the time all that shit happened with Dan, my clinic and several others in the geographic area had been purchased by a company out of Nashville, Tennessee. The board member from corporate who supervised our operations was a guy named Gordon.

By the time I collected Dan’s sperm, Gordon and I had been having sex for months… even before the unfriendly take-over where Gordon’s company assumed control over all Andy’s clinics. It was an unspoken part of the deal.  I’d service Gordon; he would hire my husband to keep doing his previous job in his previous locations.  We wouldn’t have to move to Nashville, and I was provided a nursing job at primo compensation with perks.  My hubby took a pay cut.

I know what you’re thinking. SLUT. OPPORTUNIST. Okay, you have a point. But that’s not really what happened. The whole thing wasn’t my idea, and I didn’t seduce an executive. He sort of had his way with me… and he kept having his way. Because Gordon gets his way with everything. Not that I’m complaining.

Though my boss was tempted to fire me, he didn’t. He preferred to just beat my bare ass and then fuck me repeatedly till I could barely walk. For a guy in his mid-40’s he had amazing stamina. He had a nice cock too… a nice-looking man with a super bad temper. Rich, tall, handsome, and a bit overbearing. Egotistical and hot. He wanted me to have his baby. I wasn’t arguing.

But let me back up… (just like he demanded I do on his cock)

This whole situation started before COVID when my husband got a call from a company in Nashville who requested he interview for a job in medical administration. That’s what my Andy does. At the time, he was managing about ten clinics within a hundred-mile radius of our town. He was doing well financially. I was working at a local multi-specialty clinic, one which Andy was not managing. It was owned by physicians.

The interview request was sudden and unexpected. I asked Andy how they even knew about him or obtained his contact. My husband said he didn’t know. He wasn’t actively looking for a job, nor had he inquired about anything.

The inside scoop is that Andy was secretly seeing a girl that he had met in one of the clinics he managed, and she was the connection to the job offer. Her name was Stephanie. She was a femdom masochist who dominated and punished him in every possible way. I’ve seen videos of their ‘sessions’, and they were brutal. Why, you might ask, would a happily married man cheat on his wife while subjecting himself to sexual assault? How could he actually enjoy that?

Let’s back up again… (it gets easier every time)

When I was in mandatory marriage counseling following the discovery of my affair with Dan, I announced during one of our meetings that I was not opposed to my husband having sex with another woman as reciprocity for my infidelity. It was a crazy thing to say, but I was totally serious. My psychologist was completely opposed to the idea and shut down discussions immediately. Andy, of course, was listening. He took the idea to heart and found himself some payback.

It wasn’t my intention that my husband establish an ongoing relationship with someone else. When I made that statement in therapy, my expectation was for Andy to have a one-night stand and let me know all about it.

Of course, a one-night stand was not at all what occurred between me and Dan. Andy knew it, and I knew it. My husband was trading tit for tat with a secret relationship behind my back. I knew nothing about Steph before the interview in Tennessee, but she knew plenty about Gordon. She knew about his company because she was originally from Nashville.

In fact, Steph and Gordon had been lovers before she married some oil rigger who moved her to Mississippi and conveniently spent half his life offshore. Stephanie was left to her own entertainment. She had a taste for bdsm, and my husband was just her cup of tea… submissive and strapped with an inferiority complex after his best friend spent three months screwing his wife. That sob story led my Andy straight into Stephanie’s ‘Red Room’ where she cinched him down tightly and literally stomped on his balls with stilettos.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit,” the bitch told him in a video. “It’s no wonder your wife was fucking your friend.  What a pathetic little cock…”

Stephanie was the one who informed Gordon about my husband, emphasizing his managerial skills and talking up his professional acumen. I suppose that she thought having Andy in Nashville might be convenient for their kinky relationship. She had a few things in mind, and Gordon’s company responded positively to her request for his consideration. Gordon spearheaded the process personally, so things moved along quickly.

The offer was lucrative and hard to resist. The interview began on Friday morning after we arrived on Thursday evening. Gordon’s company put us up at the Rennaissance Hotel in an opulent room on the top floor overlooking the city. We both were impressed.

I was carted around the city by a real estate agent who showed me the schools and the neighborhoods. We looked at a few houses and condominiums as well. Andy was supposedly doing interviews, but actually he and Gordon were in the conference room doing Stephanie. Gordon admitted it much later when it was convenient to piss me off.

Friday night was an upscale dinner at a local restaurant with the board members and their wives. Everyone there was ancient except for Gordon, and the wives were overwhelmingly ostentatious. They looked as stuffy as an underground bank vault and probably hadn’t been banged properly in years.  Materialistic snoots with their noses in the air, and their tits hanging down to their knees.

On Saturday, I endured a tour of the firm’s facilities while accompanied by Gordon and my husband. Then, we had another dinner, only this time without the wives. It was at the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville, just a few blocks from where we were staying. Andy and I just walked over there.

As the evening progressed, the board members bid us good night and left us in the caring hands of Gordon who, to be honest, had mesmerized me with his good looks and charm. He was nothing like the rest of the board. For one thing he was at least 20 years younger than any of them, and for another he was single and gorgeous. He didn’t look much older than my husband even though he was over a decade his senior.

To say the firm wined and dined us is an understatement. Gordon had every intention of getting a commitment from Andy. The offer was strong, the city was gorgeous, and the position was available immediately. He had even gone to the trouble of establishing several job opportunities of my own, though he assured me I’d never have to work.

“Andy will make plenty of money, Megan. If you want to work, it’s available, but you can be a stay-at-home mom if you choose… spend your days with your daughter until it’s time for her to start school,” Gordon told me.

“That sounds nice,” I responded, sipping my third drink of the evening. The liquor was free as long as we wanted it, and my husband was overdoing it. I put my hand on Andy’s thigh and suggested he slow down. It was really too late.

“I want to show you something,” Gordon interrupted.

“What’s that?” I was intrigued. We were looking at the dessert menu, but I was impossibly full.

“The men’s restroom here is a tourist attraction and has been filmed in several movies due to its eclectic art deco. I wonder if you’d like to see it?”

“The men’s restroom?” I repeated. “I don’t belong in a men’s restroom.” I was giggling with inebriated carelessness, leaning deeply into Gordon’s personal space where I was welcomed with a gleaming grin.

“Women go in there all the time for a look, Megan. It’s nothing unusual. As I said, it’s a tourist attraction. They take pictures.”

“A restroom as a tourist attraction? What will they think of next? And I suppose the men go about their ‘business’ at the urinals and in the stalls while all this tourism is happening?”

Gordon laughed. “Well,” he smirked. “Let’s just see what they do, shall we?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I was barely able to stand, numb from my last whisky sour. Gordon reached out his hand to help me up from the table.

“Are you coming, Andy?” Gordon asked. My husband was nursing a neat glass of Scotch. Any more alcohol, and he might need a ventilator. Still, he stumbled to his feet with his glass as we paraded towards the restroom facilities.

Stepping into the men’s room, I was overcome with the neon sparkle. The place was immaculate and brilliant, not to mention quite large, even for a hotel facility. The toilet stalls were most generous in size with heavy wooden doors that traveled from floor to ceiling. Tile colors were a bold match to the black and green walls.

“It’s neon beautiful,” I said, clicking off a picture on my cell. Andy took a seat in the massive shoeshine chair situated on a tall pedestal in the center of the restroom. No one was shining shoes tonight. “I need to go next door to the little girl’s room if I may.”

“Nonsense.” Gordon motioned to the stalls lined across the back of the restroom. “Take your choice right here. There’s no need to run across the hall.”

“I’m not very comfortable using the men’s room, Gordon.”

“The men here in the room are most comfortable with you using it, Megan. Isn’t that so, Andy?” My husband nodded despite his ethanol induced stupor. “I can assure you; we will keep anyone from bothering you.”

“I don’t know, Gordon. I don’t want you to listen to me pee.”

Gordon took me by the arm and escorted me over to one of the stalls, then looked back at my husband. “I’m going to help your wife manage the toilet, Andy, if that’s okay with you.” I was speechless. Andy looked at us both from his exalted position and took another sip of his drink. Did Gordon just say he was going to help me piss? Is my husband even cognoscente of what’s going on here?

The gorgeous man ushered me inside the confines of our now hidden chamber. He closed the heavy, wooden partition and clicked the lock.

“Gordon, what do you think you’re doing?” He leaned over and kissed me. He was so tall and strong. So insistent. I could smell his cologne, subtle and scrumptious. His hair folded into my face, dark and mysterious. All evening I’d been fantasizing about climbing in his lap. His voice was like a vibrator on my clit.

“I’d like to listen to you pee, Megan. I want to watch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I clamored. He pulled me close and kissed me again. I was buried against his body, my breasts caressed by the motion of his breathing. “I can’t…”

“Take off your skirt,” he groaned, tugging at the clasp on my waist. He loosened it, then pulled down the zipper. I let out a sigh. My husband was on the other side of that door, sitting in a chair sipping Scotch. There were footsteps in and out of the restroom.

“Gordon, no.”

“Megan, yes.” He slipped my skirt down to my ankles. He watched me step out, my heels clicking on the white marble floor. “Good girl. You want to be good, don’t you Megan?”

“But this is being bad,” I whispered.

“You want your husband to get this job, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “But I didn’t…” Gordon cut me off with another kiss. His hand roamed across the silk of my sheer, floral panties, squeezing and kneading my ass. His fingers tucked themselves beneath the soft, elastic band and proceeded to drag my undies down my legs.

“You can’t pee with those on, now, can you?” I shook my head quietly and obediently stepped out of the crinkled pink puddle. Gordon picked up my skirt and hung it on the coat hanger, then slipped my warm panties in his pocket.

“I want you to straddle the toilet,” he ordered. “Put a leg on either side and your hands against the wall as if a cop were patting you down.” I looked at him like he was crazy.

The gentleman would not wait for my cooperation. He escorted me backwards and spun me around, then eased me into the position described. My bare crotch hovered directly over the pristine clear water in the toilet bowl. My palms were planted against the tile on the wall. It was as if I were using the bathroom backwards. I’d be pissing standing up like a guy.

Gordon reached around me and unbuttoned my blouse, then unhooked my bra in the back. “Let’s get these off too,” he commanded softly. We don’t want to splatter your clothes.

“You want me to pee like this?” I turned my head to look in his eyes. Gordon reached between my legs and slid his finger through the crevice of my slit. I moaned and dropped my head forward as the first shudder hit me. I was soaking wet.

“No, Megan. I want you to orgasm like this. I want you to cream in the palm of my hand. Your husband tells me that you squirt when you come. Is that right, Meg?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

His finger was stroking my clit as his left hand cupped my breast. He squeezed my small tits, alternating back and forth. I was gasping and clasping his digits inside me. Trembling. Climaxing. Sprinkling, then squirting. “Fuck, you’re making me come like crazy!”

“Would you like to pee now, Megan?” Gordon was holding me up. He could tell I was too weak to stand.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” I asked. “I wish you would bust me wide open.”

“Not yet,” Gordon grinned. He was thrilled with my desperation. “I’d prefer to watch you urinate. Would you like to do that for me?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

Gordon shoved his finger inside me and fucked me ferociously. I started coming immediately, loud and indignant… screaming and squealing and violently convulsing. I crumbled in his arms. He shoved in another finger. I squirted like a fountain across the floor.

“Oh FUCK!” My cunt sucked on his intrusive digits. The wet sounds of pleasure seemed to echo off the walls like a canyon. There was no way my husband could be deaf to this commotion. The floor was a mess, covered with my feminine splatter. Gordon eased me down slowly to my knees; my face nudged against the crotch of his slacks.

“Now you can pee, Megan.”

“I need to sit on the toilet,” I whispered.

“No, you don’t, Megan. I want you to piss outside in the urinal.”

“You mean out there where anyone could walk in and see me?”

“Exactly, Megan.  Right in front of your husband.”