The Purge - Sex Stories

The Purge

Waking from a coma isn’t how you’d picture it. It’s not all blurred lights and faint voices, no, it’s the smell of piss and the screech of a heart monitor next to the bed. Three months on physical shut-down and my ears are as sensitised as a hyperacusis patient on speed, and when all you hear day and night is the repetition of buzzers and high frequency hisses, it’s easy to wish you were back in that coma. I grappled the paperwork. Name: Mr. Duncan Wallis. Age: 63. Blood Group: B+. Next of Kin: Ms. Katherine Mayfield. ~ Fucking Kate . That’s the bitch who put me here. I hope they throw her into jail and let her rot. Gave her everything she wanted and look what I got for it – stabbed in the lung and left to shit through a rectal catheter. I knew she was out of my league when I saw her: slim, blonde, intelligent. The way that navy dress slithered over her body when she crossed the room had me palming my dick before she’d laid eyes on me. I was past my prime, but money talks and the jacket caught her eye. ‘Prosperity.’ I’d said to her at the bar. ‘You know your runes.’ I took her wrist and twisted it over, the two inch tattoo staring up at us. ‘Any more?’ ‘That’s a secret.’ she winked back. She’d insisted on drinking Krug Clos d’Ambonnay, but what the hell did I care? I was fifty-eight, drunk on lust and flirting with the hottest thing in London. ~ The ward sister interrupted Mr Wallis’ thoughts. She puffed his pillows and rolled the bed sheets to his waist, lathering a ...

... lavender soap to his back and buffing his skin until it pinked. He lay still as she lowered the bed and tugged at the catheter, replacing it with an adult nappy and a fresh plastic under-sheet. ‘There you go, Mr Wallis.’ she said, ‘You’ll be more comfortable now.’ ‘Doubt that but...’ he stopped, ‘no, it’s fine. Thanks, love.’ He smiled at her as she left the room, knowing the grumbling would hamper his privileges – that egg cooked sunny-side up, the TV after nine o’clock – it was the trivial things that made the hospital bearable. The IV caught the lap-tray as he shuffled up the bed; blood seeped into the sheets and the crease at his elbow. ‘Nurse?!’ he shouted, ‘Nurse!’ She came back to find him on the floor, the ties of his gown tangled around his neck. ‘Shoot, Mr Wallis – hang in there I’ll call for help.’ ~ She was fingering the rim of the champagne class, her red nails filed to points when I joked, ‘Ten weapons at your fingertips?’ She rapped the top of the bar, ‘Helps when I need to claw my way out of trouble.’ God , she was sexy. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but her breasts; perky, plastic D’s resting like sweet, pink grapefruits in her bra. She’d noticed me looking, didn’t seem to care. I expect her thoughts were on the price of my watch and not the measure of my perversion. ‘Cartier?’ ‘You know your watches.’ I teased. ‘Anymore?’ ‘Secret.’ I whispered back. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t usually do this but, would you like to come upstairs with me?’ I should have stopped ...