Once, Monica worked as a night shift nurse. As far as hospitals jobs went, it wasn’t a particularly stressful one. She was the lone nurse on duty in the short-term recovery ward. Most patients in this ward were discharged in a matter of days, perhaps a week or two at most. Monica spent most of her time at the nurses’ desk, sipping coffee, scanning the personals ads in the newspaper and updating patient charts. Otherwise she answered the occasional calls for water or painkillers, or rambled about the dim, empty halls, checking in now and then on her slumbering charges.
The gloomy solitude of this job wouldn’t have suited everyone, but it suited her. While her bedside manner wasn’t warm by any means, her natural coolness and unshakable calm served her well in those rare instances of crisis, when patients became unwell or distraught. Her cool composure quelled their distress like a balm in itself, and so she became an unlikely favorite of patients, peers and physicians alike. Even a grudging favorite of those hopeful doctors whom she’d coldly turned down. Frigid on the outside but molten within, Monica was ruthless in her rejections of would-be suitors.
Apart from the flickering glare of the fluorescent lights, the ever-present chemical smells of bleach and lysol over the faint, persistent reek of human piss and shit, the worst thing about this graveyard shift nursing job was the considerable downtime, the long grueling hours of sheer silent boredom. But Monica was highly adaptable. This was why she flourished in this bleak, sterile, monotonous environment which would surely have worn down others.
She had ways of keeping herself entertained.
At other jobs, she’d have diverted herself with devising little teasing strategies for showing off her body, or even playing around with herself in plain sight. But here in the dereliction of the late-night ward, it was simply too easy to masturbate on the sly at the nurses’ station. Behind the high counters and with next to no chance of anyone coming around anyway, there wasn’t much thrill to the act. So Monica didn’t bother with it.
Instead, she took to other, more hands-on pursuits. Forsaking the dowdy shapeless scrubs most of her fellow nurses wore, she prowled the quiet lonely halls in a form-fitting white dress with red piping, thigh-high sheer white stockings and kitten heels. She wore nothing beneath the dress except for white lace garters. Though the neckline of the mandarin collar was high, the cotton dress itself was somewhat transparent in the bluish glare, and so the outlines of her garters and the dusky halos of her areolas had the tendency to show through. This was particularly the case when her stalking step, her bending or her reaching—or even her simple breathing—caused her large breasts or round thighs to thrust out against the clingy fabric all the more.
Listening to the light tap of her heels against the ghostly glowing linoleum, she make her nightly rounds. She would slant her vixen’s eyes about at her leisure. Now and then she would slow her easy, rambling gait. She would pause before one of the many doors held ajar. She would press her slender hand to the knob and cant her vulpine head to one side. The long tail of copper curls she’d pinned up would spill down her shoulder to brush delicately at her collar. If her keen ears heard so much as a stirring within the room, a sly smile would steal over her fair-boned face.
Then, she would slip in through the door.
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Original Publication Date: 8/14/24
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Night Shift Nurse © CS Dark Fantasy