Hitting the Bottom Ch. 01

"Yeah, okay." Just like I would require my sub to keep still even when it hurts. The thought rises, unwelcome, and I gulp and push it back down. WAY down. That's not gonna happen anymore.

Sandra mumbles "close your eyes Dan" and starts leaning over me. Just before my eyelids drift shut I notice her pretty face drawing closer, her feminine, creamy-white neck angled slightly to the side exposing the soft skin just under her ear, and the lush upper curve of her breasts peeking just a tiny bit from the V of her white uniform shirt. I gulp hard and shut my eyes firmly and a moment later I feel the warm, wet, slightly coarse washcloth sweep gently from the inner corner of my right eye outwards, taking the residual grime mixed with dried sweat and tears with it.

The sensation is then repeated along the closed eyelid of my left eye, gentler as Sandra is mindful of the pain every movement causes to that heavily bruised side of my face. My eyes flutter open when the washcloth lifts away and I see her folding it inside-out before using it across my forehead, down my nose, along my right cheekbone and down my right cheek and jaw all the way to my chin. She then refolds the washcloth to expose a clean surface and very gently repeats her actions over the left side of my face, carefully avoiding the swelling there.

It feels so good. It's not the physical sensation that resonates so pleasurably within me although that's nice too; but what really appeals to me is that feeling of being taken care of. Being... nurtured. Like I used to feel as a child when my momma would bathe me. Like I used to feel when my wife would give me a good back rub or...

STOP.

I can't go there. I won't go there.

I fight to keep my face calm and regulate my breathing while Sandra rinses the washcloth and then soaps it up and goes on to wash around my ears, taking extra care behind them - my momma would have approved - and then down my neck all the way to my collar bone. Another pause as she puts the soaped washcloth down into one of the plastic basins and takes a clean one from the basin next to it, wrings the excess water out, and uses it to rinse the soap from my skin, leaving warm, wet, quickly cooling clean sensation behind. Plopping the second washcloth into its respective basin she uses the towel that she placed under my head and neck to pat-dry my skin thoroughly.

"All right Dan. Now before we transfer you to the shower I'm going to give you some mouth swabs to clean inside your mouth - it's not the same as brushing your teeth but it's the best we can do for a while, alright?"

Fuck. My breath must be FOUL. Pathetic loser.

I wordlessly accept the menthol-smelling spongy swab and use it to 'brush' my teeth as best as I can while Sandra pulls the cart over to the adjoining bathroom and returns a moment later with a funky-looking wheelchair, which she parks side-by-side to the head of the bed. Its back is made of some hard plastic rails and the padded vinyl seat is U-shaped for obvious reasons.

Jeez.

She takes the used mouth swab from my hand and throws it into the trash bin before coming back to stand in front of the parked wheelchair, hands on hips, and speaks in that gentle-yet-authoritative, here's-what's-gonna-happen tone that is at the same time reassuring, but also starting to grate on my nerves.

"All right Dan, this is the trickiest part, so I need you to listen to me carefully and do exactly as I say or you may end up flat on the floor with some more damage and we don't want that, right?" Without waiting for my answer she continues. "I'm going to lower the bed all the way down and then push the head of the bed all the way up so that you're sitting straight. Then I'm going to help you to put both your feet down on the floor and we're going to wait there for a half-minute or so to make sure you don't get dizzy. Then I'm going to support you and move you from the bed straight to the chair. What I need you to do is just let me guide you into the chair and to the extent that you can grab the chair's armrests to take some of your weight as you go down. You got that?"

"Yes, ma'am". I just barely stop myself from giving her a mock salute, too.

She cracks a tiny smile at me. "Good. Let's do this."

She gets the bed into position and helps me sit up facing the side, my naked feet on the smooth, cold floor. I feel my heart rate pick up a little and can't be sure if it's from the small effort of sitting up, or from my excitement with the idea of getting out of bed for the first time in 48 hours... Or maybe something else. Thankfully there's only a dull ache in the background of my head and surprisingly almost no dizziness, and after verifying I am not going to drop Sandra moves closer and wraps her arm around my torso, her body squeezing against my uninjured right side, her left palm taking a solid grip just under my left armpit.

She tells me to hold onto her right shoulder and lean my right side onto her as she pushes both of us up to an almost-stand, and then helps me take the one step forward before turning my back towards the chair and crouching down supporting almost all of my weight as I fold slowly into the chair. Remembering her instructions I release my grip on her shoulder and bring both my arms down and grab the handrails, thankfully managing to take some of my weight on my own until I am seated in the chair.

Sandra backs up breathing a little harder than before. This must be hard work - she is about 5'6" and even with her slightly curvy figure and the good muscle I just felt in her upper body can't weigh more than 140 pounds, 145 tops. With my own 5'11" and solid build I must be a good 40 pounds heavier. I can't help but be impressed with her technique - this lady knows her job.

She crouches down once more and takes my feet one at a time to rest them against the foot rests and again I feel a strange mix of comfort and humiliation from the way she's treating me. She seems blissfully unaware of my inner struggle as she gets up to walk around me and releases the brake while at the same time giving the wheelchair a gentle push, and we're off to the shower.

Once there Sandra parks me in front of the back wall keeping the hand-held shower-head spray away from me and adjusts the water temperature, having me hold out my hand and approve of it before securing it back in its holding place, still aimed at the far wall so as not to drench me before she's ready to start.

"All right Dan, let's get this gown off now; I have a nice clean one for you here for when we're done".

I nod as I feel her undo the ties at my nape and tug at the velcro mid-way down my back and a moment later she pulls the thin cotton off and away from me, and I am left completely naked and feeling more vulnerable and exposed than I've ever felt in my life. Thankfully I am facing the wall and Sandra is standing to my side and a little to the back and can't see my face. I don't think I could meet her eyes right now. Or ever again. FUCK.

Sandra picks up the shower head and holds it at an angle so that the water hits the back of my neck and my shoulders and cascades down in hot rivulets. Lord but that feels good. I close my eyes and relax back against the chair, resolved to just let her do her work as quickly as possible and be done with it.

"Here. Hold the shower head for a moment will you?"

Her voice makes me open my eyes and I grab the cheap plastic cylinder and keep the hot stream to my chest. Sandra soaps a washcloth again and sets out to wash my shoulders and my arms all the way down to my palms and between my fingers, and then my back as I lean slightly forward in the chair. So far so good. Then she has me lean back as she does my torso and I watch her methodical movements down my chest, very gentle over my badly-bruised right rib cage, and down my belly.

To my utter horror I feel a tiny twinge down in my groin; her proximity and the lovely warm and wet sensation apparently having some impact on that part of my anatomy. I cringe internally and do my best to suppress that feeling. Just what I need right now. Man!

"Rinse." She turns around to her cart again while I rinse myself with the shower head. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her rinsing and re-soaping her washcloth and then she's back at my side.

"Keep the spray on your back now, I'm going to wash your legs."

I do as I'm told and Sandra leans over and washes both my legs in large circular motions, from the tops of my thighs down to my very feet, first my right leg, then my left. Again I cannot keep my eyes away from the sight of this nurse - this rather lovely nurse, I must admit - with her white uniform blotched wet in some areas and sticking to her cute curves as she bends and reaches over to take care of me, her sweet smelling body rubbing occasionally against my naked skin.

Damn that twitching. DOWN, BOY!

It seems to me she's keeping her eyes averted on purpose, but I cannot be sure if it's to give me privacy, or because she is embarrassed of the movement down there, or if she really is as focused on the immediate task at hand as she seems to be. Either way she turns back to her cart when she's done with my legs and repeats her rinsing and resoaping of the washcloth, letting me wash the soap off my own legs with the hot spray. Then she turns back to me and says -

"All right Dan, I'm going to wash your genitals and the entire groin area now. Please keep the stream on your back, okay?"

I give her a disbelieving look. "Seriously? Can't I f- freakin' wash my own package!?"

To my surprise I can see her lips twitching at the corners but she keeps it together when she answers, and I can sense the effort she's putting into keeping her tone calm and even.

"Please, Dan. You promised to behave and let me wash you, and I expect you to keep that promise. I could let you try and wash yourself but that would entail folding forward in order to reach down all the way to clean around your own anus, and I can pretty much guarantee that's going to make you dizzy as hell. So I'm sorry but the answer is no, you cannot freakin' wash your own package. Not today at least. Now sit back, keep the spray away from me and let me do my job, alright?"

"Oh for Pete's sake could someone just shoot me already?!"

She chuckles and I realize I've spoken out loud. Groaning in utter misery I do as I'm told and lean back defeatedly in the chair, keeping the spray on my shoulder blades and my eyes tightly shut, submitting to what is, by far, the most humiliating experience of my life.

...which gets 100 times worse a moment later, when I feel her latex-gloved hand gripping the base of my dick firmly, pulling the foreskin downwards to expose the head, while her other hand wraps the warm, wet, soft-yet-slightly-coarse washcloth around the super-sensitive glans and swipes around it in a deliciously tight circular motion.

FUCKKK!

A deep, guttural groan rises from my chest and my eyes fly open and zero in on the sight before my brain can stop them and I watch in horrified amazement as my dick swells inside her tight grip, the head rising up as if seeking her touch again. Sandra ignores it as she continues with her routine, folding the washcloth over to expose a different surface than the one just used, wraps it around the whole shaft and repeats the soapy-smooth circular swiping motion around my entire length.

Oh my fucking Lord. This cannot be real.

Pleasure swells low in my groin and I am helpless to stop my dick from growing heavier and harder by the second. I feel slightly nauseated again, my left hand gripping the armrest so hard the knuckles look white pushing against the skin, my right hand holding the shower head in a similar death grip, and every muscle in my body tightening with my struggle for control.

Still holding my dick in her gloved hand Sandra now moves to rub the soapy washcloth over and around and under my balls, cleaning every last inch of the sensitive scrotum. I bite my teeth and feel myself shaking slightly with my futile effort to chill myself. Sandra pauses to rinse and soap her cloth again and then turns back to me, her eyes meeting my shame-filled, slightly-glazed hooded stare.

"Relax, Mr. - Dan. This is just physiology, nothing to be embarrassed about. All it means is you've got a healthy, functioning set of genitals. I promise you I'm not offended, and that we'll be done in another minute."

Christ almighty. She may not be offended but I am absolutely fucking mortified.

I nod and remember to breathe just as she reaches back between my legs, cleansing one side of my groin all along the crease and then the other before swiping down my perineum and then over and around my anus, her other hand holding my still-fucking-rock-hard-dick to one side to keep it out of the way. She gives my butt crack two more deep, soapy swipes before pulling back and away from me.

"That's it Dan. The worst of it is behind you. Now rinse all the soap and I'll towel you dry and dress you up and get you back to your bed and we'll be all done."

I follow her instructions keeping my eyes trained on my traitorous body but can see Sandra moving about through my peripheral vision. She wrings and then throws the used washcloths into the dirty laundry sack that stands at the corner of the spacious hospital bathroom, and then drains the water basins down the sink, washing each one three times before drying them well with paper towels and placing them back on the cart. She then picks up a clean, fluffy towel and turns back to me.

"All done rinsing?"

"Yes ma'am" I mumble without meeting her eyes and she shuts off the spray and takes the shower head from my hand. I try not to jump when her fingers brush mine. She places it back in its holder and then turns back to me and does quick work pat-drying me from neck to toes, which unfortunately includes my still-excited mid-section, which is all too happy with this additional round of attention. I grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut.

When she's done she throws the towel straight into the dirty laundry sack again - she's got a good aim - and picks up a clean hospital gown from her cart. She helps me into it and ties it in the back for me, and then to my surprise takes another, super-sized bath sheet from the cart and drapes it over me so that I am fully covered from the chin down with the towel.

"We need to keep you warm. Don't want you getting the chills or anything. Shall we go?"

"Yes please."

Sandra wheels me out from the bathroom and back to the side of the bed, again making sure the privacy curtains are pulled all the way to keep prying eyes out.

"Are you okay sitting up for a couple of minutes longer Dan? I'd like to use this opportunity that I have you out of bed and change the sheets as well."

"Sure, no problems." I mumble quietly. In all honesty I feel bone-tired and a little dizzy and my head had started throbbing again but I know I can keep it together for a little while longer, and at the same time I feel an inexplicable need to do what I can to make Sandra's job easier.

"Good. I'll be right back."

She steps outside of the little circle of curtains and I hear the now-familiar sound of the linen closet being opened and closed before she's back, carrying a new set of bed sheets with her, which she promptly places on my lap with a tiny smile. I don't protest and watch her quick, efficient movements as she strips the bed bare and then makes it with the fresh set, making it look down-right inviting to my now-fatigued eyes.

When she's done she straightens up and turns back to level a look at me and give me the now-expected little brief:

"Okay! We've got both you and the bed nice and clean, so all we need to do now is get you back onto it and you'll be all done. It's going to be similar to the way we got you off the bed only in reverse order, are you ready?"

Again I hear the "yes, ma'am" slip out of my lips and I cringe and then shrug it off internally while bracing myself with my hands on the armrests. Sandra hugs me close in order to lift me up. The proximity of her body with its sweet smell wafting and tickling my nose and the soft curve of her breast pressing tightly against my side makes me remember my still not-quite-deflated cock. I feel my face grow hot and red again and am thankful for the concentration and effort required by both of us to get me back onto the bed safely.

Man, I am beyond pathetic.

Finally I'm lying flat on my back with my head resting against the pillow. I am pretty much ready to drop from the effort of the last 10 minutes and am even dizzier from the latest change in position, but at the same time I feel truly refreshed.

"Thank you, Sandra. I really do appreciate this. And I apologize for... you know."

She waves it off with a little laugh. "Nonsense! I told you already I am not in the least bit offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. All it means is your body works normally - and I take it as a kind of an impersonal compliment that I happened to make it tick. To be completely honest it's good to get this reassurance from time to time."

My eyes open wide at her last admission and I watch with some satisfaction the pink blush staining her cheeks under her slightly-shocked eyes that seem to be screaming 'I cannot believe I just said that out loud!' at me. Now it's my turn to chuckle, though the sound is strange to my own ears.

"Glad to rub your ego anytime, ma'am. But I'm sure you get your fair share of real compliments - with that body and that face... you don't need the involuntary reactions of a pathetic loser like me to tell you you're hot, right?"

She gasps loudly and throws me a mock stern look. "Now, now, Dan, if I didn't know any better I'd think you're flirting with me. That's not very appropriate, don't you think?"

My smile widens. "No, I guess it's not... but I've decided I have a new mantra in life. It's called 'screw propriety'. What'ya think about that?"

She smiles her amusement down at me. "What I think, Dan, is that I really like seeing you in a better mood this evening. Now if you'll excuse me I have a few more patients to take care of so I'll be outta here. Call me if you need anything, okay?" Her words are as professional and appropriate as can be, but I note with another pang of satisfaction that the blush had not left her cheeks just yet.

Man, but it feels good to flirt. I haven't done that in... oh boy. Ages. With a lopsided smile so wide on my right side that it feels completely foreign on my face I manage to reply in a civilized manner.

"Yes, ma'am."

*

Jon comes back to see me much later in the evening. It's long past visit hours but apparently the man can be convincing, plus it doesn't hurt that I'm alone in a room at the end of the hall. We're not going to bother other patients with our chat.

He sits down in the chair next to me and leans forward, keeping his voice low so that it doesn't carry in the already-quiet ward.

"How are you feeling?"

I can see apprehension written all over his face and am not sure what it's about. Probably just the stress of worrying about his psycho friend, on top of everything else that he's got going on in his life. I re-think my single-syllable reply and make an effort to give a detailed-enough answer to satisfy Jon's concerns.

"I'm better, Jon. Saw the house shrink today. He cleared me from institutionalization, at least for now. He thinks you're 'very perceptive' by the way."

Jon tilts his head, a quizzical expression on his face. "Huh?"

"I told him what you said about Naomi's feeling guilty. He said that's very perceptive of you and in his professional opinion you're right."