"The nurse will see you now."

I got up and hobbled out of the over-heated waiting room, with its dog-eared magazines., down a corridor and into a brightly lit consulting room. Everything was white, including the neatly pressed uniform of the pretty, blonde practice nurse, seated at her desk.

"Come and sit down Mr Tremlett. Now what seems to be the trouble?" She picked up a pen and placed a clipboard on her lap.

I rubbed the back of my right upper leg. "I've been getting these terrible pains in my thigh, usually after I've had an energetic session on my exercise bike."

She made a note on the clipboard. "For how long?"

"Three or four weeks, I'd say."

"Right, I'd better take a look. Go and lie face down on the couch in the corner, would you?"

I did as instructed. She came and stood beside me. "May I roll your right trouser leg up please?"

"Of course, nurse."

Gently she folded the cotton slacks up my leg. Then I felt a lovely cool hand stroking my thigh. "How does that feel?"

I wanted to say 'delicious,' but instead replied tamely: "It's okay."

"And there?"

"Same."

I felt her sliding my slacks back into place. "Right, come and sit at the desk again, please." I awaited the verdict. "Well you haven't strained anything, but I have to tell you that you have got the signs of a nasty varicose vein developing on the back of your right thigh."

"Varicose vein! I thought that was what little old ladies had. My Mum suffered in both her legs."

She smiled and scribbled something down. "An urban myth, I'm afraid. Sportsmen and women are very prone to them. You'll need to stay off that exercise bike of yours for at least a fortnight. And I'd strongly recommend that you wear a surgical stocking. That way we can nip it in the bud. Are you comfortable with that?"

"What, staying off the bike?"

She gave a girlish giggle. "No silly -wearing a stocking."

"Where do I go to buy one?"

"You don't. I can get it made specially for you."

"Okay. If you think that's the best course of action."

She fished a tape measure from her uniform pocket. "Right, let's have you back on the couch. I'll need to take a few measurements. They're all bespoke you see. That way we'll get a stocking that's a nice tight fit."

She rolled my trouser leg up and once again I felt her sensuous hands envelop my calf and thigh. She busily noted five or six measurements, before I was allowed to resume my seat beside her at the desk. "I'm going to order you a thigh-high, as it will be self-supporting. Black or beige?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What colour do you want your surgical stocking?"

"Oh, I see. Er, well beige I suppose. Wouldn't do to go walking around in a black nylon stocking, would it?"

She giggled again (how I was beginning to adore that impish giggle). "They're polyester, actually, but yes, you might have some explaining to do to your wife."

"I'm not married."

"There we are. All done. Should be through in seven days. Reception will ring you and you can come in for a fitting."

"A fitting?"

"Yes, there's quite a knack in getting them on the first time as it will be a pretty snug fit. But I'll show you how it's done." She placed her clipboard on the desk and stood up, indicating that the session was at an end. "I'll see you in a week's time."

~ ~ ~

A telephone call from the surgery a week later brought memories of my petite blonde practice nurse flooding back. She looked even prettier today, with just the faintest hint of perfume.

"Come and sit on the edge of the couch would you, Mr Tremlett?" She was clutching a large shrink-wrapped box. "Been keeping off that exercise bike, I hope."

"Yes nurse."

She bit the wrapping with her teeth and ripped the plastic outer covering off. "Done any other sort of exercise since I saw you last?"

I didn't dare to tell her that the most energetic thing I'd done in the last seven days was to masturbate vigorously in the shower, thinking about her soft, velvety hand running along my calf. "Er no, not really," I lied.

She slipped the box's contents out and removed a clear plastic pouch.

"Oh no!"

"What's the problem?"

She held up the bag for me to see. "They've sent us a black one!"

"Can't we exchange it?"

"Not now I've broken the seal and opened the box."

We stared at each other for several moments. The merest glimmer of a smile formed on her sweet little face.

"What d'you think? Fancy black?"

I smirked (though how could see know I was thrilled by the mistake). "Why not? Might be fun." We both chuckled.

She swiftly returned to a businesslike mode. "Okay. Then I'm going to have to ask you to remove your slacks for me, please."

"Certainly." But as I did so, I realised that I had rather unwisely put on a clean pair of tight-fitting black jockey pants that morning.

She took up a kneeling position on the floor in front of me, holding up the black surgical stocking, rolled in a tight ring.

"Okay, watch carefully. There are three phases that you'll need to get the hang of. First off, tuck the toes deep into the end. So." The black ring was placed firmly over my foot. Then she began to unroll the bundle, until it had reached my heel. "Give an extra tug, to be sure to get the base of the stocking over the ball of your heel. So."

Then the sensuous stuff started. Slowly she rolled the stocking up my calf. I knew at once I was getting aroused, but didn't dare look down. "Nearly there," she purred as she arrived at thigh level. She was now perilously close to my crotch. She briefly glanced up at my pants. "You okay?"

Er, yes, I think so."

"Not too tight?" Was she talking about the new stocking, or the obvious bulge which was forming inside my underpants?

"Er, no, everything's fine, nurse," I stammered.

She gave that lovely giggle again. "From where I'm sitting, I'd say things aren't fine at all! Let me just finish this and then I'll see what I can do to help."

I looked down at my right leg. The stocking was snugly fitted and really looked very sexy.

"Stand up please? Turn around? Yes, I think that's fine. Keep it on all day, then remove it in the reverse of the order I've just shown you, so that it's a tight black ring again for you to fit yourself in the morning. And don't wear it overnight."

She was kneeling on the floor looking up at me. I faced her fairly and squarely, wanting to let her see my arousal. "You okay for time?" she asked casually as she got up, checking her watch.

"Sure. What about you?"

"My next appointment isn't for another fifteen minutes." She crossed to the door of the consulting room and turned the lock. "Why don't you take a seat on the couch again and let me do something about that boner you've got hidden in those jockey pants?" The question was entirely rhetorical, as this self-confident young woman was already sliding my pants down around my ankles.

I suddenly lost all sense of shame or embarrassment, as my erect penis sprang free, its tip glistening with pre-cum. She got back on her knees and silently shuffled closer, until her head was suspended over my erection. Then, almost in slow motion, she lowered her opened mouth onto me, first savouring my moist cockhead with her lips and then sliding my shaft deep inside. There was no question about it, this young woman knew all about fellatio. At one point she expertly deep-throated me. I placed my hands tenderly on her bouffant blonde hair and moaned softly with appreciation.

She responded with a provocative "Mmm," and stroked my calf with one hand.

My hand pressure tightened as I knew my release was arriving. Sensing this, she pulled back slightly, so that my cock was sitting on her tongue when it erupted in her mouth. She was also an adept swallower, gulping down the several spurts of my spunk.

When she eventually looked up at me and smiled, small strands of my semen were running from the corners of her mouth. She licked her lips and I bent forward to kiss her.

"Thank you so much, nurse. That was truly amazing!"

She stood up, brushed the creases from her uniform and gave me a last impish grin. "All part of the service!"