Cosplay

She massaged and squeezed his balls with more urgency now, trying to churn his gism within their oven, trying to work his nuts into a frenzy to gush for their seed, all of course for the sake of research, of science.

To hasten him further, she slipped the fingers of her right hand further down, beneath him, under his butt cheeks.

He slid out further, providing her with more room, trying hard to be the accommodating, the cooperative patient, but he was not at all sure what she was up to.

It didn't take long for him to find out.

She slipped a finger up in between the cheeks of his ass. It wasn't difficult for her to find what she was seeking. She was, after all, a skilled nurse, with a full understanding of anatomy. She quickly found his puckered anus, his tight squiggly brown star, and she proceeded to tickle him there with the tip of her finger as she pulled back on his cock and tickled him there as well with the tip of her tongue as she let go of his balls and tickled him there as well with the tips of her fingers.

It was a most unusual and intensely stimulating set of sensations. He had never fully realized, and certainly never appreciated, the sensitivity of his anus. Guys spend considerable time exploring the many nerves that saturate their penises and testicles, yet they ignore this other location, as if it was entirely devoid of any potential pleasure, even though they seem to be so fully invested in obtaining, experiencing, the most intense sexual pleasure they could attain. There was probably some reasonable explanation for that, but at the moment it escaped him.

And, then he discovered it. She plunged her face down on his shaft and pushed her finger up into his rectum.

He almost leaped off the table, or at least his butt lurched up and then fell back down, right onto her finger, which slipped in further. It was a very odd, disconcerting experience, strangely intrusive, and yet accompanied at the moment by one of his most intensive states of sexual arousal. He would never admit this to his friends. He wasn't entirely sure he would tell them about it at all, or at least he would leave out a lot of the details, and he would never tell them the fact that he did indeed enjoy it, the finger jammed up his ass while his cock was sucked and his balls were tickled.

"Oh my gosh!" Timothy exclaimed, his eyes opening wide at the exhilaration that overwhelmed him, and Madeline even escalated it by sliding and wiggling her finger in deeper and deeper until she reached it, the little notable mound of his prostate, and lightly massaged it, sending him far over the edge of no return.

He fell back on the table and his dick jerked from her mouth and sprung up, and then splatted her face with a big load of wet, globby cum, followed by one splat after another. He had indeed built up a lot of cum, and it was unloaded all over Nurse Betty's pretty face.

"Oh my gosh!" Madeline exclaimed, but she didn't run, she didn't hide. Instead, she leaned back and received his stuff. It was not like Madeline was averse to receiving a load of cum on her face. In fact, she very much enjoyed feeling the hot spray raining down up her, splatting and splashing every nook and cranny with gooey, warm wet gism. She even turned her face left and right so that he could provide full coverage.

Timothy enjoyed it as well, and that was certainly putting it quite mildly. In fact, he had never cum on a girl's face before. None of his girlfriends, well, actually the two of them with whom he had sex, had ever let him do that. Yet, this nurse actually seemed to be enjoying it. His initial reaction was to apologize. She couldn't have been expecting that. Not too many nurses seemed to want you to cum on their faces, at least it didn't come up very often. This one though was actually smiling as his cock spurted and spewed its stuff all over her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her lips. One splot even got her right in the corner of her eye. It was such a visually delightful accompaniment to the base, fundamental physical pleasures coursing through his body, his waves of orgasm sweeping through his brain and loins. No man deserved an orgasm as good as this. It was so very, very nice.

When it was done, though, there was a bit of a problem, but Nurse Betty moved quickly. She grabbed the plastic cup from the counter and caught the drips from her nose and chin. She even scooped up the large globs that had gathered on her face into the cup.

It was still a pretty good donation, despite the missed target. Timothy smiled proudly, exhausted, but deeply satisfied. It was right to provide charitable donations. It always left you with a good feeling of satisfaction.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dr. Lowenstein crossed her legs, and subtly rubbed her thighs back and forth. She was sitting at the traditional psychoanalytic location, behind the head of the patient who was lying down on the couch. This was a suggestion of Freud, a way to avoid patients observing the doctor as they recount their life story. Patients will at times misunderstand a therapist's frown, grimace, or smile, or perhaps even just an innocent gesture. Dr. Lowenstein was naturally concerned that Madeline might similarly misunderstand the squirming of her thighs, and the heaving of her breasts.

She wondered if perhaps there might be an appropriate cosplay involving a therapist and patient. She did practice psychodrama (see "There must be something wrong with me"). It might indeed be useful for the treatment of this young lady to perhaps dress in some costumes together. What better way to explore a fetish than to act it out, to literally walk in the shoes of the patient, to plumb the depths of her fantasy, to explore where it naturally leads. Her heart raced as she considered the possibility.

It was Madeline's voice that brought her out of her thoughts, her speculations, her fantasy.

"It's just that it's really absorbed my life."

"Excuse me?" The doctor realized that she had not been listening to Madeline for awhile, and she cursed her professional lapse.

"It's about all I do. It just governs my whole life."

This was a common concern of a fetishistic paraphilia. Life begins to revolve around the fetish. The fetish begins to mean more to the person than any fuller, deeper relationship. You begin to love the fetish, rather than the person.

"I mean, like, I kind of liked the Timothy boy. He didn't have a girlfriend or anything, and when it was done I thought of calling him up."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I was a nurse with him. I couldn't always be a nurse for him. Heck, what would he say when I became a cheerleader, or an elevator operator, or a saleswoman, or a policewoman."

"You've been a policewoman?"

"Many times."

The doctor was quite intrigued. She could not imagine playing the role of a policewoman. Actually, she could imagine it, and would enjoy imagining it, but it would certainly help her imagination if Madeline described it for her. "Tell me about one of those times," she suggested.

POLICEWOMAN

Police cosplay can be difficult on a number of levels. There were lots of police costumes available on the internet that were incredibly sexy, but none were terribly convincing, to say the least. On the other hand, the most convincing police officer's uniform is not terribly sexy, at least on a woman. Well, some persons would find the tough, rugged, authoritative uniform to be very sexy on a woman. Madeline did not.

Madeline wasn't suggesting that toughness on a woman wasn't necessarily sexy. Sexiness is so very personal. What is sexy to one person can be boring, even repugnant, to another. In fact, some persons might find cosplay itself not to be the least bit stimulating. Some might find reading about cosplay boring or perhaps even repugnant. As such, Madeline was never judgmental of those who preferred costumes she did not like, as she hoped that they would likewise respect her own choices, her own preferences. Why berate someone simply for what they personally enjoy?

In any case, it took some time for Madeline to develop a good policewoman's costume. It was, of course, dark blue. The long-sleeved blouse had an American flag on the right arm, three stripes on the left arm, button down pocket over the left breast, badge over the right, and shiny, silver buttons. Nevertheless, Madeline did not use the rough, hard nylon fabric of a typical policeman's uniform. It was instead a nice soft, touchable cotton, that clung well to the curves of her breasts.

A tricky part was the matching skirt. She just couldn't go for the slacks. The whole game was to be sexual, and she wanted to feel, to appear, sexy. Slacks were out. On the other hand, she could not wear a skirt that was too obviously sexual. Not like a seductive lingerie or party costume. So, she wore a rather matronly skirt that came down to her knees, but it did wrap well around her bottom. She did still wonder though if the skirt made her look more like a meter maid than a policewoman. But, even if it did, very few college boys, perhaps none, would challenge a meter maid. Would they?

It also didn't help that she was so short. There were no longer height restrictions for being a police officer, but not everyone knew that. Plus, her petite frame was not itself very intimidating or authoritative, particularly when wearing a skirt. Her large breasts were certainly intimidating, but probably not in the manner that police would prefer.

However, her belt did help. She wore a belt that reeked of law enforcement. It was heavy 1.5" black nylon, with attached flashlight, baton, black leather gloves, keys, handcuffs, radio, chemical spray, stun gun, and, of course, holster with gun. It wasn't a real gun, but as long as she kept it hidden in the holster nobody would notice. In any case, the belt did command respect as she obviously had a lot of things that could put a suspect down.

The uniform was, of course, topped off by the blue cap with the matching badge and black plastic visor. Caps on costumes could be a problem for a woman, as they can undo what is otherwise a very pretty hairdo. Madeline though had long wavy, brown hair, and she could easily wear it pulled back, or even pinned up. In this case she did indeed pin it up.

To give it a nice sexy touch her blouse was quite tight, with the top few buttons undone. It looked like her breasts were trying to burst through her uniform, or at least out through the top, pushed up in part by her brassiere, which was perhaps itself a size too small. She liked the effect of her tightly packed breasts appearing to be bursting, from her blouse, the buttons straining to hold together. Her boobs were seemingly exploding out of her uniform like two balloons squeezing out through the small opening of a pressure tank.

Police officer cosplay was also difficult because the risk of such a uniform was rather clear. Impersonating a police officer was not only wrong, it was a crime, and a pretty serious one at that. Her heart would pound whenever she went out in public wearing her police uniform. It was one of the more exciting and stimulating cosplays.

She went to the Templeton campus library.

The campus library appeared to be a reasonable, if not an excellent, choice for this evening's game. There were many students to choose from, yet many scattered into corners and alcoves that allowed for private conversation. Plus, campus security was unlikely to stumble upon her within the library. Security focused its attention on the buildings that were closed and darkened.

Madeline parked her car as close as possible to the library, discarded her coat, and proceeded to the library.

There was always a rush of excitement when she first ventured out in a costume. It would stir up so many emotions. She felt the excitement of danger, glancing to and fro for any signs that she might get caught, that she might get into trouble. She also felt the excitement of anticipation, wondering what might happen that night, what new experiences and adventures she would encounter. And, there was the excitement of the role. For this brief period of time, she was a police officer. She was assuming a new role in life, a new identity, a new state of mind and persona. Her heart raced, her thighs tingled, her nipples stiffened.

As she entered the library she attempted to display an image, an aura, of authority and command. She strode confidently and assertively, despite her petite frame and bulging breasts. She looked around her. She was looking in part for any student who might know her, who might recognize her. If recognized by a friend she could say that she was trying out a costume for a party. All of her good friends knew of her skills at making costumes. She was a very big hit at Halloween parties. There was then no real danger in being recognized, but it would effectively end the game.

More importantly, she was looking for persons in authority who might question her presence, her own authority. That could be serious trouble. But, she conveyed the opposite impression, that she was the one looking for signs of trouble, looking for persons who might be causing trouble, for persons who perhaps needed the hand, the command, of the law. She conveyed a confident expression, an expression that challenged anyone to dare to question her, to defy her. She thrust her bulging chest out proudly and strode through the library.

She did draw quite a bit of attention. The students rarely saw a police officer enter the library. As she proceeded through the cavernous reading rooms she left behind a trail of whispers and murmurs. What was she doing here? Who could she be looking for? Who was going to get into trouble? Did you see the tits on that cop? Well, only the male students were whispering that. But, the girls did notice them as well. One would have to be blind not to notice them. You just didn't expect a cop to have such obviously big, jutting breasts, particularly ones that were bursting from her blouse, jiggling and quivering with her commanding, authoritative strides.

She strode quickly around and through the first floor. She did not waver or delay. Any hesitation could be met with questioning, and could also provide a closer, more critical inspection of her uniform. She did not in fact have a legal badge. That would be going too far. The badge did say Templeton (it actually wasn't that difficult to get through Ebay), but it was an antiquated, obsolete badge. Few students though would notice the difference.

She did not find a likely suspect on the first floor. She proceeded to the second.

The second floor was considerably less occupied. She would likely meet with success here, and she soon did.

There was one boy, a rather thin, short, bookish and nerdy looking boy with dark-framed glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He was studiously focused on an opened book, sitting quite alone at a back corner table. He appeared to be a boy who would likely be intimidated by a person in uniform, even if she was a girl who might in fact be shorter than him. Her heart beat faster as she realized that he would be her mark. He would be her partner in crime, in policewoman cosplay.

Her thighs warmed as she marched up to him, striding as if she knew what she was doing, as if she knew precisely that he was the young man she was seeking.

He did not notice the police officer approaching him. He was too busily engaged within his biology text. He was indeed a very serious student, a biology major, studying hard to become, someday, a doctor.

When she reached him she spoke with considerable authority and command. "Young man, what is your name." Her heart stopped as she waited for his response, waited to hear whether or not he would be defiant or compliant, whether he would accept her as a cop, or question her.

Joseph Jamerson looked up to see two large breasts jutting out over his face and, above them, the face of a very pretty girl, a lovely girl dressed in a police uniform. His nostrils breathed in deeply a very lovely fragrance. Few police women probably wore perfume, but this was clearly not your ordinary police officer. Joseph was quite nonplussed.

She tried to speak more authoritatively. "I am Officer Johnson, Brenda Johnson. Your name, young man? And don't make me ask you a third time."

"Oh, yes, sorry. Joseph, Joseph Jamerson."

"Let's see your student ID."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. Was he in some sort of trouble? He could feel his heart racing as he withdrew his wallet and fumbled through it, trying to find his student identification card. Where was it? He didn't know. He knew it was in there, somewhere, but he never before had any need for it. Nobody had ever asked to see it, not since registration, and so he had little idea where it was. He eventually just poured out all of his cards onto the table. What if it wasn't there? Not having your ID in your possession while on campus was a violation. He grimaced at the sight of the coupon for a free trial membership to a pornographic web site. He had placed it in his wallet to consider the possibility of actually using it, but he had forgotten that it was there. He so hoped that the police woman hadn't seen that. And, finally, he found it. "Here it is," he exclaimed and quickly handed it over to her.

He looked at her face for any sign that she had seen the embarrassing coupon, for any sign of anything. But, she was expressionless as she studied his card.

"Joseph Jamerson, that's your name?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"Well, Joseph, we've had some reports of male students exposing themselves on campus." She had to suppress an urge to smile.

Joseph could feel a wave of overwhelming anxiety sweep through him. His mouth went dry, his palms became moist, he felt dizzy and confused. He had been caught! That girl who discovered him and Bree, when Bree was jerking him off, must have reported them and provided his description (see "Fives steps to Delta Nu"). It had been some time since that incident, and even since the one that followed with Emily Kay (see "Must be something wrong with me"). He had thought that he was in the clear. He had been very circumspect the first few times he came back to the library, studying on the first floor, near an exit, just in case. It was so much more difficult though to study there, as there was considerably more conversation on the first floor. There was even cell phone usage (Julie Hall was particularly annoying in that regard). But, eventually he grew more confident that he had gotten away with the incident with Bree, and he eventually returned to his usual spot on the second floor. It was so nicely quiet and secluded here.

He realized that he hadn't said anything for some time. "Yea, well, I haven't seen anything, honest."

"No, Joseph. I don't think you understand. The description we received matches your general body type and appearance. I think you should come with me."

"Am I going to jail?" He panicked. He had never been to jail before. What would his parents say? Imagine getting arrested for indecent exposure! This was bad. This was really, really bad. He thought of those scenes in 'To catch a predator,' when the person first realizes the seriousness of the trouble he was in. For a moment he even felt sorry for them. And, now, he was himself experiencing that moment.

Madeline could see that she had chosen well. She had captured a very compliant, submissive prey. "No, no. Not now, not yet. I believe though it would be better to go to a place that is more private, unless you would prefer that I interrogate you here, in front of everyone."

Joseph glanced around. As usual, there were only a few other persons nearby, but this officer was not whispering, and the people that were in eyesight were obviously extremely interested in what this cop was saying to him. Yes, he would be very happy to go to some place more private. "Sure, sure. Anything." He quickly packed up his books. He knew that at this point it would be best to be fully cooperative. No, no! That was perhaps the mistake that lots of criminals make on that show 'Cops.' Never say anything. Demand to have a lawyer present. Some of those criminals just buried themselves unnecessarily by fully confessing even when they didn't have to. But, if he wasn't cooperative she would probably take him down to the jail, and he would then have to call his parents to get a lawyer. He would have to cooperate if there was any chance of getting out of this.