Angel of Death
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by DesiDreamer · November 15, 2025

IN PICS: KRUTIKA | CONTRIBUTED BY: VOYEUR BOY
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Some of my stories are loosely based on real-life incidents, but details are fictionalized. My stories involve unsafe sexual acts. I do not condone unprotected sex and recommend readers to always practice safe sex. The risk is not worth it. These are fantasies and meant for entertainment only. My stories are my hobby — an expression of my erotic side. I mean no disrespect to women featured in my stories. If you know the woman in the story, please write to me and the pictures will be taken down — no questions asked.
Happy reading!

“Yes, I did it!” Krutika screamed in open court, before collapsing in tears. She had finally succumbed to the skilled cross-examination by the public prosecutor.

The courtroom erupted in hushed whispers and gasps. The Judge, a stern-faced man with silver-streaked hair, banged his gavel. “Order in the court!” he roared, his voice echoing through the grand chamber.

Krutika sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, her chest heaving beneath her crisp clothes. She looked out at the sea of faces—the Judge, the spectators, the layers, her friends, relatives of patients who had died, and of course journalists who were scribbling furiously in their notebooks—and saw nothing but a blur. She was drowning, and the only way out was to tell her version of the truth.

“Can I tell my story Your Honor?” she finally said standing up and addressing the Judge.

The entire case had turned on its head. This was the end, and the Judge wasn’t going to deprive her of the chance to come clean.

“You may speak, but I may interrupt to ask clarifying questions and allow the prosecutor also to ask questions.”

“Thank you.” Krutika said, bowing her head, partly in shame and partly by way of respect to the Judge. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her bosom rising and falling.

“I…I’m a nymphomaniac, your Honor. I need sex like a fish needs water. It’s not by choice, but it’s my truth. I didn’t intend to kill anyone. I believed my nymphomania can be of help to my patients. While I am truly sorry for the lives lost, I still believe I gave them something they craved.”

She opened her eyes and saw shock and disgust on some faces, but she ignored them, focusing on the Judge.

“I believe that many of the patients I cared for needed something more than medicine. They were craving touch, intimacy, passion. They were dying alone, without human contact, unloved and abandoned. I could see their longing in the way they looked at the pictures of departed wives or ex-lovers who had broken up with them due to their illness. I have seen patients cry like babies after masturbating to pictures of their loved ones. Many sitting here will think of them as pathetic and disgusting, but I did not. I thought…I thought I could give them what they missed most. I thought I could make them feel alive again, even if it was just for a moment. I still believe I was helping them.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, a mixture of shock and disbelief palpable. The Judge raised an eyebrow, “You thought you were helping them?”

Krutika nodded, “Yes, Your Honor. I believe I was. Let me tell you about Mr. Sharma. He was 80 years old, widowed for fifteen years. He would spend his days staring at photos of his wife, his eyes filled with longing. How many visitors do you think he got during his 3 months at the hospital? Zero. Who was there to wipe his tears? Who was there to hold him when he sobbed uncontrollably? Not his family. One day, after crying for over an hour while I held him, he told me he wished he could touch his wife one last time. Wish he could have made love to her just one more time. Those were his exact words, Your Honor. He said he wished he could feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the passion of her embrace. He wanted to feel alive again, even if it was just for a moment. And I…I wanted to give him that moment. I wanted to make him feel alive, to feel desired, to feel loved, Your Honor.”

The prosecutor, a man with a thinning hairline and a sneer, objected, “Your Honor, this is becoming quite salacious. We don’t need to hear the details of her…encounters with patients.”

The Judge looked at Krutika, his expression softening slightly.

“Prosecution’s objection noted, but I’d like to understand the full extent of your actions. Continue, but keep your account appropriate.”

Krutika took a deep breath, her lips trembling slightly. “Mr. Sharma had no documented cardiac history. His condition was stable. He could have been home in the care of his family, but instead, they chose to pay for a bed with their money and abandon him to the care of perfect strangers. Medically speaking — and my doctor colleagues will agree — sex was not a risk for him.”

“Yes, he died just after our…err… encounter. His heart gave out. But in his last moments, his last words to me were, thank you. I was devastated when he passed, but did I kill him? I…I cleaned him up, put him back in his bed, and waited for the doctor to confirm his passing. Did I remove evidence of the encounter between us? Yes, I did, but not because of his death. I couldn’t risk the hospital finding out because sexual relations with patients are against hospital policy.”

“You mentioned removing evidence,” the Judge said leaning forward in his chair, “how exactly did you manage to get rid of all DNA evidence?”

Krutika took a deep breath, her eyes darting to the back of the courtroom, to the empty benches that once held her friends and colleagues. She knew none of them could understand her actions. She knew they would judge her harshly. But she had to tell the truth.

“After…after Mr. Sharma died, I cleaned him up. I used the hospital’s “Spill Kit”, a biohazard bag and hospital-grade cleaning supplies that are used in the event of a spill like vomit that could contain pathogens. I also stripped the bed and had all these items incinerated.”

Krutika’s voice was almost clinical as she described the meticulous process she had followed to cover her tracks. The courtroom was silent, everyone hanging on her every word, even the prosecutor’s smirk had faded.

“The other patients that died were no different. None had pre-diagnosed heart conditions. Sex was not a risk for any of them. None of them had any visitors. Every single one of them craved intimacy. Am I guilty of violating hospital rules? Yes, I am. But did I intentionally kill my patients? To that charge, I still plead Not Guilty, Your Honor.”

The murmurs in the courtroom grew once again and the Judge had to silence them. The rest of the case became a formality after Krutika’s confession. By evening that day, the judgment was a foregone conclusion, but the Judge adjourned the court, deciding to think the case overnight before pronouncing the verdict the next day.

Krutika was handcuffed and sent back to the jail cell where she had spent the last few days.

The next day, the courtroom was packed to the brim. Journalists, hospital staff, relatives of the deceased patients, and a handful of Krutika’s friends had crammed into the room, eager to hear the Judge’s verdict. Krutika, dressed in fresh clothes, her hair neatly tied back, sat in the dock, her eyes scanning the crowd nervously.

The Judge entered, took his seat, looked at Krutika, and began, “Ms. Krutika Shah, you have been charged with the deaths of three patients under your care. Your actions were reckless, selfish, and in direct violation of your duties as a nurse.”

“You took advantage of vulnerable patients, and your actions led to their deaths. Despite your claims of good intentions, the fact remains that three people lost their lives due to your actions that are prohibited practices for a medical professional for a multitude of reasons, including eventualities exactly like these.”

“For these reasons, I hereby sentence you to five years in prison for each count of manslaughter, to run concurrently. I also sentence you to an additional five years for gross misconduct as a healthcare professional. You will serve a total of ten years in prison. You will not be eligible for parole, and you will be blacklisted from providing any form of care for patients, either in medical facilities or in their residences. Violation of these terms, even under a different name and identity will automatically result in life in prison without parole.”

As soon as the Judge banged his gavel, the courtroom erupted in a mix of gasps and whispers. Krutika remained stoic, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. She nodded, accepting her fate.

Officers handcuffed her, and she was led away to the prison van. Her mind was filled with flashes of her patients — their faces, their desperate pleas, their grateful sighs, their pleasure released in her depths. She was going to jail, but what bothered her most was that she may not get the sex she needed in jail. Or maybe she would, time would tell.

The studio of ‘News Breakers‘ buzzed with electric energy, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the constant hum of activity. Cameras whirred and clicked, their red recording lights blinking like hungry eyes, and microphones sat poised like predators awaiting their prey — a blend of modern technology and traditional newsroom fervor, with a large screen displaying live feeds of the city’s pulsating heartbeat and a backdrop of Mumbai’s skyline.

At the center there was a stage set for today’s exclusive interview. On one side were two seats for the guests and facing them was the interviewer’s seat. The channel staff was finishing the final prep and touching up the makeup of Detective Bharat Patil and Mrs. Devika Narayanan.

“Going live in 10,” came the announcement and the crew made a hasty retreat. Bharat Patil sat beside Devika Narayanan, his posture impeccable, his uniform crisp. Devika, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. She wrung her hands together; her lips pressed in a thin line. Bharat noticed and reached out, placing a reassuring hand over hers.

“It’s going to be fine, Devika. You’ve lived through hell and back. This is just you telling your story as it happened,” he said, his voice soothing and reassuring.

Devika looked at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. She gave a small nod, taking a deep breath. “Thank y…”

She was cut off by the announcement… “3… 2… 1… and we are live.”

The anchor of the show smiled at the camera, “We have an exclusive interview with two of the central figures in what has popularly come to be known as the “Angel of Death” case. The judgment announced last week has had mixed reactions from all corners and today we bring to you the two people who have been instrumental in unraveling this case: Detective Bharat Patil and Mrs. Devika Narayanan, one of the complainants.”

She turned to look at Devika first, “Mrs. Narayanan, I understand that you were the first one to suspect something was amiss after the death of your husband. Can you take us back to where it all began?”

Devika nodded, willing her hands to stop shaking. She looked into the camera and began, “It all started with my father-in-law’s death, though I didn’t suspect anything at that time. He was admitted to Angel’s Memorial for what was supposed to be a routine procedure.”

“But a post-operative infection complicated things, and he ended up spending nearly a month in the hospital. At the same time, my daughter in law was about to deliver her first child in Australia. My father-in-law insisted that we be with her and he would be just fine under the care of the best doctors and nurses in town. Little did we know he would end up being one of those nurses’ victims.”

“I didn’t think much of it when he died. The doctors said it was a massive heart attack. At his age, it didn’t come as a surprise, and we accepted his death as a cruel turn of fate. Nurse Krutika was most sympathetic and went out of her way to accommodate anything our family needed. We were so grateful to that bitc…I am sorry.” She said as tears started rolling down her eyes.

The anchor decided to take a commercial break and allow Mrs. Narayanan to compose herself. After the break she continued her narrative…

“My father-in-law passed away two years ago. About six months after that, we heard about the death of Karthik, an elderly handyman who lived in our neighborhood. He was a sweet man, always ready to help, and his death shocked us all. He died of a heart attack, they said. Once again, given his age, nobody suspected anything.”

“Then, about six months ago, my husband complained of pain in his stomach and had to be hospitalized for a biopsy and testing. He had just turned 50. Our children live overseas, and I was visiting one of them when he called me from the hospital to let me know he had admitted himself for precautionary checkups. I wanted to come back home, but he insisted there was no need for that. He was fit, he ate right, he exercised regularly.”

“When he passed away, the doctors said it was a heart attack. But something wasn’t right. I started noticing a pattern. All three of them were patients at Angel’s Memorial. All three had died of heart attacks. All three had been in the hospital for 2 weeks or more without visitors. And all three had been under the care of the same nurse — Krutika Shah.”

“I started digging. I went to the hospital, asked questions of the administration, talked to nurses, doctors, and even discharged patients. I won’t go into how I got their contact details on air. I was convinced something was wrong, and I was relentless. I knew I had to do something. None of the hospital staff was willing to cooperate without a court order and that’s when I decided to go to the police.” She ended her narrative with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Detective Patil, how did you get involved in the case and what made you suspect Krutika Shah?” the anchor asked, turning to Bharat.

Bharat nodded, his expression serious. “I was initially skeptical when Mrs. Narayanan first came to me. A series of deaths in a hospital, all from heart attacks? It seemed like a tragic coincidence. But when she mentioned the pattern of patients being under the care of the same nurse, Krutika Shah, it piqued my interest.”

“I started with a background check on Krutika. Her record was clean, no disciplinary actions, no complaints. She was a model employee. But something about the case didn’t sit right with me. So, I decided to dig deeper.”

“I talked to other patients who had been in her care, their families. I investigated her personal life, her habits, her relationships. There was nothing suspicious anywhere. Everyone had only good things to say about her. But I noticed something in her personal life. None of her known romantic relationships had lasted over a month or two. I decided to talk to her ex-boyfriends.”

“They all painted a similar picture of her. She was intense, passionate, and demanding in bed. One of them described a particular encounter that caught my attention. He said they had sex in the back of his car, right after she got off work at the hospital. She was still wearing her uniform, and she told him to fuck her like he meant it. She was practically begging for it, he said. She wanted it hard, she wanted it rough, and she wanted it now. He said she was moaning and screaming, telling him to fuck her like she was a fucking whore, like she was a fucking slut….”

“Please edit out whatever is not proper to air on a family channel. I am just narrating what I heard.” He said realizing her lover’s language that he had used was far from appropriate.

The interviewer nodded, reassuring him that anything inappropriate would be edited and he could speak freely.

Bharat sat back, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I started looking into her sexual partners more closely. I found out about her affair with Dr. Rohan Singh, a cardiologist at the same hospital. I talked to him. He was hesitant at first, but he eventually opened up. He told me about their relationship, how intense it was. He said she was insatiable, always demanding more. But he maintained that HR had been notified of their relationship and it was serious, at least from his end.”

“He maintained that Krutika was a dedicated and skilled nurse with more medical knowledge and savvy than many doctors. He also stated that it was no wonder that her patients loved her — she had excellent bedside manner and was compassionate. None of this was grounds for suspicion really. But something kept bugging me and I couldn’t put my finger on it. We explored other suspects, and everyone checked out, just the way Krutika had. But for some reason, I wasn’t able to dismiss her as a suspect.”

“I decided to put her under surveillance. I observed her for weeks before I finally figured out her pattern. She was a nymphomaniac, alright. Was it possible that she had used unsuspecting patients to sate her nymphomania?”

“I needed proof. I needed to catch her in the act. So, I set up a sting operation. I posed as a lonely, heartbroken patient with some minor ailment, who had just been dumped by his girlfriend. I checked into the hospital.”

“Before we put the sting operation into motion, we had presented all that we had to the Hospital Management. The more we spoke with Dr Rohan Singh, his conviction in her innocence seemed to waver. He agreed to cooperate, if only to exonerate her.”

“Anyway, my room in the hospital had been bugged with cameras and sound recording devices. The idea was to present a ‘likely victim’ to the nurse — someone romantic, heartbroken and craving love and see if she would take the bait.”

“I will spare you and the audience the sordid details of what I had to endure — or enjoy, depending on your perspective — but long and short of it, we caught her in the act.” He ended with a smile.

Krutika watched the interview as it played on the public television in the jail lounge. He had been the best of them all, she thought. He had caught her, but he had fun with her first and bot had he enjoyed it. Fuck, he had made her cum like a faucet and kept going almost all night.

As the interview came to an end, Krutika couldn’t help reflecting on everything — especially sexual — that had happened over the past few years…

Krutika sat on the narrow bed, the thin mattress offering little comfort against the hard surface beneath. She had been in this cell for a week now, and the monotony of her existence was beginning to wear on her.

The television interview that was aired earlier that day transported her to the days when she was awarded the best nurse in the hospital, three years in a row.

She had been the darling of Angel’s Memorial, and most of the top management had shown her just how much of a darling she was behind closed doors.

There was the Chief of Surgery, Dr Ismail Ansari, a portly old man with a beer belly bigger than his cock.

When she had joined the hospital, he had been her initiator. “Even the doctors need to be taken care of,” he had said as he led her to his office and locked the door.

She remembered the smell of his aftershave, a musky, overpowering scent that filled the room. He turned to her, a lecherous smile on his face.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? Tell me how you would take care of this?” He asked unzipping his pants and taking out his dick.

She took a step forward and got on her knees without any hesitation, taking him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around his cock, her head bobbing up and down. She sucked him deeply, taking him to the back of her throat, gagging slightly before pulling back.

“Fuck, yes!” Dr. Ansari groaned, his hands gripping her hair, guiding her head, fucking her mouth. “That’s it, nurse my cock, bitch!”

After a while, he pushed her head back. A wild look in his eyes, he dragged her to his desk and pushed her forward. Lifting her uniform above her hips, he pulled her panties down to her knees.

She heard the rustling of plastic as he tore off a condom wrapper with his teeth, put it on and entered her. He pounded into her hard, each thrust making her grunt and her tits bounce with the force of his movements.

“What a sweet ass you have,” he said spanking her ass cheeks as he pounded her pussy.

He grabbed her hips, pulling her towards him as he thrust deeper and deeper inside her. Krutika could feel pleasure building up inside her. She moaned and pushed herself back, meeting his thrusts. Her pussy was soaking wet, her juices dripping down her thighs.

“Oh fuck! You are so tight!” Dr. Ansari groaned, his breath coming in short gasps. He slapped her ass again, the sound echoing in the room. And then he stiffened, his cock pulsing inside her, releasing his seed in the condom. He had brought her to the brink of an orgasm and left her hanging.

“Well done,” he said zipping his pants, “I am going to request you on my roster. I need nurses who know how to serve.”

He wasn’t the only one. Most of the top management had used her body. She was sure they had fucked other nurses too. Not everyone used protection though. Where other nurses might call it abuse, Krutika, the nymphomaniac, saw it as a perk.

She wasn’t naive. She knew what she was getting into when she joined the hospital. In fact, it was one of the primary reasons she had chosen Angel’s Memorial over other prestigious institutions. She had heard the whispers, the rumors about the power dynamics within the hospital.

The way top management used their position to their advantage, the way they exploited the nurses. Krutika didn’t mind. She had, in fact, craved it. The danger, the thrill, the power play. It had turned her on.

She thought about Rohan — dear, dear romantic Rohan. He was different from the others. She had to actually seduce him. The fool was loyal to his wife… till he wasn’t.

The thing is, being a doctor is demanding on relationships. You’re on call 24/7, you’re tired, you’re stressed, and you often smell like iodine and latex.

However understanding a spouse is, it’s difficult to maintain a marriage when you’re never really home, or when you are, you’re always on edge. Rohan’s marriage was no different and one day Krutika found him with his head hanging low in the staff cafeteria.

They’d had a fight — one of many off late — and his wife was frustrated. He felt she didn’t understand him. Krutika did, and so did her cleavage, that she had him rest his sobbing head on.

He looked up at her with those big, sad puppy dog eyes and said, “I just can’t take it anymore.”

She knew what he meant. She had seen it in his eyes, the desperation, the loneliness, the craving for a connection, for someone to understand him. She was that someone.

She took his hand and led him to the emergency stairwell. She pushed him against the wall, her hands already going for his belt.

He looked at her, his eyes wide with shock and desire. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m giving you what you need,” she replied, her breath hot against his neck. “Don’t think about it. Just do it. You need a release, and I am here for you.”

She hadn’t insisted on a condom and once he had fucked her, there was no going back. Before long, they were doing it almost every day, till his wife caught them with his pants down and his cock up… Krutika’s ass.

The inevitable separation followed, and Krutika was there for him to release his sorrows into. He fell for her, and he fell hard.

Rohan couldn’t stay away from her. He was addicted to her touch, her smell, her taste. Every inch of him craved her. Every cell in his body yearned for her. They would fuck in the staff room, the emergency room, the break room, even the supply closet.

He would fuck her against the wall, on top of the desk, on the exam table, in the janitor’s closet. He would fuck her hard and fast, slow and deep, rough and raw. He would fuck her like he was claiming her, like he was marking her as his.

Maybe that was a mistake in hindsight, she thought. He had seen her disposing stuff in the incinerator room, he’d seen her get the cleaning supplies. He hadn’t suspected a thing then, but maybe he had cracked when the police questioned him, she would probably never know. Not that it mattered now.

She shifted on the narrow bed, the memory of Rohan’s cock sliding into her ass making her pussy clench with need. She remembered how he would grab her hair, yanking her head back as he pounded into her from behind.

She brought her hand up to her mouth, her teeth biting down on her knuckles as she remembered the sound of their flesh slapping together, the lewd, obscene noises they made, the way they would curse and scream and beg for more, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm, filling her with his thick hot cum.

She turned on the other side, trying to shake the memory of sex with Rohan from her mind. But another memory — a patient this time — rose to the surface. Mr. Kulkarni, the retired principal, a strict disciplinarian who had lost his wife a year ago and had been admitted after abnormalities in the reports after a routine checkup.

The old man was horny as hell — his eyes only left her cleavage to rest on her butt. He licked his lips, his tongue darting out like a tiny, pink serpent. “My dear, you are a vision. You remind me of my wife. She was so beautiful, so full of life.”

Krutika smiled, her eyes flicking down to his lap. His cock was straining against his hospital gown, the outline clear. “I’m sure she was, Mr. Kulkarni. Now, let’s get you comfortable.”

She helped him to his bed, his hand brushing against her breast as he leaned on her. She didn’t pull away, letting him cop a feel. When she laid him down in bed and went about cleaning up, she had bent forward and his hands had gone up her uniform, squeezing her ass.

This play with eyes and hands went on for a couple days, Mr. Kulkarni getting bolder and pushing his limits every day. One day, as she was changing his IV drip, Mr. Kulkarni reached out his hand snaking up her uniform and started rubbing her pussy over her lace panties.

Silently, Krutika had moved her panties aside, giving his fingers unhindered access to her pussy. She could feel her juices already coating his fingers as he rubbed her clit, his fingers moving in a slow, circular motion. She moaned softly, leaning against the bed and closing her eyes.

“Please, let me taste you,” he had begged, lust and hunger in his voice. She had smiled and obliged, pulling down her panties and sitting on his face.

He had groaned and gripped her ass, his tongue licking her folds, his nose rubbing against her clit. She had ridden his face, grinding her pussy against his mouth, his nose, his chin, his lips.

She pulled his cock out of the hospital gown and started stroking him. He groaned, his tongue lapping at her pussy, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks. Krutika ground harder against his face, her hips moving in a circular motion, her pussy lips rubbing against his mouth.

Once he was hard and ready, she had settled on his shaft, welcoming him into her depths. He grunted, his cock gliding deep inside her, her wetness making it easy. She began to move, her hips rotating, her pussy squeezing him tightly. Kulkarni moaned, his hands gripping her thighs, his nails digging into her skin.

Krutika leaned forward, her hands on his chest for support, her body moving in a sensual dance. She could feel every inch of him inside her, her body accommodating his girth.

She moved faster, her hips slapping against him, the sound filling the room. She was close, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps. He wasn’t too far from his release either.

He had unbuttoned her uniform and pulled her bra down, exposing her breasts. She leaned forward to let him take one nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently.

He alternated between the two, his hands squeezing and kneading them, his fingers tweaking the hardened nubs.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she moaned, her body arching against his, her hips moving on their own accord, “I am cumming!!!!” She had groaned, bouncing on his cock while he sucked her nipples raw.

When her orgasm hit, her pussy clenched, milking him for all he had, and he had given it to her, yelling as his cock pulsed, filling her with his cum.

He hadn’t died, had he? Nor had most of the other patients that she ‘helped’ with their unusual needs without judgment.

Memory after memory of patients, doctors, attendants, administrators — all the men she had ‘served’ without question came flooding back.

And then there was that fucking detective. He had fooled her alright. He had enjoyed her body all night before arresting her. He had cum four times — twice each in her ass and her pussy — and she had lost count of how many orgasms she had that night. The memory was sheer torture. She was burning with desire and needed a cock in her.

She thought about all those men who had fucked her in every hole and every position. The memories made her pussy throb with need.

Unconsciously, her hand went to her dripping wet pussy, her fingers tracing the seam of her panties, teasing her clit. She moaned softly, her hips bucking against her hand, seeking friction.

Before long, she was fucking herself with a fury, her fingers plunging in and out, her thumb rubbing against her clit. She was panting, her breath coming in short gasps, her body trembling with need.

“Fuck!” She cried out, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. She could feel her orgasm building, the pleasure coiling in her belly like a serpent ready to strike. She fucked herself faster, her hips moving like a wild animal in heat.

“Oh God, yes!” She moaned, her body tensing, her back arching. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. She could feel her pussy clenching around her fingers, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

Her body convulsed, her hips bucking against her hand, her juices squirting out, soaking her panties and the mattress beneath her. She rode out the wave, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling with the force of her release.

Her hand was still inside her panties, her fingers coated with her juices. She brought her hand up to her lips, licking her fingers clean. She moaned softly, the taste of herself on her fingers sending shivers down her spine.

She eventually opened her eyes after her breathing returned to normal and her body stopped shaking. That’s when he noticed him.

No, she first noticed the bulge in the uniform pants as he watched her masturbate to an orgasm. He was leaning against the bars, one hand gripping the cold metal while the other rested on the bulge in his pants.

He hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t made his presence known, just watching and enjoying the show she had put on.

He was one of the guards, a young one, maybe in his mid-twenties. She smiled shyly, covering herself in a show of modesty. She had found the answer to her cock craving.

Yogesh was pacing his office, restless, his balls aching. What he had just seen was mind blowing. Krutika, the infamous nurse, masturbating like a wild animal in heat, her fingers deep inside her pussy, her body convulsing with pleasure. He had watched, frozen in place, his cock throbbing in his pants, his balls aching with need. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The fountain that erupted from her pussy was something else. His wife never came that hard, never squirted.

Fuck this nurse was hot!

His mind was a conflict between his marriage vows and raw primal desire. Fuck, what wouldn’t he give to taste that fountain, to fill that gorgeous pussy with a fountain of his own.

He could imagine his cock buried balls deep in her, her pussy clenching around him, her juices squirting out to coat his cock. He could see her begging him to cum in her depths.

He adjusted his bulging crotch, his cock straining against his uniform, begging for release. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to have her. He needed a release — in her.

He looked at the monitors. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. This was his chance. He walked towards her cell, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. He stopped in front of her cell, his heart pounding in his chest.

He could see her through the bars, her eyes closed, her body still, her breath coming in soft gasps. He knew she wasn’t asleep, not after that orgasm. He could smell her arousal, her pussy juices still coating her fingers and her panties. He licked his lips, his cock throbbing in his pants, his balls aching with need.

He unlocked the cell door, the metal clanking loudly in the silent corridor. She started, her eyes flicking open, her body tense.

Then she saw him and relaxed, a small smile playing on her lips as he stepped into her cell and closed the door behind him.

He moved a finger to his lips and she nodded. He unbuckled his uniform pants, his cock springing free, already hard.

She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his shaft, her thumb swiping across the head, spreading the pre-cum leaking out of the tip.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groaned, his hips twitching as she stroked him. Grabbing her hair, he guided his cock to her mouth.

She opened wide, taking him in, her tongue swirling around his shaft, her head bobbing up and down. He groaned, “Fuck, yes!”

She moaned, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. She took him deep, her nose pressing against his pubic bone, her gag reflex kicking in. He held her head, preventing her from pulling back.

He started thrusting his hips, fucking her face, her saliva dripping down her chin, her mascara smudging under her eyes.

He knew he wouldn’t last. He also knew he probably didn’t have time to properly fuck her. That would have to wait. Today, he would enjoy his release in her mouth and watch her swallow his load.

He grunted with each thrust, inching closer and closer to release. Her hands cupped his balls, urging them to unleash their treasure. She moaned around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. He could feel his orgasm building, his balls drawing up tight.

He groaned, his body tensing as a rush of pleasure exploded from his cock. He let out a muffled cry of pleasure, his cock pulsing in her mouth as he let go. Krutika took it all, her throat convulsing as she swallowed every drop. He collapsed against the cell wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He looked down at her, a smirk on his face. “That was fucking incredible,” he said, his voice still hoarse from his release. She looked up at him, her lips swollen, her face wet with his cum and her saliva. She gave him a sultry smile, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, savoring his taste.

“I want more.” She said quietly.

“Not here. We could be seen. I will have to find someplace else we could go.” He said, putting on his uniform pants and zipping them.

He’d just had a taste, a trailer of what could be a wild ride. His cock was already getting hard again thinking about fucking the shit out of her in some secluded place. He walked to the door and looked back at her before opening it.

“Let me think of where we could go. Somewhere we wouldn’t be seen or heard.”

Krutika nodded, her eyes hungry, her body still aching with need. She watched him leave, her heart pounding in her chest. She was dripping wet, and she could still taste him in her mouth. She needed more, needed to feel his cock pounding inside her, needed him to fuck her like she was a filthy slut.

A few days later, in the silence of the night, he was back. This time, he had a plan. He had found an old, disused storage room near the incinerator shed, the perfect spot for a quick, dirty encounter. He had taken off his uniform and was dressed in regular clothes, ready to get his dick buried in her.

Like before, he motioned her to silence and she nodded. When he opened her cell door, instead of stepping in, he had motioned for her to step out. She had complied, her heart pounding in anticipation. The dark corridor was illuminated only by the faint emergency light at the end, casting long, eerie shadows.

She followed him, her mind trying to figure out the layout of the prison, where they were, and where they were headed. She had never been out of her cell at night before, and the prison was a labyrinth even in the daylight, let alone in the dark.

She kept close behind him, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps. She could feel the anticipation building inside her, her body tingling with need, her pussy already throbbing with desire.

They turned a corner, and she almost walked into him when he stopped abruptly. He turned around and put a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be quiet. She nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation.

He pushed open a door and stepped into the room, leaving it ajar for her.

She followed him in, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild animal. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a single bare bulb swinging gently from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and the sound of their footsteps echoed ominously in the silence.

He turned to face her, his eyes dark and hungry. He stepped closer, his hands going to the hem of her prison uniform, pulling it up and over her head in one swift motion. She stood before him, naked and vulnerable, her body trembling with a mix of fear and desire.

He could see the goosebumps on her skin, the stiff peaks of her nipples, the damp patch between her legs. She was a vision, a fucking wet dream come to life. He was rock hard, his cock straining against his jeans, begging for release.

He reached out, his hand cupping a breast, his thumb brushing against her nipple. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed, her breath coming in soft sighs.

He stepped closer, his body pressing against hers, his cock hard and insistent against her belly. She whimpered softly, her hands going to his chest, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through his t-shirt. He was solid, all hard planes and sharp edges, a contrast to her softness.

He bent his head, his mouth capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. His tongue plunged into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She moaned into his mouth, her body melting against his, her hands fisting in his shirt. He grabbed her hair, tilting her head to a better angle, his tongue fucking her mouth like he wanted to fuck her cunt.

She grabbed the edge of his t-shirt and lifted it. He broke the kiss long enough to let her strip it off, and then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue snaking in and finding her tongue hungrily. His hands explored her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples, and then trailing down to her hips, her ass, and finally, her wet, hot pussy. He groaned, feeling her juices coating his fingers.

She unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, her hand diving into his boxers and wrapping around his cock. She stroked him, her hand moving in sync with his fingers in her pussy. He could feel her heartbeat in her pussy walls, matching the rhythm of her hand on his cock.

He pulled his fingers out of her and licked them clean, savoring her taste. She moaned, her eyes heavy-lidded with lust, her body writhing with need.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he growled, his eyes locked on her glistening pussy.

He pulled his jeans down and stepped out of them before stripping off his boxers. His cock sprang free, standing tall and proud, ready for action. His cock would get its desire, but first, he had to quench his thirst for that glorious fountain he’d seen erupting from her pussy.

He lay her down on the flimsy mattress he had found and laid in the corner earlier that day.

Spreading her legs wide, he buried his face between them, his tongue licking up and down her opening.

She moaned, her back arching, her hands fisting his hair, pulling him closer. He growled, his tongue spearing her pussy, fucking her with it, tasting her sweet juices. she cried out, her hips bucking against his face, her pussy grinding against his mouth.

He lapped at her clit, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth grazing it gently. She screamed, her body convulsing as her first orgasm hit her. He didn’t let up, his tongue relentless, his fingers digging into her thighs, holding her still as he feasted on her.

Fuck she had the sweetest pussy ever! His wife didn’t even come close. His wife’s pussy was a desert compared to this juicy, wet tropical heaven. He could feel her muscles clenching around his tongue, her juices flowing freely, coating his face.

He was fucking her with his tongue, in and out, fast and deep, just like he would fuck her with his cock. He could feel her orgasm building, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps.

He growled, entering her with two fingers while sucking on her clit, fucking her with his tongue and fingers at the same time.

She screamed, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around his fingers, her juices squirting out and coating his face.

He couldn’t get enough of her taste, her scent, her texture. He was addicted and intoxicated. He wanted more. He wanted to fuck her raw, claim her, mark her as his. He wanted to bury his cock deep inside her, fill her with his seed, make her his.

He pulled his face away from her pussy, leaving her gasping and panting. He stood up, his cock jutting out, hard and ready.

He grabbed her legs and pulled her to the edge of the mattress, spreading her wide open for him. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire, his cock throbbing with need.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head against her pussy lips, coating it with her juices. She moaned, her hips bucking up to meet him, her hands reaching out to grab his ass, pulling him closer. His cockhead slipped inside her wet pussy, her muscles clenching around him, gripping him tight.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice raw with desire. He pushed in further, his cock stretching her, filling her. She whimpered, her nails digging into his ass, her body adjusting to his size.

“More,” she begged, her eyes locked onto his. “Give me more.”

He grinned, a wicked grin that promised her everything she wanted and more. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her, burying his cock deep inside her.

She cried out, her back arching off the mattress, her nails digging into his ass, urging him on. He grunted, his hips slamming against hers, his balls slapping against her ass.

She gasped, her body trembling as he filled her, her nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. He didn’t care, the pain adding to his pleasure, making his cock throb even harder.

He could feel her muscles fluttering around him, her body tightening like a vice, trying to keep him inside her.

“Fuck, yes!” He growled, his hips slamming against hers, his body possessed by an insatiable hunger.

She whimpered, her body responding to his primal claim, her pussy clamping down on him like a velvet glove. He leaned forward, his body covering hers, his chest pressing against her breasts, his cock pounding into her with a relentless, feral rhythm.

She could feel every inch of him, his cock stretching her, filling her, claiming her. She could feel the friction, the heat, the pleasure building inside her like a volcano ready to erupt.

She cried out, her voice echoing in the small room, her body convulsing as another orgasm tore through her.

He pulled out and wrapped his mouth around her pussy just in time to catch the gush of her juices. He lapped at her, his tongue plunging into her, fucking her with it as he drank from her. She bucked her hips, fucking his face, her hands fisting in his hair, holding him in place.

When he finally pulled away, his face was soaked with her juices, his beard glistening with her sweetness. He looked up at her, his eyes wild, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn delicious,” he growled. “I want to taste more of you.”

He flipped her over, her body landing on her hands and knees. He grabbed her ass cheeks, spreading them wide, revealing her glistening pussy and puckered asshole. He groaned, his cock throbbing at the sight. He had never fucked a girl in the ass before, but he wanted to claim every inch of her. He wanted to leave his mark on her, inside her.

Spreading her ass cheeks wide, he licked her butt hole, his fingers sliding into her pussy at the same time. He started moving his fingers in and out of her as his tongue entered her from behind.

She moaned, her body quivering as he double penetrated her, her pussy clenching around his fingers while his tongue explored her tight asshole. He growled against her skin, the vibrations making her moan even louder.

Before long, his tongue was fucking her ass and his fingers were drilling her pussy hard, driving her closer and closer to yet another orgasm. She was moaning and screaming his name, her body convulsing and bucking against the dual assault. coating his hand and chin.

Like before, just as her orgasm hit, he was under her pussy, waiting for the flood of honey.

Her pussy gushed with a force he hadn’t expected, her muscles clenching and releasing his fingers like a vice. He groaned, his tongue lapping up her sweetness, not wanting to waste a single drop. She moaned louder, her body trembling as he continued to assault her with his tongue and fingers.

When she finally came down from her high, he pulled his fingers out of her, his cock throbbing painfully. He was ready to claim her, to mark her as his. He needed to fuck her, to bury himself deep inside her and fill her with his seed.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He spat on his hand and rubbed it on his cock, using it as lube. He positioned himself behind her, his cockhead pressing against her puckered asshole.

He pushed forward, his cockhead pressing insistently against her ass. She tensed for a moment before she relaxed, allowing him to breach her tight hole.

He groaned, the sensation of her tightness around his cock almost overwhelming.

He could feel her muscles resisting, her body trying to adjust to the intrusion. He could feel her heat, her tightness, her wetness.

He groaned, his hips moving back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of her ass, inch by agonizing inch.

He could feel her clenching around him, her body resisting the invasion, but he was relentless, driven by a primal need to claim her, to mark her as his.

She moaned, her body relaxing, her muscles opening up to him. He took it as a cue to push deeper, his cock sinking further into her tight ass.

She gasped, her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white as she braced herself against the invasion. He could feel her muscles straining, her body tensing, but he was patient, determined to bury himself to the hilt in her ass.

She whimpered, her body trembling as he inched his way deeper. He could feel her stretching around him, her ass gripping his cock like a velvet glove. He groaned, the sensation of her tightness almost overwhelming.

He looked down, watching his cock disappear inch by inch into her ass. The sight was fucking erotic, his cock coated in her juices, her ass stretching to accommodate him. He could see the strain on her face, the tension in her body, but he also saw the excitement in her eyes, the lust, the need.

He started moving in and out of her, picking up his pace with every thrust. His wife never let him fuck her ass, denying him this divine pleasure. But here, with Krutika, he could claim this forbidden territory. He started to move in and out of her ass, his cock stretching her tight hole, filling her completely. He could feel her muscles gripping his cock, her body resisting the intrusion, but he was relentless, determined to bury his entire length in her.

“Fuck, your ass is so tight,” he groaned, his voice raw with desire. “I’m going to fill it up with my cum, make you mine.”

She moaned, her body trembling with the invasion, her hands fisting the rough blanket beneath her. “No, not my ass, I want your cum in my pussy” she begged.

He grinned. He would fuck her ass and fill her pussy. She was his to enjoy and use, not just today, but whenever he needed a release. The thought of making her cum, filling her pussy with his seed was too fucking tempting. He wanted to mark her, claim her, make her his.

Picked up the pace, fucking her ass with urgency now. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him, slamming his cock deep inside her. She grunted with each thrust, her body rocking forward and then slamming back against him.

He was getting close and she could feel it as his cock started throbbing in her ass. He groaned, “I’m gonna come, baby.”

“Please come in my pussy.” she begged, her voice a ragged plea.

He pulled out and rolled her on to her back, entering her pussy in one swift movement. She moaned, her back arching off the mattress, her nails digging into his ass.

“Wait for me,” she groaned, feeling his throbbing cock on the verge of release inside her, “not yet, please wait for me.” He groaned, struggling to hold back, his balls about to explode.

He closed his eyes, willing his body to hold on as he drilled her, driving her wild and close to her climax.

“Yes, yes, yes…” she kept groaning with every thrust, “I am so fucking close” she begged, her voice ragged and desperate. He could feel her pussy spasming around his cock, her body tensing up, getting ready for that explosive release.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her face was contorted with pleasure, her eyes glazed over, her chest heaving with shallow gasps. Her nipples were hard, begging for attention. He reached out and pinched them hard, twisting them, watching her eyes widen with pain and pleasure.

“Nowwww!!!!” She cried out, her back arching, as her orgasm hit. As if on cue, he exploded inside her, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he filled her with his cum. She could feel it, hot and thick, coating her insides. he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his release. He rode out his orgasm, his cock pulsing and jerking inside her, draining every last drop of his seed into her waiting womb.

When he finally stopped coming, he collapsed on top of her, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wrapped his mouth around one of her nipples, moaning into it as he panted heavily.

She caressed his hair, her own breathing ragged and uneven. She had found a way out of her cell. It was now just a matter of time. If she played her cards right, he would be her passport out of prison.

All she had to do was find a way to induce death from heart attack symptoms. Too bad, she no longer had access to the supplies in the hospital. But she would find a way. She always did. She smiled.