10:00 AM. Plush corridors gleam under crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains frame panoramic city views from these elite suites. Norbert leads our tour—me, Fanny, Michèle, Jocelyne. Four nurses in crisp silk uniforms, heels clicking on marble. He eyes Fanny’s ass, tight scrubs hugging curves. Rich surgeon. Very rich. She flirts back. Only one he hasn’t fucked. Hunt on. Michèle’s married to gastro chief now—off limits. Jocelyne wants round two, but she’s no prize. Norbert craves the chase. Patient in 21 recovers fast. Jean, football fanatic. Racist prick. Won’t miss him. Paul’s the real VIP—agregé prof, brains and prestige. Mix-up on discharge. Double suites confuse. Window side or toilet side? Laughter bubbles.
10:05. Suite 22. Boumako, black concierge, ripped post-gallbladder op. Aides whisper: massive cock, fucks like a god. They fight for sponge duty. I’ll test the myth before he leaves. Next bed: Mme Van CleenPutt, bourgeois tightwad, Sunday mass racist. ‘Noise and smell,’ she gripes. We call her Tatie Danielle. Family visits: prissy sons Guy-Hubert, Bertrand-Jacques. Wimp husband obeys. Norbert reassures her scar. ‘Stay put ten days.’ She pesters. He flees, Fanny whispers her name. Chaos. Silk sheets rustle as we exit.
The Privilege
10:10. Suite 23 empty-ish. Mohamed gone yesterday. Arab welfare thief, multiple wives, kids, Mecca prayers five times daily. Demands halal. Rodolphe handles him—night shift loner. Norbert pushes early discharge. Michèle protests—can’t walk. Her connections save her. Norbert snaps at doubts. Fanny’s safe till he bags her.
10:15. Suite 24. Clémentine, patchouli-scented eco-feminist, keffieh choke. Wants animal rights protest. Norbert blocks. She snaps: ‘Clémentine will sign out!’ We stifle laughs. He storms to transferred patient in 24—plumbing fail in 25. Bernard, biker beast. Harley only, tats everywhere, beer gut, homophobe. Pals yesterday: leather jackets, beards, loud. Groped Evelyne—ugly nurse even Norbert skipped. ‘No bike a week,’ Norbert says. Bernard towers: 2 meters, 110kg. ‘You stopping me? Faggot?’ We explode laughing. Clémentine eggs: ‘He’ll call security!’ Norbert flees furious.
The Excess
Corridor rage. He threatens jobs. Panic rises. I’ve lost shifts before. For this job… anything. Suite 25 empty, under repair. Marble bathroom dry, but king bed pristine—Egyptian cotton, down pillows. I shove him down. Door locks click soft. Fanny watches, eyes hungry. Jocelyne licks lips. Michèle slips off wedding ring. ‘Our secret. Five only.’ He nods, pants bulge.
His zipper rasps. Cock springs free—thick, veined, surgeon’s precision. I straddle, scrubs yanked aside. Wet heat engulfs him. Thrusts brutal, suite’s hush amplifies slaps. Fanny kneels, tongue on balls. Jocelyne rides his face, moans muffled in luxury. Michèle fingers herself, alliance glints on nightstand. Champagne flute nearby—stolen from VIP lounge—bubbles fizz as we sip between gasps. Leather chair creaks under group shift. His wealth pulses in every grunt. Cum floods deep, raw, no limits. We rotate. Fanny first conquered. My turn: ass up on silk, his hands bruise hips. Ecstasy in exclusivity. Elite prey yields.
Spent. Bodies gleam sweat on brocade throws. City skyline twinkles beyond glass walls—impenetrable. Norbert zips, promises protection. No firings. Michèle re-rings. Giggles fade to whispers. Fresh linens conceal stains. Corridors empty. Suites 26-28 wait tomorrow. Secret sealed in opulence. Power’s privilege. Lust’s reward.
