"Going Under" with Olivia Holt

[TheLW]

Going Under
With Olivia Holt
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob, Handjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.


That Friday morning was like any other. My first alarm went off at 5:45 a.m., its familiar buzz dragging me out of whatever dream I was having. I reached over, turned it off, and lay still in the quiet of my room. The early light hadn't quite crept in through the curtains yet, and for a few minutes, I just let myself drift in and out of that hazy space between sleep and waking.

At 6:00 sharp, the second alarm went off, more persistent, less forgiving. I sighed, rubbed my face, and finally forced myself out from under the covers. The floor was cold under my feet as I shuffled down the hallway to the washroom. The hot water of the morning shower was a small mercy, shaking off the sleep and letting the day start to take shape.

After drying off and getting dressed, jeans, a black T-shirt, and my work hoodie, I made my way to the kitchen. My lunch routine rarely changed. I pulled out two slices of bread, laid down a couple slices of ham and cheese, and wrapped it up. A small bag of chips went into the lunch bag with it. It wasn't gourmet, but it was enough to get me through the day. I filled up my travel mug with coffee and headed out the door just before 6:45.

By 7:00, I had my apron on and was behind the line. The kitchen lights buzzed overhead, and the low hum of refrigeration units filled the background. As the first customers filtered in, the familiar rhythm kicked in, greeting the regulars, prepping the stations, warming up the flat top.

The breakfast rush started on cue. I heard the point-of-sale system beep as it printed the first order slip of the day. I reached over and tore it off, eyes scanning the ticket. A moment later, I cracked two eggs onto the flat top, the yolks spreading slightly as they hit the hot surface. The sizzle of bacon already filled the air beside them, the scent curling up around me like an old friend.

Orders came in steadily, eggs over easy, bacon crisp, toast on the side. My hands moved with practiced ease, plating up hash browns, flipping pancakes, sliding omelets onto warm plates. The soundscape of the morning built up around me, the clatter of pans, the hiss of the fryer, the low murmur of voices from the dining area. It was the kind of chaos I had come to know, even love. Predictable, in its own way.

It wasn't until midway through my shift that I started feeling a dull pain in my stomach. At first, I brushed it off, maybe I ate too fast, or maybe the coffee hadn't settled right. It wasn't unbearable, just... noticeable. A quiet discomfort that sat there, lingering, not sharp enough to stop me, but just enough to make me aware of it with every movement.

When my shift finally ended, I didn't stick around to chat or grab a coffee like I sometimes did. I just gathered my things, mumbled a quick goodbye to the team, and headed straight home. The walk back felt longer than usual, the weight of the day hanging heavier than it should've.

Once I was home, I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my shoes, and sank onto the couch. I figured the best thing to do was rest. Maybe it was something minor, stress, lack of sleep, or just one of those random stomach things that disappears after a good night's rest. I didn't eat much dinner, just picked at some toast and drank water, trying not to overthink it.

As I got ready for bed, the pain hadn't worsened, but it hadn't gone away either. It hovered, stubborn and unsettling, like a warning my body was trying to whisper. Still, I told myself I'd feel better in the morning. That sleep would take care of it.

The next morning, things had gotten worse. Much worse.

I woke up curled on my side, my stomach clenched tight, the pain no longer a dull ache but something sharp and relentless. It had shifted, too, now rooted firmly in the lower right side of my abdomen, stabbing every time I moved, coughed, even breathed too deeply. I knew then it wasn't just something I could sleep off.

By mid-morning, I couldn't take it anymore. I called a cab and made my way to the hospital, trying to stay upright in the backseat, every bump in the road sending another jolt through my side. At the emergency room, I checked in, gave them a brief explanation, and waited, clutching my abdomen while trying not to wince with every passing second.

It didn't take long before I was called back. A nurse led me into an examination room, and after some quick questions, they ordered a CT scan. By now, the pain had made it nearly impossible to think clearly. I lay still under the sterile white light of the scanner, my mind racing as I waited for answers I wasn't sure I wanted.

It wasn't long after that the doctor came in with the results. His tone was calm but firm, his words landing with weight, "You've got appendicitis. We need to get you into surgery as soon as possible." There was no time for questions or hesitation. Nurses came in and started prepping me, changing into a gown, inserting an IV, explaining the procedure in clinical but reassuring terms. I nodded along, still half in shock, the pain now joined by a surreal sense of urgency.

Now, I was heading into an operating room.

The doctor placed the anesthesia mask over my face. He said, "Alright, I need you to start counting back from ten."

Ten… nine… eight… sev…

And then, just like that, everything faded to black.

After being put under, I can only assume what happened next wasn't real. Somewhere between anesthesia and unconsciousness, I drifted into a vivid, dreamlike state, so real, it felt like I had simply woken up.

I found myself lying in what looked like my hospital bed, but something about the atmosphere was different. The lighting was softer, casting a golden glow instead of the harsh fluorescents I remembered. The hum of machines was quieter, distant, like a soundtrack muffled behind glass. Everything felt slower. Warmer. Almost inviting.

Then the door opened.

A nurse stepped in, blonde, radiant, with a smile that lit up the entire room. But it wasn't just her smile that caught my attention, it was her outfit. Definitely not standard-issue hospital attire. She wore a red-and-white costume that looked like something from a risqué Halloween party. A white satin top trimmed with red, bows tied neatly along the hem, clinging to her form in a way that seemed entirely impractical for actual work. A matching skirt barely reached mid-thigh, and red garter straps led down to white thigh-high stockings, finishing with six-inch red stilettos that clicked dramatically with each step.

She approached the bed, clipboard in hand, though I doubted she needed it, and leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," she said, voice dripping with playful warmth. "I'm Nurse Holt, but everyone just calls me Olivia. Or Liv, if you like."

She stepped closer to the bed, one hip cocked to the side, casually flipping through a clipboard that I'm pretty sure had nothing written on it. Her eyes flicked down to me, then slowly back up, smiling like she'd caught me staring, and didn't mind one bit.

"You've had quite the day," she purred. "Appendix out, still managing to look cute. That's impressive."

Liv leaned in, close enough that I could smell her perfume, soft and warm, like spiced sugar. She placed a hand gently on my chest, her fingers light but lingering.

"Don't worry," she whispered, her lips close to my ear, "I'll be taking very good care of you."

She pulled back with a smirk, turning slowly to check the machines beside the bed, though she never once looked like she was actually reading them.

"Doctor's orders, and all that," Liv said seductively, before giving a wink.

Then she climbed in.

The mattress shifted slightly beneath her as she slid in beside me, one leg draping over mine like it belonged there. She rested a hand on my chest again, this time with more weight, more purpose. Her eyes sparkled with flirtation, her lips curved into a knowing smile as if she could feel the way my pulse had just quickened beneath her fingertips.

"Recovery can be... a little boring," she said softly, her body so close now I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "I just thought I'd make it more... stimulating."

She leaned in, her hair brushing against my shoulder, her voice a hush against my ear. "Besides," she whispered, "you've been through a lot. You deserve a little comfort... don't you think?"

The lines between dream and desire blurred. My thoughts clouded with sensation, the warmth of her, the softness of her tone, the surreal intimacy of it all. I couldn't move, not because I didn't want to, but because part of me knew this wasn't real. This was the edge of sleep, the space where logic took a backseat and imagination was in full control.

And Liv, Nurse Holt, was the embodiment of that.

I tried to speak, to respond, but she simply placed a finger to my lips, quieting me.

"Shhh... Just relax," she murmured. "Let me take care of everything."

And so I did.

Then, with a smile, she let her hand drift lower, slipping beneath the sheet, past the edge of the waistband of my hospital pants. A moment later, Liv had fished out my dick, and started stroking it. Liv's touch was like a spark of electricity, sending a thrilling jolt of pleasure coursing through my body. Her hand moved with a rhythmic, up and down motion, each stroke deliberate and full of intent.

"Hmm," she whispered, her lips grazing my ear, "definitely responsive... that's a good sign."

She chuckled, low and wicked, and for a moment, the sterile hospital room melted away completely. There was only Olivia, her skin, her scent, her nearness.

Olivia continued to work her magic over my cock, as her hand moved with practiced skill, her grip was firm yet gentle, her thumb circling the sensitive tip. Each stroke was intentional, teasing, drawing out the sensation. A low moan escaped my lips as Liv's movements became more confident, her touch now purposeful and unapologetically arousing.

"That's it," she cooed, her voice a sultry melody. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Her lips met mine in a soft, exploratory kiss. She tasted sweet, like ripe fruit, and her lips were impossibly soft. I couldn't help but respond, my lips moving against hers. The kiss was intoxicating, making the world spin even as I lay still.

I was lost in the moment, the feeling of her lips moving against mine, her tongue dancing with mine, the pleasure of her touch overwhelming my senses. She pulled back slightly, her lips still barely brushing mine, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Liv leaned in closer, her breath hot on my ear. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes." I answered.

She shifted her body, pressing against me, her hand still moving rhythmically, driving me to the brink. The kiss intensified, becoming hungrier, more urgent. Her teeth grazed my bottom lip, nipping gently.

Liv's hand continued its steady motion, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. She pumped her hand around me, her movements fluid and sure.

"That's it," she said, her voice a sultry purr.

After several more minutes of her intoxicating touch, Liv slowly shifted her position. She moved downwards, her body grazing against mine.

Saliva dripped from her parted lips, a glistening thread descending onto my length. I jolted at the sudden warmth, then watched as her tongue began a languid dance around the ridge of my cock.

Her eyes looked up to meet mine, a wicked smile playing on her lips before she enveloped me completely. The sudden heat of her mouth was overwhelming, her cheeks hollowing out as she began to apply suction.

Liv took her time, exploring every inch of me with her tongue, her head bobbing slowly. She was teasing me, bringing me close to the edge only to pull back.

I couldn't help but let out a low groan.

Working my cock over, like it was a lollipop in her mouth, Liv bobbed her head up and down, as she sucked me off. She picked up her pace, one hand wrapping around the base of my shaft,

The room filled with the sounds of my ragged breaths and the soft, wet noises of her ministrations.

Her mouth was a velvet vice, slick and hot, pushing me closer and closer to the brink. I could feel the tension building, every muscle in my body tensing as Liv's movements became more insistent, more demanding.

Liv must have sensed it too, because she doubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her hand stroking in sync with her mouth. A low groan escaped her lips, vibrating around me, and that was it, the final push.

I explode in her mouth, releasing a torrent of hot, pent-up desire. Liv takes it all, her throat working as she swallows every last drop.

Liv gently releases me, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You taste good," she says.

Then I heard another voice.

It cut through the haze, clear, clinical, and familiar.

"Good, you're awake," the doctor said, his tone calm and reassuring. I blinked against the harsh overhead lights as the real hospital room snapped back into focus.

"The surgery went well. You're going to be just fine."

He stood at the foot of my bed, clipboard in hand, dressed in his standard white coat. No stilettos, no crimson trim, just reality.

"You'll be discharged shortly," he continued. "We'll have a nurse bring your clothes. In the meantime, here's a note for your employer. You'll need to take it easy for the next two weeks, no heavy lifting, and definitely no running marathons."

He offered a quick smile, slipping the folded paper into a plastic folder by my bedside. "Any questions?"

I shook my head no.

The End