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View Full Version : F/M Story: Ticklephile Nurses



Paul Jones
07-19-2011, 02:35 PM
Harold was naked and sprawled out, face up, on an examination table. Restraints held
his limbs in place. The head nurse, Miss Finch, was present, along with a number of
other nurses. They all smiled at him mischievously.

He was embarrassed and uneasy. Being in a hospital was always unsettling. One felt
so defenseless—being literally at the mercy of the staff. He wondered why he was
strapped down and naked, and what they were going to do to him.

In spite of the hospital setting, and the fact that they were nurses, he was embarrassed
to be naked and helpless in front of these women.

He felt particularly vulnerable because he was unusually ticklish for a man. He had
vivid memories—not entirely unpleasant—of being tickled by nurses when he was
occasionally hospitalized as a boy. The incidents still visited his dreams.

Then his misgivings were confirmed. Miss Finch drew her nails across his stomach,
making him laugh heartily and squirm.

“Well, it seems that Harold is a very ticklish patient indeed!” she laughed. The
others smiled in amusement, but Harold blushed.

She only increased his agitation when she said, “You know, Harold, since you’re so
ticklish, you should be wary when checking into a hospital. Otherwise, you might fall
into the hands of some naughty nurses who’ll put you in restraints, and then tickle
you,” she teased pointedly.

She continued, “Nobody knows more about how to tickle people than we nurses. It’s all
the hands-on work we do, if you see what I mean. We can’t help but learn all about
ticklishness.”

“I mean things like where people are the most ticklish, and what kinds of
touching generate the most entertaining responses—like hysterics. In time, we all
acquire unique tickling skills.”

She added impishly, “In fact, one of the pleasures of our profession is handling ticklish
patients—particularly ticklish men—like you. And I do mean handling.”

It was uncanny how her remarks heightened the secret ambivalence that Harold had felt
for years. Clearly, he had fallen into the hands of nurses who were ticklephiles,
just as in his dreams. His mind was beset by a blend of unease and excitement.

“Now, ladies, we’re going to give Harold a very special examination,” she said
suggestively. The others tittered. “And, as you know, this examination room, our own
little tickle chamber, is soundproof.”


The nurses took positions around the table, and began tickling Harold all over at once.
He broke into convulsive, howling laughter. Then they started taking turns, working in
succession.

First, a nurse started tickling his ribs vigorously. He went wild, and screamed with
riotous laughter. She kept it up for several minutes.

He squealed as the next nurse tickled his armpits, as well as his breasts. “Why,
Harold, your breasts seem to be as ticklish as ours are,” she taunted. That remark
genuinely embarrassed him.

After that, another nurse began tickling his stomach, making him laugh and wriggle
frantically. “Look at the worm squirm,” she teased.

When she finished, two nurses began a merciless foot-tickling assault. One stood at
each foot, holding back his toes with one hand, while unmercifully tickling his sole and
toes with the other.

Harold bellowed with raucous laughter, for his feet were especially ticklish. “Listen
to him howl!” Miss Finch exclaimed.

Throughout the session, Harold writhed and shrieked hysterically as the tickling
sensations exploded in his brain. For he was being tickle-tortured by women
well versed in the art—professionally versed, in fact. Just as in his dreams!

He had been tickled before, but nothing in his experience had prepared him for this.
Tears streamed down his face, and he laughed louder and longer than ever before
in his life.

Miss Finch said, “Well. It seems that tickling reduces Harold (like most men) to the
level of a blubbering little boy, something that he finds unspeakably embarrassing.”
He blushed at her words because they were so true.

By now, Harold was terribly bewildered. His ambivalence was piercing him to the core.
For, as maddening as the tickling was, it was also nevertheless enormously
enjoyable!

Then one of the nurses suggested, “Let’s tickle him to death. I’ve always wanted to do
that to a patient.” He shuddered at the idea, for he felt sure that they could do it, if they
wished.

Miss Finch said, ”So have I. Wouldn’t that be a lovely way to die, Harold?” Then she
added, “But I suppose we’d better not.”

Harold gulped when she added, “There’d be too many questions.” Was that the only
consideration that saved him?

Then they stopped to let him rest.


By now, Harold was quite aroused, much to their delight. “My, my, what’s going on
down here?” Miss Finch asked, gently fingering his penis.

She continued, “We’re particularly adept in tickling—and especially teasing—a
man’s genitals.

“You know, of course, that they’re the most ticklish parts of your body,” she observed.
Harold quivered in anticipation. “So this should be a lot of fun.” The other nurses
beamed in delight.

Then she began tickling his scrotum and shaft devilishly. Harold roared with laughter,
and squirmed vigorously. Until now, he hadn’t realized how ticklish his genitals really were.

Her skillful fingers thrilled his organs with the most electrifying—and maddening—
sensations imaginable. He was desperate to climax, but she wouldn’t let him.

“You know, Harold, if I tickle-tease you long enough without letting you have an
orgasm, your poor brain will turn into what we in the medical profession call mush!”
The others nodded in agreement, and Harold feared that it might be true.

Then they stopped again.


Miss Finch said to him, “Perhaps you’re wondering why nobody has ever reported us
for what we do. You’re about to find out.”

“It’s the same reason you won’t report us,” she added confidently.

To his delight, she began caressing his now hyper-sensitive genitals with superb
skill. Then, using her mouth, she engulfed his eager, quivering body in stupefying
pleasure, bringing him to an intensely thrilling orgasm. Her tongue action was
marvelous.

The climax she bestowed on him was wonderfully long. As a lover, she was a true
miracle worker!

Finally, after a delicious interval, he cried out loudly (and long) in pure ecstasy, an
ecstasy so intense that he lost consciousness.

The nurses smiled with delight, and several experienced climaxes of their own.

When he awoke, Harold had been returned to his hospital bed. Upon reflection,
he knew that Miss Finch was right. He would never report this incident to anyone!

milagros317
07-19-2011, 04:46 PM
Fine story. :D

Smellking
07-19-2011, 04:54 PM
great story but to short. please write longer f-m stories.

scottirish
07-19-2011, 07:58 PM
Good stuff, again!

Garfield1
07-20-2011, 03:34 AM
I like the verbal teasing yuo put in and the great sadisticness of your stories. You go straight to the point without building a base a this makes possible for everyone to make YOUR story HIS story.

Please let harold get his revenge on the ticklish white-stockinged nurse... I love M/F revenge and you do it very well! :)