Paul Jones1
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F/M Story: Ticklephile Nurses
Michael was naked and sprawled out on an examination table. Restraints held his limbs
in place. The head nurse, Mrs. Brady, 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 was going to happen.
In spite of the hospital setting, he was embarrassed to be naked and helpless in front
of these women, even though they were nurses.
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. Mrs. Brady drew her nails across his stomach,
making him laugh heartily and squirm.
“Well, it seems that Michael is a very ticklish patient indeed!” she laughed. The others
smiled in amusement, but Michael blushed.
She only increased his agitation when she said, “You know, Michael, 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 do.
It’s all the hands-on experience we get, if you see what I mean. We just can’t help
learning 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 Michael 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 Michael 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 Michael all over his
body 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,
Michael, your breasts seem to be as ticklish as ours are,” she taunted. That remark
genuinely embarrassed him. This, too, went on for a while.
After that, another nurse took many minutes tickling his stomach, making him howl”
and writhe frantically. “Look at the handsome worm squirm,” she teased.
When she finished, two nurses began a extended 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.
Michael bellowed with raucous laughter, for his feet were especially ticklish.
“Listen to him howl!” Mrs. Brady exclaimed.
Throughout the session, Michael 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.
When they paused , he cried out, “Oh, ladies, please stop! This is so humiliating!”
“It’s supposed to be, you silly goose!” Mrs. Brady responded.
She continued, “It seems that tickling reduces Michael (like most men) to the level
of a blubbering little boy, something that he finds terribly embarrassing.”
He blushed because her words were so true.
At this point, Michael was terribly bewildered. His ambivalence was piercing him
to the core. For, as maddening as the tickling was, it was also nevertheless
enormously enjoyable!
Once again, the nurses began tickling Michael all over his body. And, once again,
he broke into shrieking, convulsive laughter.
During a pause, he screamed hysterically, “Ladies, please! I can’t stand it!
I’m too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
The nurses smiled, greatly amused by his “ticklish” predicament—a delicious
predicament of their own making.
Then they stopped to let him rest.
By now, Michael was quite aroused, much to their delight. “My, my, what’s going on
down here?” Mrs. Brady 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.
Michael quivered in anticipation. “So this should be a lot of fun.” The other nurses
beamed in delight.
Mrs. Brady began tickling his scrotum and shaft devilishly. Michael 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, Michael, 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 Michael feared that it might be true.
Then she stopped.
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 wanted to.
Mrs. Brady said, ”So have I. Wouldn’t that be a lovely way to die, Michael?” Then she
added, “But I suppose we’d better not.”
Michael gulped when she added, “There’d be too many questions.” Was that the only
consideration that saved him?
Then she said to him, “Well, Michael. 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, Michael had been returned to his hospital bed. Upon reflection,
he knew that Mrs. Brady was right. He would never report this incident to anyone!
(Previously published elsewhere)
Michael was naked and sprawled out on an examination table. Restraints held his limbs
in place. The head nurse, Mrs. Brady, 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 was going to happen.
In spite of the hospital setting, he was embarrassed to be naked and helpless in front
of these women, even though they were nurses.
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. Mrs. Brady drew her nails across his stomach,
making him laugh heartily and squirm.
“Well, it seems that Michael is a very ticklish patient indeed!” she laughed. The others
smiled in amusement, but Michael blushed.
She only increased his agitation when she said, “You know, Michael, 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 do.
It’s all the hands-on experience we get, if you see what I mean. We just can’t help
learning 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 Michael 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 Michael 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 Michael all over his
body 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,
Michael, your breasts seem to be as ticklish as ours are,” she taunted. That remark
genuinely embarrassed him. This, too, went on for a while.
After that, another nurse took many minutes tickling his stomach, making him howl”
and writhe frantically. “Look at the handsome worm squirm,” she teased.
When she finished, two nurses began a extended 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.
Michael bellowed with raucous laughter, for his feet were especially ticklish.
“Listen to him howl!” Mrs. Brady exclaimed.
Throughout the session, Michael 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.
When they paused , he cried out, “Oh, ladies, please stop! This is so humiliating!”
“It’s supposed to be, you silly goose!” Mrs. Brady responded.
She continued, “It seems that tickling reduces Michael (like most men) to the level
of a blubbering little boy, something that he finds terribly embarrassing.”
He blushed because her words were so true.
At this point, Michael was terribly bewildered. His ambivalence was piercing him
to the core. For, as maddening as the tickling was, it was also nevertheless
enormously enjoyable!
Once again, the nurses began tickling Michael all over his body. And, once again,
he broke into shrieking, convulsive laughter.
During a pause, he screamed hysterically, “Ladies, please! I can’t stand it!
I’m too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
The nurses smiled, greatly amused by his “ticklish” predicament—a delicious
predicament of their own making.
Then they stopped to let him rest.
By now, Michael was quite aroused, much to their delight. “My, my, what’s going on
down here?” Mrs. Brady 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.
Michael quivered in anticipation. “So this should be a lot of fun.” The other nurses
beamed in delight.
Mrs. Brady began tickling his scrotum and shaft devilishly. Michael 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, Michael, 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 Michael feared that it might be true.
Then she stopped.
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 wanted to.
Mrs. Brady said, ”So have I. Wouldn’t that be a lovely way to die, Michael?” Then she
added, “But I suppose we’d better not.”
Michael gulped when she added, “There’d be too many questions.” Was that the only
consideration that saved him?
Then she said to him, “Well, Michael. 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, Michael had been returned to his hospital bed. Upon reflection,
he knew that Mrs. Brady was right. He would never report this incident to anyone!
🙂
