Don’t Fuck With The Nurse

By Lauren McAllister

            Let’s just say that I hadn’t quite had the kind of morning that puts wings on your heart and bells on your eyelashes. I was pretty fucking pissed, if you want to know the truth. My so called husband had just given me a major case of the crabs. When I confronted the asshole about it, he simply said he was in love with someone else (presumably an infested someone else) and he was leaving me. Well, he wasn’t so much leaving me as requesting that I leave him because he wanted to keep our condo. Apparently, “Vanessa” liked the view from the bedroom window while he was banging away on her Red-Lobster Buffet Table of a cunt. Tragically, I chose not to kill Gordon. Since I’m a nurse, I had all the lethal medicaments and homicidal tools at my fingertips but all I did was pour 5 pounds of sugar into his gas tank and post two dozen pictures of his penis on Facebook. Needless to say, I was very disappointed in myself.

            So there I sat in some coffee shop trying to find an apartment on Craig’s List and attempting to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life. That’s when my phone buzzed. “Could I do a quick physical for two mid-level executives?” Apparently, these two lovely businessmen were just too busy during the week to find the time but an insurance requirement mandated that the physicals be completed by midnight or they’d lose their jobs. Coincidentally, my husband/soon-to-be former husband was also mid-level executive. Gee, what an amazing treat to have dropped into my uber-itchy lap!

            And wasn’t that just like mid-level pricks executives to leave everything ‘til the last goddamn minute (like telling your wife that you’re cheating on her with a low-life, diseased tart!). And why did I have to go and do these physicals? It was Sunday, for Chrissakes! How come I got every shitty assignment that came down the pipe? Why didn’t any of the guy nurses get stuck with this?

            Now normally, I quite like gentlemen of the male persuasion and their charmingly backward ways but occasionally, they can really, really, really piss me off. This was definitely one of those times. What I really needed was to go and find me some steaming hot gal to cuddle up with and calm down, but I couldn’t do that because I had these two assholes to take care of.

            God I hated men! And I wasn’t too damned pleased with my job either. GRRRRRRRRRR! As I said, it just wasn’t my morning.

            So off I trudged to some characterless piece of shit high-rise to meet these two pieces of shit bozos. I was on time and they were late. Not only were these turdies tardy, they came off the elevator glaring at their watches like I was holding them up. Now, I’m not normally a cruel woman but I was very, very unhappy and someone had to pay.

            “Mr. Thomas and Mr. Beirness?” I curtly inquired.

            “Is this going to take long?” the taller of the two corn-wipes haughtily responded.

            I looked at my sheet. “You’re both here for the Kristoff set of tests, is that correct?”

            “Yes, yes. Can we get on with it?”

            The sheet of paper I was referring to was blank. “Kristoff” was my mother’s maiden name. They had picked the wrong nurse to fuck with and this was going to be fun.

            “Okay, well if you two gentlemen would just like to go into that room and remove all your clothing, I’ll be in shortly and we can get started.”

            This caused a minor pause in their collective haughtiness.

             “Remove all our clothes?”

            “You two really need to get a grip,” I chastised. “This is the “Kristoff” set of tests. So, if you’d like to get out of here before midnight, I’d suggest you get in there and started stripping down.”

            And off they trotted, like the condemned and the damned traversing The Bridge of Sighs. Me? I checked out my Facebook to see if there were any funny comments about Gordon’s dong, ordered some shoes off Zappos.com and turned the air-conditioning down to Antarctic temperatures.

            When I finally did decide to grace them with my presence, they were both standing in a small sunbeam for warmth. I sneered at their nakedness as I wandered into the room. Almost automatically, their hands went down and covered their privates. Wasn’t that just oh-so-cute of them?

            “Hands at your sides, boys,” I hissed with authority and they reluctantly complied.

            Their entire fate for the next couple of hours was mine to command. All that remained now, was to settle on how I would wield this ominous power. I stared down at their cold-shrunk junk and huffed with displeasure and then irritatedly scratched something onto my clipboard as they shivered.

            Donning a latex glove on my right hand and letting it snap against my wrist for affect, I ordered my two victims to bend over the desk in front of them. They both turned the color of seasick edelweiss and oh-so-halfheartedly acceded to my request. Now, I was staring at a pair of pale and seriously puckered derrieres. Spluuurrt! I noisily evicted a big puddle of KY jelly from the tube, giving them an ample aural foretelling of the rectal ravishment that was about to befall them. There was no real rush because every second of delay heightened their horrification tenfold.

            I slapped Mr. Thomas’ ass cheek and snarked, “Reach back and hold your buttocks open for me.” Every man that had ever done me wrong flashed before my eyes and I drove two stiff fingers deep into his asshole. He let out this very uncomfortable oof/grunt. It actually turned me on a little that he was so miserable. It takes half a second to check a prostate but I thought I’d linger in there awhile and give that little “man bump” some delicate massage. If he was unhappy before, now he was petrified. I could see his face straining as he desperately tried to keep his ever-rising boner in check. Sorry. No such luck. As soon as I had made him rock hard, I pulled myself out of there and told him to stand up and turn around. Mr. T. went as red as Martian lipstick and dropped his hand down in a futile attempt to conceal a substantial woody.

            “And what the hell is that?” I demanded, pointing angrily at his puffed up Johnson. “I could have you reported for sexual harassment.  Is that what you want? Well you can say goodbye to your cushy job if you do.” I grabbed my cell phone and took a quick pic of his inflated protrusion.

            By now, Mr. T. was scared stiffless and his dick was beginning to lose a little air.  Beirness had also lost the majority of his swagger.

            “You, bend over and spread ‘em,” I demanded. “And you…keep that thing hard until I decide what I want to do. It’s evidence!”

            Schlupp! Up I charged into Mr. B.’s colon. I could see him gripping the edge of the desk as he tried to deal and deal with the agony. It was absolutely glorious. When I think about all the times I took one up the painful pooper for some guy who though might br fun to “mix-it-up a bit….” GRRRRRR.

A little more subtle prostate massage and now my other victim was sporting timber.

            Outwardly, I projected volcanic outrage, but inside I was giddily delighted. I snapped a few more pics of my mildly masturbating victims and then grumpily stared at their wads in silence as they continued to stroke away. T. looked like he was about to cry.

            “So what course of action do you two think I should take?” I darkly inquired.

            “First, I’d like to say that I can’t apologize enough and that I meant no offense of any kind. I just can’t imagine how this terrible thing happened?”

            “Are you saying I’m ugly?”

            Now, it was like shooting rats in a barrel. It didn’t matter where they turned; it was the wrong way to go.

            “NO!! You’re very attractive!” chimed in B.

            “You may want to consult a good lawyer before saying something like that to me while rubbing your penis.”

            I actually heard him gulp. Time to push this fun-fest to the next humiliating level. I sat down in a chair.

            “Well, since you have them erect, there are certain tests I can perform. But if either one of your tries anything or doesn’t do exactly as I say, you’d better call your wives for bail money, got it?!”

            They both nodded enthusiastically in the affirmative. I glared up at them. “You! Stand here.  And you, here.”

            Like good little boys, they did as they were told…but their enthusiasm had waned considerably. They were now facing each other with the tips of their penises about half and inch apart. If mortification were bricks, they could have rebuilt The Great Wall of China and still had enough left over for a rather attractive summer home.

            I grabbed a hold of T.’s balls and jiggled them with my fingers. “Hmm, not bad testicle buoyancy,” I made up. “How often do you masturbate – and I warn you, if you lie to me, the next person you’ll be showing these to will be your cellmate.”

            “Three or four times a week…” He saw the expression on my face. “Or maybe seven or eight.”

            I started to manipulated B.’s nutsack with my other hand, giving them both small tugs so the heads of the doowangers touched. You could see them sucking in their stomachs and trying to lean back, but I was having none of it.

            “I’m a little concerned about your masturbation to coitus ratio,” I lied.

            They looked confused and concerned.

            “While a steady diet of self-pleasuring in a young male is healthy and expected, when a man gets to a certain age, this sort of hand/shaft strangulation can cause blockages. It can lead to irreversible sterility and, in some extreme cases, amputation.”

            I now had their undivided attention.

            “To ascertain what damage you may have caused yourself by whacking-off incessantly since puberty, I would need to see and evaluate the speed, power and volume of your ejaculate.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You are still able to produce semen, I take it?

            “Well, sure.  I mean…”

            This was going to be so much fun.

            “Listen, this could be nothing or it could require a total re-boring of the spermatium corridor and possibly a penile stent (they both involuntarily shivered at the thought). Now, I suggest you both take this as seriously as I do and get to work.”

            And off they went! It was quite a sight, watching two naked men jerking-off in front of your face. I know, if I lived in New York and took the subway, I’d see it every day – but for me, this was a novel experience. They desperately tried not to look at one another as they flailed away on their respective juice sticks and turning their nards into Mexican jumping beans. They were so close to one another, they couldn’t avoid countless clusters of cock collisions. It was so homoerotic; I wanted to start wanking myself but that probably would have given away the game and I didn’t want to spoil the fapp-tastic finale. Their breathing became more and more strained and low guttural noises leaked out into the room as they closed in on completing their seminal assignment. Faces reddened and knees began to tremble. Fists became blurry pistons. Testicles were practically being shaken out of their fuzzy little pouches. 

            They were rapidly becoming maniacal. As much as this was hell on Earth for both of them, they were getting so close to their orgasms that nothing else mattered. A bus full of their relatives could have walked in at that moment and they wouldn’t have cared. B. and T. just stood facing each other, knees bent and bashing the fuck out of their wangs. The ends of their dicks were becoming very, very good friends. Their pant puppies looked like they were kissing. Thomas let out this half bark-like gasp and spewed his load all over B.’s cock. Line after line of gooey cum shot forth and covered Beirness’ boner. B. just used the voluminous helpings of lap liquid to grease his wheel – if you get my drift. Suddenly, Masturbator No. 2 let out a sound like someone had dropped a Wile E. Coyote anvil on his foot and shot a major wad of spunk onto his fellow executive’s knob. There was sticky spunk everywhere. All over their genitals, pubic hair and upper thighs.  Thin strands of man milk were dripping off their shafts and onto the office carpet.

            Finally, when the orgasmic fervor had died down, they both turned to me.

            “Well, what do you think?” asked Mr. Thomas.

            I bounded up from the chair and grabbed my things. “Excellent,” I smiled. “I know pronounce you man and wife.”

            The two cum-soaked idiots just looked at each other in homophobic horror as I slipped out the door.

            Man, I laughed a bucket in the cab on the way to the hotel. I just imagined them having to clean themselves up and get dressed and then immediately phoning their therapists’ emergency hotlines.

            When I got to the Best Western, I began to feel a little guilty. Men, as an entire sex, weren’t so bad. Just some of the morons I’d met recently. I phoned out for a pizza and when the delivery boy arrived, I invited him in while I got the money out of my purse. He seemed like a nice enough fellow so I went down on him while he was counting out my change. I took his delighted pant-pistol into my warm wet mouth and gave him the very best blowjob I could muster. Every drop of his salty soup was swallowed with a saucy smile. I licked him clean, gave him a 25% tip on the pie and sent him on his way with a thank you. The rest of the evening was spent eating slices, drinking wine and wanking. What a day!

            On Monday, I quit my job and went to work for a women’s free clinic. What a refreshing change it was, helping people who actually appreciated your efforts! It doesn’t pay much but now I get all the pizzas I can eat for free!

The End

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