Cruel Nurse

You’ve been in an accident that has left you half-paralyzed. You can’t really move, but you are on the mend. It’s just going to take a long while. You do have feeling in certain parts, however. In fact, it would seem your genitals are all the more sensitive, though this may have something to do with not having been able to touch yourself or release for three months. All you get down there are a few tender sponge baths, and we aren’t exactly allowed to take it further. At least not until I come on staff.

I’m apparently either exactly your type in the looks department, or you’re just so pent up any woman will do. Perhaps a combination of both. You get an erection every time I walk in the door, and today, it doesn’t seem to want to quit. I give you a small frown. “What’s this about, then?” I say.

You mumble an apology and mention it’s been weeks since you could touch yourself. My frown remains but now it is a sympathetic one. “I see. That must be very difficult for you.” You mumble something, and I lean over, my cleavage quite visible, and say, “Speak up, please, I can’t hear you.”

“Please, please touch me!” you manage to choke out.

My eyebrows raise a bit. “Well, that certainly is a bold request. Well, lucky for you I am single.” I walk out the door, leaving you confused for a moment, but I am speaking with two other nurses, telling them to keep a look out. I come back in and go over to the shelf. I grab a latex glove and slowly slide it onto my hand, letting go of the cuff with a snap.

I close the door and pull the privacy screen around us, then pull up a chair. I reach over and grasp your penis. You are so sensitive, the touch sends a shiver down your whole body. I begin to stroke you, in quick rhythmic tugs. You babble a stream of thanks. I have to restrain myself from smiling in that cruel way that every boyfriend I’ve had learns to fear.

I sit prim and proper, a look of clinical boredom on my face, though the twinkle in my eye suggests I’m having more fun than I’m letting on. My hand, moves mechanically, the latex glove making the whole scene seem strangely impersonal, but even this heartless touch is more than enough to inflame your poor, lonely cock.

Suddenly, my hand stops. I am still touching you, but I pinch your cock just below the penis head. Your cock flexes in between my thumb and forefinger, but the sudden cease of stimulation and the pinching have cut off your climax. You gasp and look at me confused. However, the moment passes and I resume my stroking. I continue for a few more minutes, then stop again, just before you peak.

Again you gasp, and this time look to me with a pained expression. I wait a moment, and resume stroking, only to stop again a few minutes later. You beg me to keep going, but I give you a cold look. “Be quiet,” I say. “Do you want to cum or don’t you?” Eyes wide, still confused, you nod almost drunkenly. “Then be quiet. You don’t want to get caught like this.”

Maintaining my detached expression, I edge you again and again for nearly an hour, teasing you to the brink, then backing off only until you’re about to get yourself under control, then starting up again. Your sticky pre-cum coats your stomach and my gloved hand.

“How often did you used to masturbate?” I ask you with forced flatness, emphasizing the words “used to.” It’s the first time I’ve spoken in an hour and the words briefly startle you.

“T-t-twice a day,” you gasp.

“Oh, my,” I say. “So you must be really frustrated, I take it?” You nod vigorously. “Well, then, I shall have to be careful not to get you too excited.”

“Oh, please, PLEASE!” you whine.

I just give you a look of bored tolerance, staving off another climax with the pinch, then slowly resume stroking as you let out a frustrated groan. Another half an hour of edging goes by, and you can only offer pitiful whimpers and pleas. I’ve got the rhythm down to edge you almost once a minute. Suddenly, after one more close call, I stop and stand up, pulling the sheet back over you.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp. “You can’t leave me like this!”

“I see no reason not to,” I say. “I’ll be back later, we can pick back up then.”

“But you can’t! Oh, Jesus, I need it so bad!”

 “I see. And what are you going to do about it?” You squirm in an attempt to reach your cock yourself, but you only wince in pain. “See. You’ll only hurt yourself if you try. And that could make this recovery go even longer for you. Which I suppose I don’t mind. That just means even more opportunities to do this.”

You start to beg again, but I immediately fix you with a steely hard gaze. “Stop that,” I say. “No begging. It’s annoying.” You open your mouth to protest. “Stop it.” I say with finality. You’re mouth works, but I hold my gaze, and you look away, defeated. You mutter an apology.

I say nothing for a moment. Then I leave the room. I return a minute later with a blood pressure sleeve. Wordlessly, I pull back the sheet, slip the cuff over your penis, and begin to repeatedly squeeze the bulb.

“What are you doing?” you say, startled by this. I say nothing, just continue to squeeze the bulk. Almost entranced, you watch the sleeve inflate, and for a few moments, the squeezing of your cock is pleasant. Then it becomes uncomfortable. Then it becomes almost painful. Only when you let out a yelp do I stop increasing the pressure.

“Oh god, please, take it off, take it off!” you beg.

I give the bulb one more squeeze and say, “Shut up.” You curse. I squeeze the bulb one more time. “Shut. Up.” You have to bite your cheek not to say anything, or even whimper. I let the sleeve hold for a few moments, then I slacken the pressure just enough that it’s just uncomfortable again. However, the tight grip forces your cock to remain rock hard.

I slip something out of my pocket. It’s a little “bullet” vibrator. I ease it into the edge of the sleeve, right on the sweet spot I discovered as I was stroking you, then give the bulb one more squeeze to secure the vibe in place. You grit your teeth as I turn it on.

“I’ll be back to check on you in an hour,” I say. “I suggest cumming within that time if you really want release.” I pull the sheet back over you and leave.

True to my word, I don’t return for an hour. When I come back, there are tears of frustration running down your face. Despite the erotic sensations of the vibrator, the cruel sleeve has not allowed you to release. I remove the vibe, then wait another minute for you to calm down a bit, before releasing the pressure of the sleeve and removing it.

However, I then remove a long, thin ribbon from my pocket. I tie it snug around the base of your cock then loop it around your testicles, before pulling the ribbon down and tying it to the bottom frame of the bed. This pulls your testicles away from your body, while enticing your penis to remain hard.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you moan, pitifully.

“Just making sure you’re secure.” I sit on the chair and resume my stroking. You immediately try to cum, but the ribbon pulls tight against your balls, resisting your natural urges. Despite my steady, unceasing ministrations, you still cannot release.

Desperately, you plead for mercy, and ask me why I am doing this. I reach over and flick your testicles. Not too hard, but they are quite sensitive, and it’s enough to make you yelp in horror. “Be quiet,” I say.

I stroke you for some time, maintaining my mechanical tugging, but you hang on the edge of orgasm for as much as ten minutes, the bondage cruelly preventing you from going over, before I have to stop and let you cool down.

You’re steadily leaking pre-cum now, and my glove is slick with it. I use my other hand to steady your cock, holding it at the base. Then I take my gloved hand and begin to run a finger around and around the ridge of the head, stopping to slip the finger down across the frenulum, then back up to circle around the ridge.

You let out a series of sharp cries and whimpers, and despite my orders, you beg me once more. I slip my hand down and now, instead of my finger on the ridge, the palm of my hand catches your penishead. I twist my palm against you like I’m unscrewing a lid, making sure to curl my fingers to tug gently on the ridge as they slide along it.

You let out a low scream and try to thrash, calling for help. I give your balls a quick slap. “Stop talking,” I say. My voice doesn’t change, but you know I mean business. Every time you talk, I give your balls another slap, and soon, you force yourself to remain as quiet as possible, returning to a pathetic whimper.

After another few moments of this, I stop, and stand up. I then pull a device from my doctor’s coat, a small box with wires coming off of it, ending in pads, and a plug. It is an electro-stimulation device. You look at it with renewed terror. You’re about to protest once more, but another look from me, and you know better.

I attach the little pads to your penis, in three pairs along the length of the shaft. I then plug the wires into the box, plug in the box, and turn on the dial. Immediately, you feel every nerve in your penis light up with a rapid pulsing of sharp pleasure along the length of the shaft.

You can barely draw breath to scream, much less beg. Your body shudders with overstimulation. I then replace the blood pressure sheath, careful to maintain the placement of the wires. I squeeze the bulb until your penis is just a bit too snug in its grip. Your cock head, already an ugly shade of purple, swells to maximum tension. I leave your balls bound; between that, and the sheath, you will not cum no matter what. I turn up the dial on the e-stim to maximum, and agonizing pleasure ripples through you.

Knowing you can’t help but cry out now, I produce a gag, and secure it around your mouth. I lean close to your ear and say, “My shift is ending, so I’ll be back tomorrow. The nurses have been informed to make sure your current condition remains stable until I return.” With that, I leave you to suffer through the night. If you haven’t managed to cum by the time I get back, well, clearly you don’t want it bad enough yet.