tagHumor & SatireNurse Becky's Further Adventures

Nurse Becky's Further Adventures


By popular demand, Nurse Becky is back, as her adventures at Little Rogering General Hospital continue!


In which Becky discovers the delights of the operating theatre...

I don't dare visit the Facebook page of Little Rogering Hospital. Apparently I'm trending on Twitter as well. The incident with Dr Sharp during Jeremy Hunt's visit has become the talk of the town. There's no getting away from it. I expect the photos of me half-naked are all over the internet by now. I'm dreading work today and I try to slip unseen into the hospital with a surgical mask on...

"Becky!" A voice shouts out. It's Jeff and he has a huge smile on his face. I gulp. I was terrified about how he'd react given that I'd had a romp with another guy, but he looks over the moon.

"You're one hell of a woman! Look at this!" He holds up today's copy of The Sun newspaper. You made the front page!"

I cringe as I stare at the headline, 'What Jeremy Hunt Saw!' Underneath is a black and white photo of me lying half-naked in front of the MP. My modesty has been spared thanks to a large black censor bar, although I'm sure it'll be easy to find the uncensored photos online. They say once something appears online it stays on there forever so there's no point bothering.

"Not really something I'm proud of," I mutter as he chuckles at the article. "I wasn't even expecting to get so involved with Dr Sharp either. I had no idea he fancied me. It just sort of happened..."

"Hey don't worry about it! I'm proud of what you did, lass! Thanks to you and the good doctor's actions, that no-good politician resigned this morning! I call that a job well done!"

"He quit? I can't believe it."

I don't know whether it was the sight of me or Dr Sharp that did it but it's true, Jeremy Hunt quit his job, citing that the 'pressures of dealing with the NHS were too much for him.' Blimey, these politicians. No staying power. Dr Sharp however has taken the news badly; he's resigned with immediate effect and taken up a new post at the Princess Elizabeth Hospital...in Guernsey.

I'm crushed. That's hundreds of miles from here. I can't believe I won't be seeing the dishy Jonathan Rhys Meyers lookalike any more, but I suppose I'll just have to get used to it.

I'm still thinking about the incident as I head up to Burkenhare Ward. Suddenly, the elevator doors open. There, all by himself in a wheelchair, is Mr Norris.

"I gave my jailer the slip," he says evilly. "Now, how about that game of naughty nanas?"

He jabs at the basement button and clutches at my leg. Something inside me snaps. I'm tired of being groped by this old goat.

"I prefer 'furry quoits' myself."

"What's that?" There's a nervous flutter in his voice.

"Whip out your peg and I'll show you."

"Get away from me!" Mr Norris cowers in his wheelchair.

"Oho, so you don't like it when a woman takes control, eh? You're scared aren't you!" I drop my scrub trousers and panties and give him a flash of the full frontals. "Scared of this?"

"No, no!"

The lift doors slide open and staff nurse Tash is standing there. Her eyes are wide in horror as she takes in the shocking scene - the crumpled heap in the wheelchair, me with trousers and panties down..

"Got a thing for older men have you?" she grins.

"It's complicated," I murmur.

"Forget about him, Tash whispers, grabbing my arm as I quickly pull my clothing back up. "Sister O'Connor wants to see you immediately."

"Oh, right." Uh-oh. I'm filled with dread. Am I about to be sacked for giving Jeremy Hunt a phobia of hospitals?

I must admit, I was fearing the worst, but once inside the office, Sister O'Connor breaks into a smile and embraces me in a tight bear hug that would leave Mike Tyson begging for mercy. As I turn blue and gasp for breath, she releases me.

"Faith and begorrah! T'is a good day for the NHS! All thanks to you, Becky!"

I think I'm in need of an oxygen mask. "How come, Sister?"

"Thanks to you, we're free of that hooray-Henry from Westminster who was about as much use as a chocolate fireguard!"

"Oh that. Yes, I heard he'd resigned. I'm sorry that Dr Sharp felt he needed to leave though. The hospital won't be the same without him."

"Well not to worry lass. It was his choice. You've more than proved yourself in this first week so I'd like to give you some extra duties this week if that's okay with you."

I nod. "Sure, I'd be glad to help, Sister."

"I'd like you to assist the surgeons in theatre for a couple of days, just standing in for Alisha, one of the surgical nurses who's off sick. They seem to be dropping like flies at the moment. Ever since that man with the perforated bowel went under the knife last Tuesday there seems to have been a bad case of the runs floating around the operating theatres."

"Oh blimey." I'm a little nervous at that prospect. Theatre nursing is a tad more complex than regular nursing. I fear it might be beyond my qualifications, but Sister O'Connor assures me that all I'll be doing is ensuring I've prepared all the necessary instruments and equipment for the surgical procedures. That doesn't sound too difficult. I'm sure I'll manage.

The operating theatres at Little Rogering General are located on the ground floor, along with the intensive care wards. It's a different world down here, quieter. I've only glimpsed the surgeons until now. They're a reclusive species who only seem to come out at night. I've seen the odd one during one of my many visits to Jeff in the ambulance bay. They don't like to be outside it seems, and soon scurry off behind the double doors. I'm intrigued. I wonder what it will be like to work for them? I'm about to find out.

I'm embarrassed to say that I make a few minor mistakes that get me in trouble with Mr Ash Khalefa, the consultant colorectal surgeon who I've been working alongside. I don't know how it happened but somehow I got a teaspoon and a ballpoint pen mixed up in his selection of surgical instruments. I apologize profusely but he gives me mass evils. I explain that the teaspoon was thoroughly sterilized so there's no risk of infection. I'm not sure about the pen. The top looks like it's been chewed. But not by me.

I jump guiltily as Mr Khalefa confronts me in the empty theatre later that afternoon. There is little sympathy in his eyes as I try to explain my mistake. Maybe he's heard these kind of excuses before. He's one of the most experienced surgeons in the hospital so he'll have no patience with the likes of me. He pulls his mask down and gives me a scalpel-sharp glare. What happens next, well I can't adequately explain why I do what do. Is it resentment that bubbles inside me? Resentment bubbling from the fact that he seems to be viewing me like something stuck to the bottom of his shoe? Whatever it is, I know I have to persuade him not to tell Sister O'Connor about my mistake with the instruments. The more and more I think about it, the more I have to admit that it has as much to do with the way this stern, scrub-clad professional is treating me - as though I am a naughty schoolgirl who has forgotten to hand in her homework. If I had been a schoolgirl, I would've pleaded with the teacher to get off my punishment, even though I deserved it, and that's exactly what I do now.

"I'm sorry Mr Khalefa," I mutter, eyes downcast. "I know I should've been more careful and I promise it won't happen again."

The surgeon continues to ignore me, concentrating on some paperwork on a side table, but his gaze snaps up when I say, "if you say no more about this, I'll make it worth your while."

"I hope you're not trying to bribe me," he says pompously, adjusting his glasses and pale blue surgical cap.

"Not at all," I reply, licking my lips and feeling a strange thrill run through me. "I was thinking of something more...intimate?"

In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have looked at this man twice. He must be in his early fifties, a good ten years older than Jeff and old enough to be my dad. He isn't ugly, exactly, but appears to be somewhat overweight, and with a scratchy-looking growth of stubble on his jowly face. But these are nowhere near normal circumstances. There's something about a man in blue surgical scrubs, cap and mask. Now many people don't find this kind of uniform sexy at all, but they're having the same effect on me as Jeff in his green paramedic jumpsuit. The situation has awoken in me an overwhelmingly sexual desire. I feel flushed and slightly giddy, a bit like when Jeff invited me into his ambulance for the first time. I can't say why I suddenly feel like this. All I know is that I'm either about to get away with the most outrageous thing I've done yet or get myself sacked.

"Come with me," I say. There's a sluice room next to the theatres. It isn't the most salubrious setting for what's about to happen - there's a distinct smell of disinfectant and bodily fluids, but it's secluded enough for my purposes.

Mr Khalefa follows me obediently enough, but once we're inside and I've locked the door, he takes control, exactly as I hoped he would.

"So, I let you off this time and I get what in return, exactly?"

My reply was to sink to my knees and to slowly unfasten the ties on his dark blue scrub trousers. He gasps and glances at the small frosted glass panel in the door, glad that nobody can see through it, obviously not wanting anything to interfere with what's about to happen. And who can blame him? This is the stuff of every straight bloke's dreams surely, getting a blowjob from a willing woman. I lower his trousers and pull his huge, thick cock out into the light, feeling it growing longer and firmer beneath my fingers, before feeding it into my mouth and beginning to suck. My God, it's enormous, and my jaw is aching already. This whole situation is wrong. I should've accepted the reprimand and the consequences that would come with it, but I've never felt as alive and sexual as I do now, kneeling in the chilly sluice room, licking this surgeon's hot, hard cock that I'm grasping so securely. For now, all that matters is the excitement I'm getting from giving pleasure to this highly-experienced, professional - and probably married man. I glance up at Mr Khalefa to see that his eyes are half-closed, and he's gritting his teeth as his climax approaches. He grabs fistfuls of my hair, pulling my head closer to his groin, then his body stiffens as he floods my mouth with his cum.

When I finally pull away, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I see the surgeon smiling broadly at me.

"I'll let you off this time, Nurse Gibson," he says, pulling up his trousers and removing the mask from round his neck. "I see now that you're a very capable member of staff indeed. I look forward to working with you in theatre tomorrow."

He walks jauntily off down the corridor with a very satisfied smile on his face. I take a deep breath. Mission accomplished. I have a new respect for surgeons. They're definitely sexier than doctors. Only thing is my pussy's very wet now and my panties are soaked and I'm tingling all over. I need to get myself off urgently. I think I'll go and see if Jeff's lurking in the ambulance bay...

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