Anya leaned forward, her fingers steepled in front of her. "Can you tell what you ate?" she pressed, her voice firm. "It might be a combination of foods causing this reaction." Her eyes studied intently, her professional curiosity piqued.
I shifted in my seat, my voice trembling. "I don’t think it’s the food, Doctor. It started right after I ca through the portal. I’ve never experienced anything like this before." I hesitated, my fingers tightening together. "It’s like my body won’t... settle down. No matter what I do."
Anya’s expression shifted subtly, her professional deanor slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of fascination beneath her composed exterior.
"And you say this has been ongoing since you arrived?" she asked, her voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone, as if she were drawing into a space where secrets could be shared. "Have you tried any redies or consulted another doctor?"
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my cheeks flushing with what appeared to be deep embarrassnt. "In the beginning, it was normal," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But later... It’s beco like a disease." I hesitated, my fingers twisting together in my lap. "Whenever I see a beautiful woman, it won’t go down... unless..." I trailed off, my gaze dropping to the floor, unable to et her eyes.
Anya’s eyebrows arched slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Unless?" she prompted, her voice gentle but firm.
"Unless I have sex with my wife," I confessed, my voice trembling with fake sha. "And because the frequency has increased so much... I’m afraid of hurting her." My voice cracked, and I looked up at Anya, my eyes filled with what seed like genuine distress.
Anya nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk as she processed my words. "I see," she murmured, her voice soft but professional.
"This is indeed a serious condition. It’s not sothing we encounter often, but your symptoms suggest a complex psychological and physiological response."
She paused, her gaze studying intently. "Mr. Dexter, would it be possible to speak with your wife?" she asked, her tone careful but direct.
"Her perspective could be invaluable in understanding the full scope of your condition. It seems this is more than just a physical issue—it may be tied to your ntal state as well."
I hesitated, my expression conflicted. "I don’t know if she’d be comfortable with that, Doctor," I said, my voice tinged with worry. "She’s already so stressed because of . I don’t want to burden her further."
Anya’s eyes softened slightly, her voice gentle but firm. "I understand your concern, but this isn’t just about you, Mr. Dexter. It’s about ensuring you both are healthy and safe. If your condition is causing distress to your wife, then she deserves to be part of the solution."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze unwavering. "I’m not suggesting she co in imdiately, but at so point, her input could be crucial."
I nodded slowly, my voice barely audible. "I’ll think about it, Doctor."
Anya gave a reassuring smile, though her eyes remained sharp and assessing. "Good. In the anti, I need to consult with my senior colleagues to determine the best course of action.
Your condition is unusual, and I want to ensure we approach it with the right expertise." She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small prescription pad, scribbling sothing down before tearing off the sheet and sliding it across the desk toward .
"Take these dicines. They should help manage the symptoms temporarily while we figure out a long-term solution."
I reached for the prescription, my fingers brushing against hers for just a second. "Thank you, Doctor," I murmured, my voice filled with gratitude.
Anya’s gaze lingered on , her expression a complex mix of professional concern and sothing deeper—intrigue, perhaps, or the thrill of a challenge.
She printed out the prescription, the printer whirring softly in the quiet room, and slid it across the desk toward . "Here," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "This should help manage the symptoms temporarily."
I took the paper, my fingers trembling slightly as I clutched it. My voice was hesitant, laced with fake embarrassnt. "Doctor..." I began, my eyes darting to the floor before eting hers again.
"Can I take this dicine here and wait for it to work?" My voice cracked slightly, my act of desperation convincing.
"I’m afraid it won’t work, and when I go back... I might... I might hurt my wife again." The words ca out in a rush, my expression twisted with what looked like genuine fear.
Anya studied for a long mont, her sharp blue eyes assessing. "Mr. Dexter," she said, her voice asured but carrying a note of authority, "why don’t you do this—bring your wife here with you?" She leaned forward slightly, her fingers steepled in front of her.
"That way, I can also take a look at her situation. You said you’re afraid of hurting her—" Her gaze intensified. "Did your wife tell you she was in pain?"
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah... she told to co see a doctor. Because I started... doing it with her a lot." My cheeks flushed with what appeared to be sha, my gaze dropping to the floor again.
Anya nodded thoughtfully, her expression softening slightly. "I see," she murmured. "Then it’s settled. Bring your wife here with you next ti." She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied my reaction. "In case you really can’t hold back."
I pretended to be deeply embarrassed, my voice trembling. "Doctor... I will bring my wife here with ..." I hesitated, my fingers twisting the prescription paper.
"Just in case..." My voice trailed off, and I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "I’m sorry, Doctor," I mumbled, my face burning with faux sha.
But as I stood, I noticed sothing—Anya’s eyes flickered downward for just a second, and so did the nurses’. My erection was impossible to hide, the bulge in my pants obvious, and I saw the way their gazes lingered before they quickly looked away, their cheeks flushing.
I pretended to panic, my hands fumbling as I tried to cover myself with the prescription paper Anya had given . "I—I’m so sorry," I stamred, my voice thick with embarrassnt. "I didn’t an to—"
Anya’s expression shifted—a mix of professional composure and sothing else, sothing darker and more intrigued. She cleared her throat, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of amusent.
"Mr. Dexter," she said, her tone firm but not unkind, "it seems your condition is more urgent than I thought." She stood up gracefully, her movents deliberate as she walked around the desk, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "Given the circumstances, I think it’s best if you take the dication now, under supervision."
I nodded frantically, my face still flushed. "Yes, Doctor. Thank you."
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