I knocked on Dr. Anya’s door, Nathalie standing beside , her posture tense but obedient. "Please co in," Anya’s voice called from inside, smooth and professional.
I pushed the door open slightly, my voice calm but deliberate. "Doctor, I’ve brought the prescription and my wife," I announced, stepping inside.
Anya and the two nurses looked up, their eyes imdiately flicking to Nathalie. I could see the surprise in their expressions—Nathalie looked older than , her face carrying the quiet elegance of a woman in her fifties, though her appearance was deceptively youthful, as if ti had been kinder to her than most. The nurses exchanged glances, clearly confused—after all, I had told them I was only 22.
Anya recovered quickly, her professional mask slipping back into place. "Please take a seat, Mr. Dexter," she said, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.
I nodded and guided Nathalie inside, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassnt. We sat down, Nathalie’s hands twisting nervously in her lap.
Anya turned to first, her voice firm but polite. "Mr. Dexter, may I see the dicine you brought?"
I handed her the bag, and she took it, examining the contents with a practiced eye. After a mont, she nodded and turned to one of the nurses. "Olivia, can you get Mr. Dexter a glass of water so he can take his dicine?"
Olivia, the younger of the two nurses, took the bag and carefully placed each pill into a small plastic cup before handing it to along with a glass of water.
I took the dicine without hesitation, swallowing it down in one go. I wasn’t worried—with my healing factor, even poison would be like candy to .
Anya watched closely, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "We’ll keep you under observation for half an hour to see if you feel better," she said, her voice professional but tinged with curiosity. "anwhile, we can take a look at your wife."
I nodded in agreent, and Nathalie shifted uncomfortably beside , her embarrassnt palpable.
Anya turned her attention to Nathalie, her voice softening slightly. "So, what is your na, Mrs...?"
Nathalie stamred slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nathalie."
Anya typed the na into her computer, her fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. "And your age, Mrs. Nathalie?" she asked, her tone casual but probing.
Nathalie hesitated, her cheeks flushing deeper. "Fifty," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.
Anya’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and she let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. "Mrs. Nathalie, you don’t look fifty," she said, her voice warm with genuine admiration. "You’re still so beautiful."
Nathalie nodded shyly, her fingers twisting together in her lap. To ease her embarrassnt, Anya continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Mrs. Nathalie, it’s quite common to have sexual problems when there’s an age gap between couples. There’s nothing to worry about."
Nathalie relaxed slightly, though her cheeks remained flushed.
Anya’s gaze lingered on Nathalie as she sat stiffly beside , her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath catch.
Anya leaned back in her chair, her full lips curling into a knowing smirk as she studied Nathalie with an intensity that felt almost predatory.
"Mrs. Nathalie," Anya began, her voice dropping to a low, velvety tone that seed to wrap around the room like a silk noose, "I need to ask you so... personal questions. It’s important for understanding the full extent of your husband’s condition—and how it’s affecting you." Her eyes flicked to for just a second, a glint of sothing dark and amused flashing in their icy depths before she turned her full attention back to Nathalie.
Nathalie’s cheeks burned crimson, her breath hitching as she nodded silently, her gaze fixed on her hands.
Anya didn’t waste ti. "Let’s start with the basics," she said, her voice deceptively gentle. "How often does your husband initiate intimacy?"
Nathalie’s fingers clenched together, her voice barely a whisper. "E-everyday... sotis more than once."
Anya’s eyebrows arched slightly, her pen hovering over her notepad. "More than once a day?" she repeated, her tone laced with a mix of professional curiosity and sothing far more dangerous. "And how do you feel about that, Mrs. Nathalie? Physically, emotionally?"
Nathalie’s breath hitched, her voice trembling as she clenched her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white. "It’s... it’s too much, Doctor," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sore all the ti. Sotis I bleed a little..." Her voice trailed off, her face burning with humiliation, her eyes fixed on her lap.
Anya’s expression remained composed, but her eyes darkened slightly, her pen moving swiftly across the paper as she jotted down notes. "I see," she murmured, her voice calm but probing, her Russian accent lending a sharp edge to her words. "And do you enjoy it, Mrs. Nathalie? Or is it purely... obligatory?"
Nathalie’s entire face flushed a deep crimson, her fingers twisting together in her lap. I pretended to be just as embarrassed, my gaze fixed on the floor, my cheeks flushed as if I were a shy, inexperienced boy caught in an awkward situation.
Nathalie stamred, her voice trembling under Anya’s intense gaze. "Doctor... I... I do enjoy it," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "But I feel exhausted... because my husband... he couldn’t stop himself. He kept going on for 3-4 hours..."
Anya’s pen stilled, her eyebrows arching in surprise. "3-4 hours?" she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. "That’s impossible without dication."
I blushed deeply, my voice barely a whisper. "Doctor... I really didn’t take any dication," I insisted, my act of innocence flawless.
Anya’s eyes narrowed, her expression shifting to one of intrigue. "It’s strange," she murmured, more to herself than to us.
She sighed, her gaze flicking between Nathalie and before settling on Nathalie again. "Mrs. Nathalie, do you rember how many tis your husband ejaculated during this... process?"
Nathalie’s face burned even brighter, her voice trembling as she stamred out her response. "He... he only ejaculated once," she admitted, her fingers twisting together. "But I ca many tis..."
The nurses and Anya exchanged shocked glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and fascination. Anya shook her head slightly, as if trying to process the information. "That’s... highly unusual," she murmured, her voice tinged with professional curiosity.
She leaned forward, her gaze sharpening as she studied Nathalie. "Mrs. Nathalie, do you feel pain in your genital area?"
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