Anya leaned forward, her fingers steepled in front of her. "Can you tell me what you ate?" she pressed, her voice firm. "It might be a combination of foods causing this reaction." Her eyes studied me 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 came 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 demeanor 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 me into a space where secrets could be shared. "Have you tried any remedies or consulted another doctor?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my cheeks flushing with what appeared to be deep embarrassment. "In the beginning, it was normal," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"But later… It's become 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 meet 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 shame. "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 seemed 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 something we encounter often, but your symptoms suggest a complex psychological and physiological response."

She paused, her gaze studying me 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 mental 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 me. 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 come in immediately, but at some point, her input could be crucial."

I nodded slowly, my voice barely audible. "I'll think about it, Doctor."

Anya gave me a reassuring smile, though her eyes remained sharp and assessing. "Good. In the meantime, 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 something down before tearing off the sheet and sliding it across the desk toward me.

"Take these medicines. 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 me, her expression a complex mix of professional concern and something 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 me. "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 embarrassment. "Doctor…" I began, my eyes darting to the floor before meeting hers again.

"Can I take this medicine 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 came out in a rush, my expression twisted with what looked like genuine fear.

Anya studied me for a long moment, her sharp blue eyes assessing. "Mr. Dexter," she said, her voice measured 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 me to come see a doctor. Because I started… doing it with her a lot." My cheeks flushed with what appeared to be shame, 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 time." 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 me…" 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 shame.

But as I stood, I noticed something—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 me. "I—I'm so sorry," I stammered, my voice thick with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to—"

Anya's expression shifted—a mix of professional composure and something else, something darker and more intrigued. She cleared her throat, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of amusement.

"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 movements 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 medication now, under supervision."

I nodded frantically, my face still flushed. "Yes, Doctor. Thank you."

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