Nathalie nodded, her voice barely audible. "Sometimes… It's difficult to walk," she admitted, her cheeks flaming. "But after resting a while, it doesn't hurt as much. But I know my husband's condition… he can't control himself, so it becomes difficult for me to rest."

I gave Nathalie a mental thumbs-up for her performance. She was playing her part perfectly, her embarrassment and vulnerability making the story all the more convincing.

Anya's expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp and assessing. "Mrs. Nathalie," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "if you don't mind… can I take a look at your genital area to see if there's any problem?"

Nathalie's face flushed even deeper, her eyes darting to me for a brief moment. I pretended to blush, nodding slightly to give her silent permission.

Nathalie hesitated, her voice trembling. "O-okay, Doctor," she stammered, her fingers clutching the hem of her dress.

Anya's voice cut through the air like a blade, leaving no room for argument. "Nurse Olivia, prepare an examination table in the adjacent room." Her tone was absolute, the kind that demanded immediate obedience. She turned to Nathalie, her sharp gaze softening only slightly, though the authority in her voice remained unyielding. "Mrs. Nathalie, follow me."

Nathalie's breath hitched, her chest tightening as if the air itself had turned thick. Her fingers twisted in her lap, knuckles whitening, her thighs pressing together instinctively. She darted a desperate, wide-eyed glance at me, her cheeks already burning crimson.

"D-Dexter…" she whispered, her voice trembling so violently the word barely escaped her lips. Her lower lip quivered, her entire body radiating a mortified plea—don't let me go alone.

Anya, misreading Nathalie's hesitation as mere shyness, offered a small, reassuring nod. "Mr. Dexter, you may follow us," she said, her voice carrying a hint of warmth. "To keep your wife company."

I gave a stiff nod, my own expression carefully neutral, and followed.

The examination room was clinical, the sterile white lights casting a harsh, unflattering glow over everything. The scent of antiseptic stung the air, making Nathalie's already rapid breaths shallower. Anya gestured toward the examination table, the paper covering rustling faintly as Nathalie approached it, her steps faltering.

"Mrs. Nathalie, I need you to undress from the waist down and lie back on the table," Anya instructed, her voice professional but laced with a gentleness that did little to ease Nathalie's mounting panic. "Olivia will assist you if you need help."

Nathalie's fingers trembled violently as they hovered over the hem of her dress. "D-Doctor, d-do I have to?" she stammered, her voice cracking. "C-couldn't you just—just look at it from the outside? I—I'm s-so embarrassed—" Her face was an inferno of shame, her eyes welling up, her body trembling as if the very idea of exposing herself was unbearable.

Anya's expression didn't waver. "Mrs. Nathalie, I need to assess the extent of the swelling and any potential damage," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "This is for your own health. The sooner we do this, the sooner it's over."

Nathalie's breath came in short, sharp gasps. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, before she finally nodded, her fingers fumbling with the fabric of her dress.

Olivia stepped forward, her touch light and reassuring as she helped Nathalie lift the dress, but Nathalie's entire body was rigid with humiliation. The cool air of the room hit her exposed skin, and she let out a whimper, her hands flying to cover herself instinctively.

"It's alright, Mrs. Nathalie," Olivia murmured, gently guiding Nathalie's hands away. "The doctor needs to see."

Nathalie's face twisted, her cheeks flaming as she was laid back on the table, her dress pooled around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in ragged bursts, her fingers clawing at the paper beneath her.

Anya snapped on a pair of latex gloves, the sharp snap making Nathalie flinch. She approached the table, her footsteps echoing ominously in the quiet room.

"Mrs. Nathalie, I need you to relax as much as possible," Anya said, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of command. "This won't hurt, but it might be uncomfortable."

Nathalie nodded jerkily, her fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. She bit her lower lip, her entire body tensed as if bracing for a blow.

Anya gently parted Nathalie's thighs, and the moment her gloved fingers made contact with Nathalie's swollen, sensitive flesh, Nathalie gasped, her back arching slightly off the table. "Oh—!" A choked, embarrassing sound escaped her, her face twisting in a mix of pain and something far more shameful—pleasure.

Anya's eyebrows rose slightly, her professional mask slipping for just a second. "Mrs. Nathalie…" she murmured, her voice tinged with surprise. Her fingers, clinical and precise, pressed gently against the swollen tissue, and Nathalie's body betrayed her completely.

A wet, obscene sound filled the room as her pussy, despite the pain, squirting in response to the touch, a sudden gush of fluid soaking the paper beneath her.

"N-no—!" Nathalie cried out, her face burning with mortification. "I—I'm s-so sorry, Doctor, I d-didn't mean to—I c-can't—" Her voice broke, her body trembling violently, her thighs trying to clamp shut out of sheer embarrassment.

Anya's expression flickered—surprise, fascination, concern—but she recovered quickly. "It's alright, Mrs. Nathalie," she said, her voice steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue. "Your body is extremely sensitive right now. It's a natural reaction."

But Nathalie was beyond rational thought. "P-please, Doctor, I—I'm so ashamed—" she whimpered, her hands flying to cover her face, her entire body shaking with humiliation.

Anya ignored the outburst, her focus unwavering as she continued her examination. "Mrs. Nathalie, your labia are significantly swollen," she noted, her voice clinical but laced with concern.

"There's also bruising. This is consistent with repeated, aggressive intercourse." Her fingers moved with practiced precision, and Nathalie gasped again, another embarrassing wet sound escaping her. "Does this hurt when I touch here?"

"Y-yes!" Nathalie sobbed, her body tensing, her fingers clawing at the table. "It h-hurts, but it—it also—" She couldn't bring herself to say it, her face buried in her hands, her cheeks burning.

Anya's gaze sharpened. "It also what, Mrs. Nathalie?"

Nathalie shook her head frantically, her voice muffled. "N-nothing, Doctor."

Anya didn't press, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she continued. "Mrs. Nathalie, I also see rough marks around your anus," she said, her voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "Did your husband penetrate you anally?"

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