Nathalie's entire body flushed an even deeper shade of red, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress into a wrinkled mess. "I—I couldn't take it in my p-pussy anymore," she stammered, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her face.

"So I—I asked him to—to put it in my a-ass instead." The words tumbled out in a rushed, shameful confession, her humiliation so palpable it filled the room.

Anya's eyes widened slightly, her professional demeanor faltering for just a moment. "Mrs. Nathalie, that's extremely dangerous," she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

"Your tissues aren't meant to handle that kind of stress, especially without preparation or lubrication. You could have been seriously injured."

Nathalie's breath hitched, her voice barely a whisper. "I know, Doctor," she admitted, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "But h-he couldn't stop. And I—I didn't want to refuse him."

Anya's expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp. "Mrs. Nathalie, your health comes first," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. Your body can't handle it."

Nathalie nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I understand, Doctor," she whispered, her voice thick with shame.

I stepped forward, my own expression carefully schooled into one of contrition. Taking Nathalie's hand, I squeezed it gently. "Wife, I'm sorry…" I said, my voice heavy with faux remorse. "I hurt you."

Nathalie, still caught in the act, sniffled and shook her head. "H-husband, it's not your fault…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "M-maybe it's because I'm old… c-can't satisfy you…"

I shook my head, my voice firm. "No. It's not that."

Anya interjected, her tone shifting slightly. "Mrs. Nathalie, this has nothing to do with your age," she said, her voice carrying a note of reassurance.

"Many wives complain their husbands stop being affectionate as they age, but you are blessed." Her expression grew serious. "However, your condition might be related to Mr. Dexter's… issue. But don't worry, we'll do our best to help you."

Anya turned to Olivia, her voice professional once more. "Olivia, fetch some sterile lubricant and a speculum. I need to examine her internally." Olivia nodded and hurried out of the room.

As they waited, Anya's gaze lingered on Nathalie, her expression a mix of professional concern and something darker—pity, perhaps, or fascination. "Mrs. Nathalie, has your husband ever done this to you before?" she asked, her voice low and probing.

Nathalie hesitated, her voice trembling. "N-no, Doctor," she admitted, her fingers twisting together. "It's only been like this since we came to this world. He's… different now. Stronger. More intense."

Anya's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. "Different how?" she pressed, her voice sharp.

Before Nathalie could answer, Olivia returned with the supplies. Anya took them, her focus returning to Nathalie. "Mrs. Nathalie, this might feel uncomfortable, but I need to check for any internal damage. Okay?"

Nathalie nodded, her breath hitching as Anya applied the lubricant. The moment the speculum touched her, Nathalie's body tensed, her fingers gripping the table so hard her knuckles turned white. "Nngh—" she whimpered, her body squirming slightly, another embarrassing gush of fluid escaping her.

Anya's expression remained clinical, though her eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You're very swollen inside as well," she murmured, her voice tinged with concern. "Mrs. Nathalie, I strongly advise you to refrain from any sexual activity until this heals. Otherwise, you risk serious injury."

Nathalie's voice was barely a whisper. "I'll try, Doctor."

Anya removed the speculum, her expression grave. "No, Mrs. Nathalie," she said firmly. "You will. I'll prescribe a topical ointment and a mild painkiller. But you must rest." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "And your husband needs to control himself. Otherwise, this will only get worse."

Nathalie nodded, her face still burning with humiliation as Anya helped her sit up and handed her a tissue. "Thank you, Doctor," Nathalie murmured, her voice trembling.

Anya's gaze lingered on Nathalie for a moment longer, her expression unreadable—a mix of professional detachment and something far more probing. "You're welcome, Mrs. Nathalie," she said, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of steel, like a blade wrapped in silk. "Now, get dressed. I need to speak with your husband."

I stepped forward, helping Nathalie sit up and adjusting her dress with deliberate gentleness, my fingers brushing against her trembling hands. She flinched slightly, her cheeks still flushed with lingering humiliation.

As we left the examination room, Nathalie's steps were unsteady, her body radiating a mix of relief and residual embarrassment. Olivia and another nurse, Nancy, followed us out, their expressions carefully neutral.

We settled into the chairs outside the examination area. Nathalie turned to Nancy, her voice still shaky but attempting composure. "Nancy, could you help us get some coffee?"

Nancy nodded silently and moved toward the coffee machine, leaving the three of us in an awkward, charged silence.

Nathalie turned to me, her eyes searching mine with a mix of concern and something more—anticipation. "Mr. Dexter," she began, her voice dropping to a whisper, "after that medicine... do you feel better now? Or do you still feel... unrest?"

My cock was painfully hard, especially after witnessing Nathalie's body betray her so shamefully—her pussy squirting under Anya's clinical touch. I shifted slightly in my seat, pretending to stammer, my face flushed with faux embarrassment.

"D-Doctor," I said, my voice cracking as I avoided Anya's sharp gaze, "I—I still don't feel better. In fact, it feels like it's getting... worse." The words came out strained, my fingers gripping the armrests of the chair as if to steady myself.

Anya's eyebrows rose slightly, her professional mask slipping for just a second as she glanced between Nathalie and me. "It seems we may also need to examine you, Mr. Dexter," she said, her tone measured but laced with reluctance. "However, I don't take male patients. I'm sorry, but we'll have to wait until another doctor arrives."

Nathalie's hand suddenly found mine, her grip tight, her voice tinged with desperation. "Doctor, please," she pleaded, her eyes wide and imploring.

"Help my husband. Otherwise, I—I don't know what will happen." Her voice wavered, her fingers trembling against mine, her expression a mix of genuine concern and something more calculated—a performance for Anya's benefit.

Anya studied Nathalie for a long moment, her gaze flickering to me before she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," she conceded, though her voice carried a note of caution.

"I'll take a look at Mr. Dexter's... genital condition. But I'll need your assistance, Mrs. Nathalie." Her eyes locked onto Nathalie's, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

Nathalie nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushing again, though this time it wasn't just embarrassment—it was excitement, the thrill of the game they were playing.

"Of course, Doctor," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever you need."

Anya's gaze shifted to me, her expression unreadable but charged with something new—curiosity. "Mr. Dexter," she said, her voice firm, "follow me."

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