The Succubus Doctor's Cold Measurement
A thin, long tail ending in a heart shape sways gently. It swings lazily left and right from under her gown at the small of her back, like a pendulum. I stand there dazed, my eyes glued to the motion. A real succubus. The fact that a being I've only seen on TV or in the news is right in front of me feels utterly unreal.
"I told you to sit."
Her cold voice snaps me back, and I jolt, plopping my butt onto the low exam chair. The cushion sinks deep, pressing the weight between my legs against my thighs. The alien sensation is vivid even through my pants, so I reflexively drop my bag onto my lap.
The doctor succubus slowly flips through my questionnaire clipped to a silver clipboard. Every time her red eyes behind half-rim glasses scan the paper, my heart plummets. She's reading my masturbation frequency and ejaculation addiction status right now. And the circle I marked for 'maternal' nurse preference. I want to die.
"Onset about one month ago. Penis size: unmeasured." Han Seo-yeon reads in her low voice. She taps the paper with the end of her pen. "Masturbation frequency: 3~4 times a week, self-diagnosed ejaculation addiction: 'mild'..." She lifts her gaze from the clipboard, staring straight at me. Her red irises gleam slowly under the fluorescent lights.
"You're lying."
My breath catches.
"L-Lying? I was totally honest—"
"B-5, masturbation frequency. The reception desk already ran a pheromone monitor. Your pupil dilation spiked on that item."
Han Seo-yeon sets the clipboard on the desk and crosses her legs. The firm line of her thigh shows through her stockings, her pencil skirt riding up just above her knee. I try to tear my eyes away, but it's too late. A hot pulse throbs deep in my lower abdomen, and 'it' twitches under the compression bandage, starting to lift its head.
Please stay still.
"Not 3~4 times a week—every day, right? Or more."
I can't answer. I bite my lip hard.
She takes my silence as confirmation and jots something on the questionnaire with her pen. "B-8 isn't 'mild' either—it's closer to 'uncontrollable.' And C-1, SM tendencies. You left it blank..." She pauses, glancing up at me. "But there's a pen mark over 'masochist.'"
My face burns like fire. My heart feels like it'll shatter my ribs.
"Th-That was just a mistake~"
"Lying on the questionnaire can extend treatment or lead to mana condensation failure. It could even get you sent to B3."
Her voice stays low and flat, but the weight in it chills my spine. "For an accurate diagnosis, we'll start the physical exam now. Remove your lower clothing."
Time freezes.
"...Pardon?"
"Training pants and underwear. Compression bandage too—all of it."
Han Seo-yeon stands. Her high heels click sharply against the floor as she approaches. She's a full head taller than me, and up close, that sweet, heavy scent thickens, making my head spin like my brain's melting.
"H-Here? No curtain or—"
"This is a single-patient exam room. Just you and me inside this door."
I can't refuse after that. With trembling hands, I set my bag aside and grab the waistband of my training pants. My fingers won't cooperate. After slipping three times, I finally pull them to my knees, revealing the pathetic sight beneath.
Black compression underwear wrapped tight with medical tape. A month's worth of daily rewrapping has crushed my skin, leaving wide purple bruises on my inner thighs and lower abdomen. And piercing through all that tape and fabric, 'it' bulges unnaturally, tracing a grotesque outline. Cowper's fluid seeps from the tip, soaking the black cloth dark.
Han Seo-yeon's gaze fixes on my crotch. No expression change—she just lifts her pen and notes something on the clipboard.
"Severe compression trauma. You wrapped the tape yourself?"
"...Yes."
"Foolish."
The word stabs like a scalpel. I swallow rising tears.
"Remove the tape and compression underwear too. All of it."
My hands shake violently. Peeling the tape sends raw pain scraping my skin, red welts rising on the bruised flesh. The moment I pull down the last of the compression underwear, the month's suppressed 'it' springs free with a thwack, rebounding hot and rigid, jutting up past my lower belly.
Veins bulge unevenly along the surface, and clear Cowper's fluid drips in threads from the tip. Below, my swollen balls hang heavy, radiating heat far beyond body temperature. The instant it hits the air, throbbing pain and pleasure surge together.
I reflexively cover it with both hands.
"Hands away."
"...I can't."
"Patient."
Han Seo-yeon steps closer. Her red eyes glare down coldly from above.
"This is medical procedure. Move your hands, or shall I?"
I lower my hands to my sides, agonizingly slow. Her gaze sweeps my cock from root to tip, and shame melts my body. But worse—something else squirms beneath the shame. Being seen by her is making 'it' even harder.
The sound of her pulling on latex gloves echoes unnaturally loud in the exam room.
"Measuring now."
Without warning, her hand grips 'it'. The cold, slick latex wraps my over-engorged flesh, electricity shooting up my spine. A broken moan escapes.
"Nngh!"
"Don't move."
Han Seo-yeon grips the base with one hand, pulling out a silver tape measure with the other to trace its length. Every touch of the cold metal makes my flesh quiver. Her gloved fingers are precise and clinical, but my body reacts wildly to the slightest stimulation. Cowper's fluid drips onto the tape, wetting her glove.
"19.7cm. Above average."
She removes the tape and notes the number. "Indicates high latent mana capacity."
Her gloved hand slides down, lightly lifting my balls. The heavy, swollen orbs press weightily against the latex. I grit my teeth. My vision blurs.
"Testicular hypertrophy. Severe congestion from mana condensation."
She presses her fingers slowly over the surface. Each prod into the firm swell sends dull pain echoing with pleasure from deep in my pelvis.
"Does it hurt here?"
"Y-Yes... but not just pain—"
I can't finish. I can't say it feels good in an exam room.
"Pain and pleasure together? Dual prostate response. Normal symptom."
Han Seo-yeon says it casually, peeling off her gloves. Snap, snap. The Cowper's fluid glistens on the latex. She picks up the clipboard and sits, crossing her legs, twirling her pen between her fingers as she looks up at me.
I'm sitting there, pants down, 'it' rigidly erect. No word to pull them up.
"Diagnosis results."
Her voice drops clinically. "Idiopathic Mana Mutation Syndrome, onset about one month ago. Outpatient procedure window has passed. Hospitalization required."
I knew it—after holding out a month, pretending normal in lectures. Hearing it crushes me anyway.
"Hospitalization... how long?"
"Depends on mana condensation level. Up to a week."
She taps the clipboard sharply. "You'll be admitted to the 4F Ejaculation Management Ward, assigned a dedicated nurse 1:1. Unauthorized masturbation strictly prohibited during treatment. You agreed in section F?"
"...Yes."
"Good."
Han Seo-yeon stands, pulling a pager from her coat pocket. "Precise scans on 2F first, then room assignment and nurse intro this afternoon. Preference in D... " She glances down. Her lip quirks faintly. "[Maternal, soft impression, glamorous]. Perfect match available."
I can't tell if that smile's for me or about me. I yank up my pants in a panic. Without the tape, 'it' swings heavy and unfixed inside, sure to smack my thighs when I walk.
Han Seo-yeon opens the exam room door. Corridor light floods in.
"Oh, and Yoon Ji-ah."
I stop and turn. She's leaning on the doorframe, looking down indifferently. Red eyes gleam under the fluorescents.
"No more compression bandages. No need to hide here."
The door shuts, leaving me alone in the hall. I lean against the wall, eyes closed. My heart's still racing, and inside my pants, hot fluid trickles slowly down my thigh. The Cowper's won't stop.
One week. Just one week and it's over. I chant it, but the feel of her latex glove on my skin lingers. Cold. Clinical. Why does it feel so...
I head to 2F. Forcing my shaking legs, I walk the corridor. My unfixed cock slaps my inner thigh with each step, pleasure pulsing low in my pelvis. I grit my teeth. My fingertip on the elevator button is slick.
********
The 2F scans take longer than expected. In the mana engineering room, pressing the resonance device to my lower abdomen to scan my dual prostate's position and size—every cold gel touch makes my pelvis throb, forcing me to bite my lip. Bloodwork, urine, mana sync rate. Even after, 'it' shows no sign of softening in my pants.
Without tape, the unbound sway is too vivid. Each step rubs the glans against the lining, warm Cowper's trickling down my inner thigh.
Guided to 4F around 1 PM. Elevator doors open to a totally different air from 1F. Not antiseptic—sweet, cozy, somehow hot, like honey stirred into warm milk on a winter night, seeping into my lungs and veins. Pheromones.
They explained 4F is saturated with succubus nurses' pheromones, but facing it is another level. One breath, and heat surges deep in my lower belly—'it' jerks hugely in my pants. I yank my long padding flap forward.
Someone stands at the ward entrance. First thing I notice: color. Pastel pink.
Soft cherry-blossom hair loosely braided over one shoulder, glowing under the lights. Next: size. Everything. Overwhelming height—I have to look up. At my 165cm eye level, her collarbone hits, so late 170s at least.
But her figure grabs first. White nurse uniform clings—no, strains. Front buttons from mid-chest stretch taut, ready to pop. Breasts. Unreal, heavy masses sag against gravity inside, deep cleavage peeking flesh-toned through button gaps. Pale pink cardigan draped over does nothing to hide.
Waist cinches below, hips flaring wide, pushing the skirt outward. Thighs. Thick bare flesh above white thigh-highs, rubber bands digging in, flesh bulging top and bottom. Soft enough to sink fingers into.
I try lifting my gaze. Can't. Her massive chest jiggles faintly with each breath. One button loose and they'd spill.
Don't look. Don't look, Yoon Ji-ah.
Finally, her face: soft. Droopy eyelids with purple irises gleaming softly. Round lips, plump cheeks. Smiling. Warm, leisurely—like reuniting with someone long-awaited.
Small curved horns curl from her forehead sides, shorter and cuter than Han Seo-yeon's. A slender tail sways slowly behind, heart-shaped tip.
Her scent hits: different from the ward's. Warm milk, lavender, woman's musk beneath. Sweet, cozy, sticky—flipping a switch deep in my brain.
'It' snaps to full erection in my pants. Harder than in Han Seo-yeon's room. Blood rushes, vision dims slightly; glans tents the fabric clearly.
I clutch my padding flap with both hands. Shaking.
"Oh my."
Her voice: low, soft, like honey in warm water.
"Our patient's here."
She steps forward. Nurse slippers softly pat the floor. That step: her breasts sway heavily, slow inertia.
I step back instinctively.
"Yoon... Ji-ah, right?"
She tilts her head, calling my name. Purple eyes look down kindly. Droopy lids make it tender, caring. But that squeezes my heart harder.
"I'm your dedicated nurse, Althea Bess. I'll handle your treatment from today, Ji-ah."
Althea offers a hand. Large, pale. Long, soft fingers. For a shake, but mine grip the padding. Let go and it'll show—the rigid silhouette.
"Ah, haha! Hi! I'm Yoon Ji-ah!"
My voice pitches high and fake-bright. Usual overacted energy, pretending casual. One hand holds padding, other extends.
Her warm hand envelops mine. Unnaturally hot.
Soft flesh wraps my hand—the warmth climbs my arm, brushes my spine, pulses in my lower belly. A trickle of Cowper's flows.
"Your hand's cold."
Althea doesn't let go, thumb stroking my knuckles slowly.
"Nervous?"
"N-No! I just have poor circulation—"
"It's okay."
She cups my hand in both of hers. Soft, hot flesh engulfs it. Half-step closer. Her breasts fill my vision: skin through button gaps, massive curves rising with breath. Lavender-milk scent overwhelms.
"No need to hide from here on, Ji-ah."
Her purple eyes drop. To the bulge tenting my training pants under the padding flap. The glance lasts under a second, but I burn alive.
"I'll show you to your room. This way."
Althea turns. Cardigan frames narrow waist flaring to wide hips. Skirt stretches taut over curves, cheeks rising and falling alternately. Flesh peeks between thigh-highs and skirt. Heart tail sways leisurely.
I follow. My rigid cock slaps my thigh each step, Cowper's soaking inside.
One-on-one with her for a week.
My legs weaken.
