Kim Hae-rin — Treatment (1)

The sea of information was filthy. The first things to surface were ads and empty-calorie blog posts.

I shoved my porridge bowl to one corner of the desk and scrolled on, chin propped in my hand.

The reviews I read were all more or less the same. Registration was mortifying. The questionnaire read like something a pervert wrote. The succubus nurses' pheromones were no joke. Once the magic circle was etched in, it felt like you'd die from not being able to come. The final expulsion was pure madness.

Reading a few posts through, I found my fear and my curiosity growing together. And the comments attached to those reviews were a sight to behold.

I knitted my brows.

"They like it because it tastes rich? Insane bitches, all of them…"

Even as I said it, my thumb never stopped scrolling. Then the next post title caught my eye.

Hae-rin clicked.

The author was anonymous, and the writing carried an oddly unshakable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠confidence.

"Who are you calling a futahikikomori, seriously."

Muttering to myself, I went straight for the comment section.

If it were a lie, someone would surely have replied, "You idiots, it's bait." No such comment appeared.

I went back up to the post body and started reading again.

Hae-rin stared blankly at the screen.

"Cock-meal… vacuum-cleaner… blowjob…?"

Read aloud, it sounded even stupider. Anyone could see the phrase was deranged. What kind of degenerate even coined it?

But the comments were the problem.

"Wait… this is actually real?"

Upvotes were stacked on every single one of them, and not a lone dissenting voice in sight.

Well, logically speaking, nothing was wrong with it. Wash, get stimulated, jerk off, ruin your admission. A full load supposedly meant the treatment wrapped up faster. And the succubi were specialists in exactly that, apparently. They went feral over cock, or so everyone said.

Hae-rin looked down at her crotch, wiped down earlier with a wet wipe. A faint dampness still lingered inside her jeans.

"Just three days. That's all I have to hold out."

The words came easily enough.

That night, Hae-rin did not masturbate.

She opened and shut the box her trusted onahole lived in three separate times while she deliberated. She pulled up the doujinshi site she visited on pure habit and backed out of it immediately. And every time her cock threatened to rise inside her jeans, she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest.

"Schooling, my ass… looks like I'm the one about to get schooled, damn it…"

And the next day, the trouble started in the shower.

The body in the bathroom mirror looked pitiful. Tangled black hair, bleary eyes, a belly and thighs gone soft from never exercising.

She peeled off her t-shirt and slid her panties down, and her cock lifted its head from below.

The instant the hot water slid down her thigh and touched it, she flinched.

"Behave. I'm not doing anything today."

She squeezed body wash into her palm, whipped up a lather, and smoothed it over herself — chest, stomach, thighs, rear. Taking care never to retract the foreskin, she washed even the surface of her cock with her fingertips.

For three days of showers, only the outside got washed.

The first day, it felt grimy. By the second, a nagging odor had appeared, and on the third morning, as she changed into fresh underwear, the stale scent of her own body and Cowper's fluid rose up from her crotch.

Even freshly showered, she didn't feel clean.

The reviews said it was fine. They said the hospital would take care of it.

Telling herself that, she buried the urge to wash herself inside.

When the morning of the appointment arrived, Mom tidied the living room without a word. Toast and a glass of milk waited on the table.

I wore a hoodie and jeans with a loose t-shirt underneath. I'd brushed my hair roughly, though the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tangles hadn't fully surrendered. I'd washed my face and brushed my teeth, too — disguised to a passable standard of human being.

Into the bag went my wallet, phone, charger, and, in case of admission, a few spare pairs of underwear.

My dearly beloved onahole did not go in.

I'd been halfway through tucking it in with the rest when I smacked myself across the head.

"Are you out of your mind, Kim Hae-rin? The moment you're back from the hospital, you two won't even know each other anymore."

Mom was waiting by the shoe cabinet, coat already on, tracking the taxi's location on her phone.

"Eat at least a little something."

"Nothing's going down."

"Then at least drink the milk."

"My stomach's off."

Mom lifted the glass of milk, studied me for a long moment, then set it back down on the table. Somehow, having her not nag felt more unsettling than the nagging.

Beside me in the taxi, Mom checked the reservation text and the hospital's location.

"You brought your ID?"

"Brought it."

"Your health insurance—"

"Mom. I'm not a little kid, you know?"

"A fully grown adult, pushing a hospital appointment back a whole year because she's scared?"

"…"

Out-arguing her was impossible, so I shut my mouth and kept my eyes on the window. Then a conspicuous building slid into view, and the instant its sign registered, something in my gut twisted.

Seen in the flesh, the building was more ordinary than I'd imagined — it could have passed for any state-run medical institution out on the edge of the city.

Which irritated me all the more. Something that bland-looking, quietly feasting on people's most shameful histories.

The moment we stepped out of the taxi, Mom strode ahead toward the entrance, and I followed behind.

My cock, hardly substantial enough to boast, was nonetheless flaunting its presence inside my pants.

The smallness kept needling at me.

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"They're going to admit me, so once the doctor explains the treatment, you go home."

Mom stopped walking.

"Should I at least do the front-desk registration for you?"

"No, I can do the registration too."

"Fine. I'll hear the doctor's explanation and then leave. But until then, I'm staying right beside you."

"It's admission either way."

"That's the doctor's call to make, not yours, isn't it?"

"Ha… yes, yes."

The glass doors slid open, and threading through the smell of antiseptic came a different fragrance. Sweet, and heavy.

The lobby held a reception counter, waiting seats, a security gate — and standing off to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one side, a female orc guard. Green skin, tall, thick through the arms. When that massive frame glanced my way, I caved a little and turned my head at once.

Moving on to the administration section, I found a succubus nurse seated behind the reception window.

First impression: unpleasantly beautiful. Dark violet hair gathered into a ponytail, the white nurse's top clinging to her frame. The neckline offered a sliver of cleavage, the skirt ran short, and bare thigh showed above black stockings. Pointed ears and the slim tip of a tail stirred beneath her chair.

My gaze rode the swaying tail and arrived at her chest. Before I knew it I'd committed her breasts to memory, then hurriedly relocated my eyes to the sign on the counter.

The succubus nurse broke into a smile.

"Could I have the name of the patient with the appointment?"

"Kim Hae-rin."

The words came out much too curt.

As if she'd heard it all before, the nurse checked her monitor.

"Kim Hae-rin, your first-visit appointment today at 11:20 is confirmed. I'll need to see your ID, please."

I fished my ID out of my wallet. My fingertips were trembling, and the card skidded to a crooked stop on the counter.

I cut a sideways glance at Mom standing next to me.

"Mom. Go wait over there."

"Well, look at that. All right."

Mom didn't go far — she just withdrew to the front of the waiting seats.

The nurse held out several forms and a tablet.

"Please review your basic registration first, and shortly I'll walk you through the questionnaire. Please wait in the seating area until you're called into the first-visit exam room."

"Okay."

No sooner had I sat down than my jeans felt suffocating. The lobby was saturated with the succubus scent the internet had called pheromones.

One breath in, and my cock reacted instantly.

Small as I am, it won't show. Right.

Thinking that, I crossed my legs — and clamped it tight. My glans scraped the inside of my panties with a sharp jolt. I lurched at the waist, then hastily straightened my posture.

Worried Mom might have caught it, I sneaked a sideways glance — thankfully, she was absorbed in a hospital information sheet.

Several succubus nurses came and went across the lobby.

Every uniform was generously exposing. Tops far too tight, skirts far too short, stockings and garter belts on open display.

Less a hospital than a themed café only men would visit.

And yet every motion was strictly business. Files in hand, they crossed the floor calling patient names and escorting guardians.

Exposed uniforms fused with that brisk professionalism, and the combination set off a quiet wrongness in me.

Hmph. They dress to arouse on purpose, obviously. Keeping a patient's cock hard is the job description.

I laughed at it inwardly, incredulous.

Then one succubus nurse cut straight across the lobby — a nurse with a blunt bob, a lean frame, and long pants.