Kim Hae-rin — Examination (2)

A succubus nurse cut across the lobby — a bob cut, a skinny frame, long trousers.

A chart in one hand, a smartphone in the other, and even mid-stride her thumb kept tapping away at the screen.

From the waist up it was an ordinary nurse's uniform, but the white pants below hugged her body so tightly that the lines of her legs and hips showed through without mercy.

"Look at that. On her phone while she's working…"

That's what I said, but my gaze trailed after her retreating rear all the same.

One glimpse of the panty line pressed against her ass and my cock went fully hard.

No — that's just the pheromones. There's no way I'd get worked up over some succubus who isn't even my type.

Then a voice came from the reception counter.

"Ms. Kim Hae-rin."

My head snapped up at the sound of my name.

A nurse from the admissions desk stood there holding a clipboard and a bundle of papers.

"You'll need to fill out the initial intake survey for incoming patients. You can use the consultation table over here."

"Ah, yes."

My mother made to rise, and I stopped her with a hand.

"Mom, don't come."

"Then what did I even come here for?"

"Because I felt like it, that's why."

"Haaah—"

Leaving my mother's sigh behind me, I followed the nurse through a semi-opaque partition ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at one side of the lobby.

Inside were a small consultation table and two chairs. The nurse spread the questionnaire flat and held out a ballpoint pen.

"This is a sexual profiling survey. We need ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it to assign your dedicated nurse and establish your treatment plan, so please fill it out as honestly as you can. There are many sensitive items, but nothing is viewed by anyone outside your care team."

"Ah… yes."

I answered on autopilot and took the pen.

The first page was basic information.

My hand paused for a beat at that last line. I toyed with writing "currently preparing to go freelance," but getting caught out later would be ten times more pathetic — so I just wrote unemployed.

Hae-rin's pen faltered as she went to fill in the date. Writing the exact day would announce, plain as day, that nearly a year had passed. But a doctor would see through her anyway. Honesty it was.

A lie. But writing my real size on an official form was more than my pride could stomach.

I turned to the next page.

Pen in hand, I mulled over the next item for a moment.

A bald-faced lie. In reality, twice a day was the minimum, and on days when I was really wound up I'd go four. But who honestly writes "I jerk off every day" on a form?

"Occasionally is right. Occasionally, out of any given day."

The mutter slipped out, and I clamped my mouth shut.

Hae-rin checked Mild. The instant the mark was down, she wanted to scratch it back to none — but the ink had already set. Mild was plenty honest, surely.

She checked comics. Her pen drifted toward text and stopped — checking it might expose her BL tastes. She left the futanari option untouched, too. Truthfully, having a mesugaki pin me down beat futanari any day of the week.

Only penis got a check. Her balls were sensitive too, but admitting that was out of the question. Her nipples had never done much when touched — not that she'd ever given them a proper experiment.

I circled S without a flicker of hesitation — a circle so huge it broke out of its box. Of course I was an S; I loved putting brats in their place. Me getting pinned underneath someone? Unimaginable. The side that disciplines the mesugaki. The side that makes mouthy little punks cry. Anybody could see that was an S.

(The time I muttered "I'm not pathetic" while shaking an onahole doesn't count.)

Self-objectification is bad for your health.

She bore down on that checkbox with the pen.

I paused there for a moment. Verbal humiliation caught my eye, and the image surfaced: a mesugaki purring "zako♡" at me. Except it was never about me being degraded — I liked it when the other side ran its mouth like that and then got duly wrecked for it. So I wrote it in the "Other" box:

Once it was written, it looked maybe too explicit — but down it already was. Fine. I'd go bold. Under this sky, there's no such thing as an embarrassing kink. The problem is the disease, not me.

"Correction" went into the taste column; the receiving end of it packed the aversion column to the brim.

The next page was her dedicated-nurse preferences.

All of it crammed into the "other" boxes. When she finished, she tapped the tip of her pen against the words.

What she wanted, ideally, was a mesugaki nurse she could genuinely discipline. She let the fantasy unfold: a small, bratty succubus nurse swaggering over to sneer, "Patient-chan, you came in for treatment with a zako cock that tiny? Pathetic little cock♡" — and then her, laughing back with all the time in the world: "A brat like you? I'll make you cry."

The mesugaki nurse would freeze up. Treatment, whatever — she'd have seized the initiative. Perfect.

Hae-rin had started to write 3 — and then a nurse's eyes floated up in memory. Every succubus in that lobby would clock it the instant they glanced between her legs. A whole crowd of them staring at her crotch was, fine, pretty embarrassing. Still, writing 10 was out of the question. So: 6.

She'd glared at the blank for a good while before writing that, and immediately after, nearly struck it through for being too sad. But it was the truth. No social life meant no social death. Nobody alive could dispute it.

The truth was high. Merely picturing herself baring her cock to a pack of vulgar succubuses made her gut twist. The reason she wrote "low" was simple: she refused to lose the standoff on attitude.

She took her time writing that word. The pen sat on the paper long after the letters were done.

Hae-rin's pen stopped dead on the last line.

Final. Raw. Vaginal. Penetration.

"Ha…"

What came out was neither a laugh nor a curse.

The nurses from the lobby drifted up in memory. By now they must have slept with who knows how many patients — and they finish inside? Wouldn't STIs spread?

Meanwhile her cock swelled up again inside her jeans, utterly indifferent. It had been seesawing between hard and soft on a loop since she'd arrived. Then again — it's small. Would it even go in properly? That being the first thought to surface stung her pride worse than anything.

She ran down the consent boxes fast. Refusing meant no treatment.

On the signature line, she wrote her name.

The nurse came back around the partition.

"All done with your form?"

"Yes."

Hae-rin held out the questionnaire, her face kept at maximum blankness.

The nurse took the papers and skimmed them. Her eyes snagged on certain items.

The corner of the nurse's mouth shifted, just barely.

What now? Why are you cracking a grin?

The displeasure spat the thought straight out of my mouth.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not. Just confirming your answers."

"Is there something strange on it?"

"It's a survey used to gauge the patient's disposition. There's nothing strange in your answers."

"Then don't laugh."

The nurse lifted her head and looked straight at Hae-rin. The smile was unchanged, yet it felt like it was reading all the way into Hae-rin's core.

"I wasn't laughing. It's only that the dedicated-nurse assignment looks likely to produce an interesting result."

"Interesting how?"

"That's decided after your initial examination."

The nurse slid the survey ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into a file and rose from her seat.

"We'll call you to the initial examination room shortly. Please wait in the seating area."

Not even a doctor — 'interesting results,' from her?

The moment I stood, my cock was at full mast inside my jeans. I'd counted on it being small enough not to show from the outside, but the glans was bent double inside my panties, aching. Under the foreskin everything was sticky and clammy — three days without a proper wash — and the pheromones had me leaking Cowper's fluid on top of it, which made the state of affairs catastrophically worse.

It's fine. They said that in a condition like this, the treatment would be over quickly.

Even so, I wanted to sprint for the bathroom right now and scrub. Except washing would definitely end in me getting off, and three days of holding out would go up in smoke.

Back at the waiting seats, Mom's eyes asked the question. Finished?

I answered with a nod and nothing more.

When I moved to take a seat a little farther off, Mom patted the one beside her, so I ended up sitting right next to her. I crossed my arms, leaned back against the seat, kept my posture straight and proper. My eyes, meanwhile, kept darting off to the thighs, tails, and chests of the nurses crossing the lobby.

Then a chime sounded from the speakers.

"Ms. Kim Hae-rin, please come in to Initial Examination Room 1."

I shot up from my seat — and my mother made to rise right along with me.

"You come in after, and I'll just tell you what they said."

"But shouldn't I be there beside you?"

"It's fine. It'll be over before you know it."

Mom studied her for a moment.

Hae-rin turned her head away first, as if she hated that look.

"All right. I'll wait in the lobby."

Mom sat back down, and I stood in front of the examination room door. Sweat was soaking into my palms.

Before my fingers closed on the handle, the sentences I'd written on the survey replayed in my head.

S.

Mesugaki.

Correction.

With all that down on paper, even the doctor would know I wasn't a patient to be handled lightly.

And with that thought, I opened the door.