Sleepless Night Before Engraving
As I return the tray and leave the cafeteria, heading toward the elevator, Althea walks beside me. She's half a step closer than before. Every time her cardigan sleeve brushes my arm, her body heat transfers over. She doesn't say a word. That scene from the cafeteria is burned into my mind, impossible to erase. The nurse's fingers lazily tapping the patient's cock under the table—tap, tap. The patient's knuckles turning white as he gripped the table, dropping his spoon. His waist jerking up from the chair before slamming back down in a spasm. That's my future.
The moment we reach the fourth-floor hallway, the pheromone concentration spikes again. As the elevator doors open, the sweet, heavy air fills my lungs, and it twitches inside the tip condom. At my room door, Althea opens it for me.
"Before you go in, let me collect the condom."
Althea's hand moves naturally toward the Y-slit of my patient gown. Her hot fingers grasp the edge of the tip condom over my glans and slowly peel it off. The pooled Cowper's fluid stretches like a thread before snapping, dripping onto my thigh.
"Ngh…"
A small moan escapes me. The friction as the condom drags across the sensitive glans surface sends shockwaves through me. Althea wraps the fluid-filled condom in a tissue and pockets it, smiling.
"Quite a lot, huh? You must have gotten pretty excited during mealtime."
I can't respond.
"Sleep well, Ji-ah. I'll wake you at 7:30 tomorrow morning."
Althea strokes my hair once and turns away. The door closes. Her cardigan sways as she vanishes—her hips swaying side to side under her skirt, her heart-shaped tail lazily swishing. Even after the door shuts, the afterimage lingers on the inside of my eyelids.
Alone now, I turn off the room's fluorescent lights. Streetlight filters through the curtain gap, casting long shadows on the ceiling. The air conditioner's hum fills the darkness.
I lie in bed still in my patient gown, pulling the blanket up to my waist. It lies half-sprawled on my belly, poking out from the Y-slit. I consider tucking it away, but Althea's words come back—forcing it in can cause injury, so medically, it's recommended to leave it out. Heat rises from under the blanket. The feverish warmth radiating from it and my swollen balls traps inside like a sauna.
I close my eyes, but sleep won't come. Dual prostate. The mutated organs deep in my anus and at my vaginal G-spot radiate heat. A dull, ceaseless pleasure throbs inside me. I roll onto my side, and it gets trapped between my thighs. Hot, hard flesh presses against the soft inner skin. Not this way. I roll to the other side. Now it presses into the mattress. My weight crushes the glans against the sheet, and warm Cowper's fluid soaks through, spreading a tepid sensation. I lie on my back again. My heart keeps pounding.
I pull out my phone; the blue screen light stabs my eyes in the dark. A message from Soo-bin.
My chest tightens. What face would Soo-bin make if she knew my condition? If she heard the word futanari and learned I have a cock attached to my lower body—would she be scared of me?
I add a sunny emoji and turn off the screen. Darkness returns. That cafeteria scene replays. The silver-haired nurse's slender fingers tapping the cock under the table. The patient's gritted-teeth endurance. The nurse's slight smile at his reaction. And Althea. The feel of her fingers brushing skin as she removed the condom from my glans. The hot, soft circular strokes on my inner thigh while applying ointment. Her gentle, leisurely voice: "Quite a lot, huh."
Heat surges from my lower abdomen. It jerks up under the blanket, slapping my belly. Bare glans—no tip condom—drooling Cowper's fluid down to my navel. A dark stain spreads on the patient gown top. My right hand moves. Unconsciously sliding down under the blanket. Just before my fingertips reach the base—
The leather restraints on the bed rail gleam faintly in the dark. Streetlight reflects off the metal buckles. The cafeteria patient overlaps in my mind. If that's what a patient in treatment looks like, what happens to someone caught masturbating multiple times and dragged to B3? Massive milking machines? Forced extraction? Enough to cause psychological trauma, they said.
I yank my hand back and grip the sheet instead.
"I have to endure…"
The words leak through my lips, pathetic in the darkness.
Time drags. One hour, two. The clock hands barely move. It softens then hardens again and again. Every time I roll over, it wedges between my thighs or presses into the mattress, pleasure throbbing deep in my pelvis. Around one a.m., low footsteps echo in the hall. Night rounds nurse, probably. They pause at my door—then fade away. My heart leaps to my throat and sinks.
Sometime later, my eyes finally close. Not sleep, more like passing out. Exhaustion beats awareness. I dream something, but don't remember. When I wake, my gown top is soaked in sweat, my lower belly burns like a fireball, and it stands rigidly, reaching past my navel.
I open my eyes. Morning sunlight slips through the curtain gap. Clock says 7:14. A bit before Althea said she'd come. As I tense my waist to sit up, it sways with its own weight, tugging my balls and making my whole lower abdomen throb.
Morning wood. Every morning since the change—the hardest erection. Normally I'd jerk off right away to relieve it, but not here. Forcing it down takes at least thirty minutes. Althea will be here soon.
I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. Maybe peeing will help. I sit on the toilet, but it stands straight up, so I have to press it down by hand to aim inside. The pressure makes the glans quiver sensitively; Cowper's fluid strings between my fingers. I grit my teeth and pee. The stream bends from the erection, splashing the rim. I wipe with tissue, wash my hands, and look in the mirror.
My face is a mess. Faint dark circles under my eyes, hair matted to one side. Cracked lips. And in the mirror, from the Y-slit of my gown bottom, my erect cock juts rigidly. Congested, hardened glans; bulging veins; standing straight to my navel. I turn away.
I wash my face, roughly fix my hair with wet hands, return to the room, and perch on the bed edge. The blanket's rumpled; Cowper's stains dot the sheets.
Knock, knock. My spine chills. The electronic lock clicks open, and the door swings wide. Morning light pours from the hall, framing Althea. Same uniform as yesterday; her pastel pink hair shimmers faint gold in the sunlight. Her purple eyes under droopy lids scan the room, finding me.
"Good morning, Ji-ah."
Lavender scent wafts through the door crack— that single thread of pheromones makes it twitch sharply.
Althea's gaze slides from my face downward. Perched on the bed edge, my fully erect cock thrusts from the gown slit toward my belly. A drop of Cowper's fluid beads at the tip, gleaming transparently in the sunlight. Her eyes linger there, fixed.
"Oh my, must have been tough since morning."
She says it in a tone that melts into my ear, almost admiring.
"Couldn't sleep well."
I say, gripping the bed edge. My sleepless night must show on my face.
"Now breakfast, then off to get the magic circle engraved?"
"Yes, exactly."
Althea leans against the doorframe, nodding; her purple eyes sweep my face, reading the exhaustion.
"Eat first, then 9 a.m. at the multi-purpose treatment room. Dr. Han will do the procedure herself; I'll assist."
Breakfast ends faster than yesterday. Porridge, steamed eggs, cabbage kimchi, soy milk. I eat with it out of the gown, wearing the tip condom Althea fitted. Fatigue overrides shame—my hands shake less than before.