Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 309: The Erection That Wouldn’t Quit

Anya leaned in, her fingers forming a peak as she spoke. "Can you describe your diet?" she inquired with a firm tone. "This reaction could be the result of specific food combinations." Her eyes remained fixed on me, filled with a sharp, professional interest.

I shifted restlessly in my seat, my voice wavering. "I don't believe it's food-related, Doctor. This all began the moment I stepped through the portal. I've never dealt with anything like this before." I paused, my hands clenching together. "It feels as though my body refuses to... find peace. No matter what I try."

A subtle change crossed Anya’s face. Her clinical mask slipped just enough to reveal a spark of fascination beneath her controlled exterior.

"And you're saying this hasn't stopped since your arrival?" she asked. Her voice grew lower and more intimate, as if creating a private sanctuary for shared secrets. "Have you attempted any treatments or seen another physician?"

Fidgeting uncomfortably, my face turned a deep shade of red, mimicking intense embarrassment. "It was manageable at first," I confessed, my voice sinking to a faint whisper.

"But lately... it's like a sickness." I hesitated, twisting my fingers together in my lap. "Every time a beautiful woman catches my eye, it won't go down... unless..." I let the sentence hang, staring at the floor to avoid her gaze.

Anya’s brows rose slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Unless?" she urged, her voice soft yet demanding.

"Unless I have sex with my wife," I admitted, my voice shaking with a facade of shame. "And since it's happening so frequently now... I'm terrified I'll end up hurting her." My voice broke as I looked up at Anya, my eyes reflecting what appeared to be genuine agony.

Anya nodded slowly, her fingers rhythmically tapping the desk as she analyzed my confession. "I understand," she murmured, maintaining her professional yet gentle tone.

"This is a significant condition indeed. While rare, your symptoms point toward a complicated interplay between your psychological and physiological states."

She stopped, her eyes searching mine. "Mr. Dexter, would you allow me to speak with your wife?" she asked directly, though her tone remained cautious.

"Her insight would be vital in grasping the full extent of your situation. This clearly goes beyond a simple physical ailment—it seems intertwined with your mental wellbeing."

I looked conflicted and hesitant. "I'm not sure she'd be open to that, Doctor," I replied, sounding worried. "She is already under so much stress because of my state. I don't want to pile more onto her."

Anya’s expression softened, though her voice stayed resolute. "I recognize your concern, but this involves both of you, Mr. Dexter. We need to ensure the health and safety of you both. If your condition is causing her distress, she should be part of the healing process."

She leaned closer, her gaze steady. "I'm not saying she needs to come in this second, but her perspective could eventually be the key."

I gave a slow nod, my voice nearly silent. "I'll consider it, Doctor."

Anya offered a reassuring smile, yet her eyes remained observant and calculating. "Good. For now, I must consult with my senior colleagues to map out the best path forward.

Your case is highly unusual, and I want to make sure we apply the proper expertise." Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a pad and scribbled a note before tearing the page off and sliding it toward me.

"Take these medications. They will help control the symptoms in the short term while we seek a permanent cure."

As I reached for the paper, my fingers briefly brushed against hers. "Thank you, Doctor," I whispered, sounding profoundly grateful.

Anya’s eyes lingered on me, her face a complex blend of medical concern and something else—perhaps intrigue or the excitement of a difficult challenge.

The printer whirred in the quiet office as she produced the prescription, which she then slid across the desk. "Here," she said, her voice steady and kind. "This will provide temporary relief from the symptoms."

I gripped the paper with trembling hands. "Doctor..." I started, looking at the floor before glancing back up with a look of feigned awkwardness.

"Can I take the medicine here and wait for it to take effect?" My voice cracked, selling the act of desperation.

"I'm terrified it won't work, and if I go home... I might... I might lose control with my wife again." The words tumbled out quickly, my face contorted with what seemed like real fear.

Anya observed me for a long beat, her sharp blue eyes evaluating me. "Mr. Dexter," she said with an air of authority, "how about this—bring your wife with you next time." She leaned forward, steepled fingers in front of her face.

"That way, I can examine her condition as well. You mentioned a fear of hurting her—" Her look sharpened. "Did she tell you she was in pain?"

I nodded, my voice a mere breath. "Yes... she was the one who told me to see a doctor. Because I started... needing her so often." I flushed with apparent shame, dropping my head again.

Anya nodded thoughtfully, her face softening. "I see," she whispered. "Then it's decided. Bring her along for your next appointment." She paused, her eyes narrowing as she watched for my reaction. "Just in case you truly cannot restrain yourself."

Acting deeply embarrassed, I spoke with a trembling voice. "Doctor... I'll bring her..." I hesitated, nervously crumbling the edge of the prescription paper.

"Just to be safe..." My voice trailed off as I stood up suddenly, the chair scraping loudly. "Forgive me, Doctor," I muttered, my face glowing with fake humilation.

As I rose, I caught it—Anya’s eyes, along with the nurses’, flicked downward for a fleeting second. My erection was impossible to miss, a prominent bulge in my trousers. I saw their gazes linger before they looked away, their own cheeks turning pink.

I feigned panic, clumsily trying to hide myself behind the small prescription slip Anya had provided. "I—I am so sorry," I stammered, sounding choked with shame. "I didn't intend for—"

Anya’s look transformed—a cocktail of professional poise mixed with a darker, more fascinated curiosity. Clearing her throat, she spoke with a steady voice that carried a trace of amusement.

"Mr. Dexter," she said firmly, "it appears your situation is even more pressing than I anticipated." She stood with grace, her heels clicking as she walked around the desk with deliberate steps. "Under these circumstances, I believe you should take the medication immediately, under our supervision."

I nodded frantically, my face still red. "Yes, Doctor. Thank you."