Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 311: Doctor Anya’s Surprise

Nathalie stood at my side, her frame rigid with a mix of tension and obedience, as I rapped on Dr. Anya’s door. From within, Anya’s refined and professional voice responded, "Please come in."

I pushed the door open with a measured touch, keeping my tone steady yet purposeful. "Doctor, I have arrived with the prescription and my wife," I declared while entering the room.

Anya and her two assistants looked up, their focus shifting instantly to Nathalie. Surprise registered on their faces; although Nathalie possessed a youthful glow as if time had favored her, she carried the dignified grace of a woman in her fifties. The nurses traded puzzled looks, clearly struggling to reconcile her appearance with my earlier claim of being only twenty-two.

Recovering her composure quickly, Anya let her professional mask settle back into place. "Please take a seat, Mr. Dexter," she requested, pointing toward the chairs positioned before her desk.

With a nod, I led a blushing Nathalie further into the office. We sat down together, her fingers knotting nervously in her lap as she struggled with her embarrassment.

Anya addressed me first, her tone authoritative yet courteous. "Mr. Dexter, may I examine the medication you brought?"

I passed the bag over to her. She inspected the contents with the precision of a seasoned expert before nodding to one of the nurses. "Olivia, please provide Mr. Dexter with a glass of water so he can ingest his medicine."

Olivia, the younger nurse, took the bag and methodically sorted each pill into a small plastic container. She handed it to me along with the water.

I swallowed the pills without a second thought. There was no cause for concern; given my rapid healing factor, even the most potent poison would be no more harmful to me than sugar.

Anya’s keen eyes tracked my every move. "We will monitor you for thirty minutes to observe any improvements," she stated, her professional demeanor now colored with a hint of intrigue. "In the meantime, we shall examine your wife."

I gave my consent with a nod. Beside me, Nathalie shifted in her seat, her discomfort almost tangible.

Anya turned her focus toward Nathalie, her voice dropping to a softer register. "And what is your name, Mrs...?"

"Nathalie," she stammered, her response barely audible.

Anya’s fingers danced across the keyboard as she entered the name. "And your age, Mrs. Nathalie?" she inquired, her tone light but searching.

Nathalie paused, her face deepening into a darker shade of red. "Fifty," she confessed, her voice shaking slightly.

Anya’s brows shot up in astonishment, and a soft, nearly disbelieving laugh escaped her. "Mrs. Nathalie, you certainly do not look fifty," she remarked with genuine praise. "You remain quite stunning."

Nathalie offered a timid nod, her hands still fidgeting. To help her feel more at ease, Anya continued in a firm but kind manner. "Mrs. Nathalie, it is perfectly normal to experience intimacy issues when there is a significant age difference between partners. There is no reason to be distressed."

Nathalie seemed to relax a fraction, though her blush remained.

Anya’s eyes stayed fixed on Nathalie, who sat stiffly by my side. The atmosphere in the office grew heavy with a tension that made the air feel thick and the skin crawl.

Leaning back, Anya’s lips curved into a subtle, knowing smirk. She observed Nathalie with a piercing intensity that felt almost like a predator watching its prey.

"Mrs. Nathalie," Anya started, her voice sinking into a low, velvety hum that seemed to tighten around the room like a cord of silk, "I must ask a few... personal questions. These details are vital to understanding your husband’s condition and its impact on you." Her gaze darted to me for a fleeting moment—a spark of dark amusement visible in her cold eyes—before returning fully to Nathalie.

Nathalie’s face burned a bright crimson. She nodded in silence, her breath catching as she kept her eyes glued to her folded hands.

Anya got straight to the point. "Let us begin with the basics," she said, her voice deceptively gentle. "How frequently does your husband seek intimacy?"

Nathalie’s fingers gripped each other tightly. "E-every day... sometimes even more than once," she whispered.

Anya’s eyebrows rose as her pen hovered over the chart. "More than once a day?" she echoed, her voice carrying a blend of medical curiosity and something far more predatory. "And how does this affect you, Mrs. Nathalie? Both physically and emotionally?"

Nathalie’s breath hitched again. Her hands were clenched so hard her knuckles were stark white. "It is... it is too much, Doctor," she confessed in a faint voice. "I am constantly sore. There is even a little bleeding at times..." Her voice trailed off into a pained silence, her face radiating humiliation.

Anya remained poised, but her eyes grew darker as she scribbled notes. "I see," she murmured, her Russian accent adding a sharp precision to her words. "And do you find pleasure in it, Mrs. Nathalie? Or do you view it simply as... a duty?"

Nathalie’s entire countenance turned a deep shade of scarlet. I played my part, feigning deep embarrassment by staring at the floor with flushed cheeks, acting like a bashful boy caught in a shameful moment.

Under Anya’s heavy gaze, Nathalie stammered through her answer. "Doctor... I... I do enjoy it," she admitted softly. "But I am drained... because my husband... he can’t seem to stop himself. He goes on for 3 to 4 hours..."

Anya’s pen stopped moving. "3 to 4 hours?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "That is physically impossible without the aid of medication."

I let out a soft, embarrassed protest. "Doctor... I truly haven't taken anything," I insisted, my performance of innocence perfectly executed.

Anya’s eyes narrowed, her expression shifting to one of intense fascination. "That is most peculiar," she whispered, almost to herself.

She sighed and looked between us before focusing on Nathalie again. "Mrs. Nathalie, do you recall how many times your husband reached climax during these sessions?"

Nathalie’s face seemed to glow with heat. "He... he only reached climax once," she stammered, her fingers twisting. "But I... I experienced it many times..."

The nurses and Anya shared a look of pure shock, their faces a mix of doubt and obsession. Anya shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. "That is... exceptionally rare," she remarked, her professional interest clearly piqued.

She leaned forward, her eyes sharpening as she inspected Nathalie. "Mrs. Nathalie, are you currently experiencing pain in your private areas?"