Addicted Angel in the Hospital Bed

"N-No… Please, no… I can't fit in anything anymore…"

I can only arch my hips up in the air on the hospital bed. My doctor is currently performing a check-up on me to find out the reason behind my intense lust.

But he seems to be toying with my body. His palm keeps kneading my perky buttocks, and he even inserts a finger into my slit.

The more I beg him to stop, the more excited he becomes.

Unable to take it anymore, I turn back to look at him.

Wait, that's not my doctor! Isn't that Eric Buckley, my college professor?

The next thing I know, he thrusts into me heavily.

My name was Lindsey Hawthorn, and I had struggled with this compulsion for as long as I could remember.

Everyone always thought I was a good, quiet girl, but only I knew the truth—the intense, almost unbearable craving I had for men. Just the sight of a strong, muscular man was enough to make me weak.

By the time I reached college, this need had completely spiraled out of control. Sometimes, even the slightest friction while walking would trigger an overwhelming release. People would stare, probably thinking I had wet myself.

This compulsion was seriously affecting my daily life. I confided in my professor about my struggles, and he suggested that I see a doctor.

That day, I went to the women's clinic. After checking in, I lay on the examination table, staring at the empty room. The faint scent of male hormones lingered in the air.

The itch started again. Between my legs, it felt like ants crawling inside, and my mind was flooded with thoughts of men.

It was unbearable.

With no one around, I couldn't resist slipping my hand beneath my skirt.

I knew I was beautiful, with a body that had developed in all the right ways. My legs were long and slender, and my curves—especially my chest—strained against my clothes even while I lay down. It was cruel, being given this body and then cursed with this humiliating, unrelenting desire.

At that moment, the door to the room opened. A doctor in a white coat stepped inside. His head was lowered, and I couldn't make out his face.

I yanked my hand back. It was still coated with sticky residue. The thought of someone discovering my condition made me flush with embarrassment.

Even in front of him, I couldn't release the shame.

"Lie on your stomach and lift your hips. I need to check you," the doctor instructed.

I turned over and positioned myself face down, lifting my hips as high as I could. The posture made me feel utterly exposed. I had never done anything like this in front of a man.

I was already damp between my legs. To my embarrassment, the doctor grabbed my pants and pulled them down.

Instantly, my pale, round buttocks were revealed.

"You're really going to take off my pants?" I asked in a small, papery