The Doctor Who Fed My Dangerous Need

"Please, doctor! I'm begging you!"

As soon as I get off work, I can't control my urges anymore, so I quickly bolt toward the private hospital.

Ever since I'm afflicted with the ailment that makes me addicted to pleasure, I keep feeling very empty on the inside. The urge to let loose and satisfy myself keeps plaguing me at all times.

Left without a choice, the doctor can only feed me some medication.

But my sinful thoughts keep overtaking my mind. At that moment, I feel myself losing my mind.

What should I do?

I was named Nora Lovelace. I was 26 years old and a glamorous white-collar professional.

Thanks to my looks, my model-like height, and my long, slender, captivating legs, I was never short on male suitors. However, due to my conservative upbringing, I was always too shy and awkward to handle their advances.

Perhaps because I had repressed myself for far too long, I developed a strange, embarrassing condition I could never bring myself to talk about. No matter where I was, I constantly had the urge to seek out secret thrills with strangers. This condition began to interfere with my life, eventually forcing me to see a doctor.

The male doctor who treated me was merely a year older than me. He was elegant, charming, and effortlessly witty.

Sitting in his consultation room, my mind began to spiral with inappropriate thoughts. I imagined myself climbing onto his desk to seduce him. I also imagined stretching my legs out under the table to rest them on him, using my feet to press and rub against him suggestively.

The moment these thoughts surfaced, I realized I was having another episode. In truth, my condition was quite odd. For some reason, I seemed to be uniquely sensitive to male doctors.

"Nora?" Dr. Morgan Lancaster had a very pleasant name. He was currently waving his hand gently in front of my eyes to get my attention. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" My face flushed a deep crimson. I felt absolutely mortified. Yet, strangely enough, that embarrassment itself felt thrilling.

"Nora, your condition… To be honest, it isn't some rare or incurable disease," Dr. Lancaster said after a moment of thought. "It's more psychological. I'll prescribe you some medicine to help suppress your symptoms."

He decided to start me on a liquid medication. But the moment he moved his hand away from my face, I didn't know what came over me as I reached out and grasped it.

My eyes glossed over, and I parted my lips, drawing his finger into my mouth. Warmth instantly enveloped his finger, and I watched as his face shifted rapidly from shock to a deep, burning red.

The way he reacted to my teasing was absolutely adorable. The baseless fantasies running through my head only caused my condition to spiral further out of control.

"Nora, you're having another episode!" Dr. Lancaster exclaimed. He understood my symptoms and didn't blame me. If anything,