The air in the room seemed more stagnant than outside.
The curtains were made of heavy, dark green velvet.
The white sheet on the examination bed was ironed flat, the edges of the sink reflected a cold metallic gleam, and the padded chair—upon which Rohan sat rigidly—seemed excessively soft, almost swallowing his slender frame.
The moment Dr. Carter closed the door, the latch made a soft click. The sound made Rohan's shoulders tremble.
"Rohan, I know this is awkward."
Dr. Carter's voice was indeed softer than usual, but in this enclosed space, each word carried a peculiar echo. "But we need to find a more efficient way to manage your symptoms. Your mother is very worried. The last session was too difficult for both you and her."
The boy nodded, his eyes fixed on his tightly clasped hands. His knuckles were prominent, his fingers still bearing the delicate slenderness of youth not yet fully grown.
"I want to see if we can shorten the time by reducing some of the tension-inducing factors."
Dr. Carter pulled over another chair, sitting at a height that brought her eye-level with Rohan.
From this angle, the boy had to lift his gaze—first taking in the hem of her white coat, then the meticulously buttoned front, and finally her refined yet stern face.
Behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes were not completely obscured by the lens glare. He could see her pale blue irises.
"Your mother's presence last time may have added to your pressure. Today, it's just the two of us. You can relax a little."
Rohan still kept his head down, but the tips of his ears were already flushed.
He caught the faint scent of her perfume, mingled with the smell of disinfectant—a contradictory and unsettling combination.
A brief silence was broken by a knock on the door. An assistant brought in a black handbag. Dr. Carter took it with a quiet "thank you."
The door closed again.
Carrying the bag, she walked to the corner of the room. She drew the curtain; the sound of fabric sliding along the track was especially clear in the quiet.
Then came rustling sounds.
Rohan held his breath. He heard a zipper sliding down, the friction of fabric, and the soft rustle of some lighter material.
His imagination began to run wild, uncontrollably conjuring various images in his mind—each one making his heart race and stirring a familiar, shameful throbbing in his lower abdomen.
When the curtain was drawn back, Rohan looked up, and his breath truly caught for a second.
Dr. Carter had removed her white coat.
She wore a beige silk blouse, the material so thin that the outline of her undergarments was faintly visible under the light.
But Rohan's gaze was completely drawn downward—the black pencil skirt clung tightly to her hips and thighs, and most devastatingly, to her legs.
Sheer flesh-toned stockings began just below the hem of her skirt, enveloping her plump, well-proportioned calves and extending along the slender lines of her legs.
The stockings were extremely thin—so thin he could see the faint blue veins beneath her skin, the delicate curve of her Achilles tendon, the fine bones of her ankles.
Under the light, the artificial silk shimmered with a pearl-like luster, like a second skin, yet smoother and more alluring than skin itself.
The high heels she had changed into were made of patent leather, with pointed toes and a low cut. The heels were astonishingly slender.
As she moved, the crisp, rhythmic sound of her heels striking the floor echoed with each step, causing the muscles in her calves to tighten slightly, the curves beneath her stockings rising and falling with the motion.
Rohan felt his mouth go dry.
He had never observed a woman's legs so closely, so brazenly—his mother always wore traditional saris or conservative trousers, and the girls at school showed nothing more than bare calves or thick leggings beneath their skirts.
But these legs, encased in stockings, were the legs of a mature woman.
Full yet not plump, slender yet strong, every inch exuded a meticulously maintained elegance and a kind of sensuality he couldn't articulate but instinctively sensed.
"Many men find... certain visual stimuli helpful for relaxation and speeding up the process."
Dr. Carter's voice still tried to maintain professionalism, but a faint blush spread across her cheeks, starting from the roots of her ears.
She walked back to the chair, but this time she didn't sit down. Instead, she stood before Rohan—from this angle, the boy had to look up at her, and her legs completely dominated his field of vision.
"Stockings are a relatively neutral choice," she continued, her voice a few tones lower than usual. "If you feel uncomfortable, or if this doesn't work for you, we can try other methods."
Rohan's throat moved, but no sound came out.
His penis had already stirred to life in his trousers, and this erection was unlike any before—not a slow, painful swelling, but a swift, urgent, and longing hardness.
Dr. Carter's gaze flickered downward for a moment before quickly shifting away.
But that glance was enough—she saw the distinct bulge in the boy's pants, the fabric stretched so taut it made her inwardly gasp. The sheer size of it was something she would never forget, etched into her memory after just one look.
"I... I don't know," Rohan finally managed to whisper, his voice as faint as a mosquito's hum.
"Let's give it a try." Dr. Carter pulled the chair closer, sitting so near this time.
As she crossed her legs, the stockings rustled softly, the sound so clear, so intimate in the silence.
That single gesture changed everything.
Her right leg rested on her left knee, her skirt naturally riding up to reveal the middle of her thighs.
The stockings formed fine wrinkles behind her knees, yet clung flawlessly to her ankles.
The arch of her foot was pushed to its limit by the high heels, her instep taut, and the five unpolished, pink toes faintly visible beneath the sheer fabric.
Rohan's gaze locked onto those feet.
Through the flesh-toned stockings, he could make out the shape of her toes, the faintly raised veins on her instep. The straps of her heels pressed into her ankles, leaving shallow indentations in the stockings.
Her feet looked so delicate, so fragile, yet so full of strength—with every slight turn, the muscles in her calves contracted, and the sheen of the stockings shifted with the movement.
He felt the dull ache in his lower abdomen turn into a burning sensation. His penis was painfully hard, the head so sensitive it could barely endure the friction of his underwear.
"Now, if you're willing, you can try touching."
Dr. Carter's voice carried a barely perceptible tension. She forced herself to remain calm, but her crossed legs unconsciously tightened further, the rustling of the stockings growing louder.
"It's just the stockings. It's fine."
Rohan's hand trembled as he reached out. His fingers were slender, slightly curled from nervousness.
When his fingertips finally brushed against the nylon of her stockings on the outer side of her calf, both of them shuddered simultaneously.
The sensation was startling.
The surface of the stocking was smooth and slightly cool, like the finest, most delicate flowing water. Yet, separated only by that thin layer of nylon, he could feel the warmth of the flesh beneath, the elasticity of the muscle, the shape of the bone.
His fingers slowly traced upward along the side of her calf, feeling the gradually fuller curve, sensing how the stocking clung tightly to every inch of skin.
Dr. Carter held her breath.
She could clearly feel the touch of the boy's fingertips—first a tentative, light brush, then bolder strokes.
His fingers started at her ankle, moving up along the Achilles tendon, pausing at the calf, where his fingertips circled gently.
The stocking amplified the sensation. Every friction felt as if it were directly on her skin, yet with an added layer of maddening, tantalizing separation.
What shocked her even more was her own body's response.
A strange, unfamiliar flutter arose from deep within her abdomen—a sensation she hadn't felt in years.
Between her legs, her private parts began to warm. She could feel her labia swelling slightly.
And her legs, clad in stockings—the very legs the boy was caressing—began to heat up.
She could see a faint blush rising on her skin where he had touched.
"Keep going," she heard herself say, her voice slightly husky, unfamiliar even to her own ears.
Rohan's hand grew bolder. His palm pressed fully against her calf, feeling its plump curve.
Then, his fingers slid toward her ankle, wrapping around it—so slender that even his small hand could almost encircle it completely.
His thumb pressed against the stocking, rubbing over the protruding ankle bone, feeling the contrast between the hard bone and the soft muscle.
Next, his hand moved downward and grasped her foot.
Dr. Carter drew a sharp breath.
Rohan's hand completely enveloped her foot—through the stocking, through the high heel, yet he could feel the arch of her instep, the supple texture of the patent leather.
His fingers slipped into the opening of the high heel, touching the stocking-clad sole. There, the stocking, warmed slightly, clung like a second skin.
The high heel wobbled precariously from his movement. With a bit of pressure from his fingers pushing downward, it fell to the floor with a soft clack.
He lowered his head, his eyes fixed intently on her stocking-clad foot.
The stocking was thinnest at the toes. He could clearly see the shape of each nail, the pale pink turning into a suggestive, ambiguous shade beneath the flesh-toned nylon.
Her toes curled slightly—an unconscious movement that made the arch of her foot more pronounced, tightening the stocking over her instep until it was almost transparent.
A base, vulgar impulse surged through Rohan.
He wanted to bury his face in the sole of her foot, to lick the stocking with his tongue, to feel the texture of the nylon against his taste buds, to savor the taste of this enticing, delicate foot…
"Rohan." Dr. Carter's voice cut through his fantasy.
Her breathing was rapid, her chest rising and falling. The first button of her silk blouse had come undone at some point, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone and the edge of her bra.
"I think… things are progressing quite well."
She couldn't believe it—aroused by a boy who could hardly be called a grown man, just from having her foot caressed.
She unconsciously tensed her feet, arching her toes to make them appear more alluring beneath the stockings. Her lips, moist and tempting, were bitten lightly as she struggled to maintain a composed expression, yet her gaze kept drifting uncontrollably toward the boy's intimidating crotch.
The boy looked up blankly, then followed her line of sight to his own trousers.
There, an astonishing tent had formed. The fabric was stretched so taut it was nearly transparent, revealing the thick outline of his penis, the shape of the glans, and even the dark stain left by pre-ejaculate.
His penis was fully erect, hard as iron, hot as fire.
Dr. Carter swallowed. Her throat was dry, her lips parched.
Her professionalism and rationality had already recognized the absurdity of this decision, but in this moment, she knew she was being controlled by the dopamine in her brain—she couldn't stop.
"Now, let me help you," she said, her voice so hoarse it surprised even herself.
Her movements were clumsy as she put on the rubber gloves—her fingers trembled, and she fumbled the first attempt.
When she finally managed to slip them on and reached for Rohan's zipper, both of their breaths hitched for a moment.
The sound of the zipper sliding down was deafening in the silence.
Rohan closed his eyes, too afraid to look. But he could feel it—Dr. Carter's cold hand slipping into his underwear, wrapping around that scorching, rigid penis.
Her hand was smaller than his mother's, though her fingers were still slender. After all, Dr. Carter stood nearly 170 centimeters tall, quite statuesque.
The moment she grasped him, he nearly came.
"Relax," Dr. Carter whispered, though she herself was anything but relaxed.
When she fully pulled out his penis, despite her mental preparation, she couldn't help but gasp.
It was larger, thicker, and more intimidating than she remembered.
The last time, in shock and resistance, she hadn't examined it closely. But now, under the dim, suggestive lighting, amid the rustle of her stockings and the boy's fascination with her feet—she saw it clearly.
The penis was fully erect, over twenty centimeters long, as thick as her wrist.
Veins bulged and twisted along its shaft, pulsing with each heartbeat.
The glans was massive, a deep crimson, with clear pre-ejaculate continuously seeping from the urethral opening, glistening under the light.
The foreskin was fully retracted, the frenulum taut, the entire organ resembling a meticulously crafted weapon of primal power.
And the most absurd part—this bizarrely large, rootlessly soft penis belonged to a fifteen-year-old boy, thin and tender.
When Dr. Carter's hand wrapped around it, the stark contrast made her dizzy.
Her hand looked exceptionally delicate against the massive penis, her wrist so slender it seemed it could snap with a twist.
And Rohan—sitting in the chair, his body frail, shoulders narrow, his face still bearing the innocence of youth—possessed such a fully mature, aggressive sexual organ.
"A small horse pulling a big cart." This crude metaphor suddenly invaded Dr. Carter's mind, filling her with intense shame.
But her hand had already begun to move.
Her technique was more skillful than Shivani's—though she, too, came from a Christian family with conservative views on sex, she was British, not an extremely conservative Indian.
She had done this for the only two men she had ever been with—a college boyfriend and her ex-husband.
Though she had only been with two men, she remembered the details—the thumb rotating and pressing against the coronal ridge of the glans, the index and middle fingers gently rubbing the frenulum, the palm wrapping around the shaft and moving up and down.
Her rhythm varied, fast then slow, adjusting the pressure as she observed Rowan's reactions.
And Rowan's reactions were intense.
At five minutes, Rowan's breathing was already ragged, his hips beginning to thrust slightly.
At ten minutes, his body tensed, the muscles of his thighs trembling, the amount of pre-ejaculate so profuse that her gloves were completely soaked...
At fifteen minutes, he let out a suppressed moan, his glans swollen and turning a deep, almost purplish red—the clear precursor to ejaculation.
His hand was still on her leg, now sliding higher up her thigh—the hem of her skirt pushed up further, revealing the upper part of her thigh.
The stockings there were slightly dampened by his sweaty palm, so transparent that every pore was visible.
"Doctor..." he moaned, his voice tinged with a sob, though not from pain.
"Just like this, you're close, aren't you?" Dr. Carter's voice had changed too. The professional mask was cracking, revealing the real woman beneath—burning with desire.
Dr. Carter quickened her pace, her arm beginning to ache, though far less intensely than last time.
Her body was terrifyingly honest.
Her blouse was soaked with sweat, clinging to her skin, outlining the shape of her bra.
Her legs rubbed together inside the stockings, her private area warm and damp. She could feel the abundance of arousal, her vagina completely wet, almost overflowing.
And what shamed her most was—as she watched the large penis throbbing in her hand, she felt a strong, almost overwhelming urge to take things further. This thought made her stroke faster, harder.
She desperately suppressed these reactions, telling herself this was purely a medical procedure, but the honesty of her body filled her with shame.
At twenty minutes, Rowan reached the breaking point.
"I'm... I'm going to come..." Rowan's voice was almost a scream.
Dr. Carter quickly picked up the collection bottle with her other hand.
But at that moment, Rowan's hand suddenly tightened on her thigh—his fingers digging deep into the plump flesh encased in the stockings, his nails almost tearing through the thin nylon.
The first wave of semen shot out.
Its force and distance exceeded Dr. Carter's expectations.
The hot, thick, milky-white fluid sprayed directly onto her blouse, splattering a large stain across the beige silk.
The second wave, the third—she barely managed to aim the bottle's opening, but some of the semen still splashed onto her skirt, her stockings, even her face.
She closed her eyes, continuing to stroke, letting the ejaculation run its course. The scent of semen filled the air—pungent, masculine, brimming with fertility.
Twenty seconds, maybe longer. When the last wave of semen thinned to a trickle, Rowan collapsed into the chair, his eyes vacant, his entire body drenched in sweat.
Dr. Carter's hands trembling, she sealed the collection bottle.
The bottle contained a small amount of milky-white semen, still an astonishing quantity.
She removed her gloves and threw them into the trash. Then she stood up—her legs giving way, nearly causing her to stumble.
The stiletto heels couldn't support her weakened body, forcing her to lean against the edge of the examination bed.
The stockings were completely damp with fine sweat, clinging tightly to her skin from ankle to thigh, tracing the lines of every muscle.
The stains of semen stood out starkly against the flesh-toned stockings, the milky-white fluid slowly sliding down the nylon fibers.
Her shirtfront was a mess, semen and sweat mingling together, the fabric turning transparent.
And her body—her private parts were still contracting in desperate thirst, she could clearly feel warm, slippery fluid being squeezed out, soaking into her underwear. She had never experienced such intense desire before.
She looked at Lorhan.
The boy weakly opened his eyes, his gaze drifting toward her, then stopping at the stain of semen on her stockings.
In his eyes, there was shame, confusion, and a budding possessiveness that made her heart race.
"Clean up." Dr. Carter's voice regained its self-protective professionalism. "Get dressed. I'll change back into my pants and then call your mother."
She almost stumbled toward the curtain.
The moment she pulled it shut, she leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.
Her eyes behind the glasses closed and then opened again.
She looked down at herself—the semen on her shirt was cooling, turning into a sticky layer; the stain on her stockings reminded her of what had just happened; the damp sensation between her legs made her feel utterly ashamed.
But what frightened her most was the hollow, aching feeling deep inside her body, the desperate need to be filled.
And the images replaying in her mind: the boy's slender fingers stroking her stocking-clad legs, his obsessive gaze fixed on her feet, his enormous penis throbbing in her hand, the force and volume of his ejaculation...
"God," she whispered, her voice breaking.
But she still began to undress.
As she peeled the stockings off her legs, they made a soft tearing sound—one spot had been torn by Lorhan's fingernail.
She stared at the hole, paused for a few seconds, then rolled the entire pair into a ball and threw it into the trash.
When she changed into her trousers and white coat, her movements were mechanical. She buttoned them up one by one, pinned her hair back up, and straightened her glasses.
When she stepped out from behind the curtain, aside from the slight dampness at her temples, there was no trace of anything unusual.
Lorhan was also dressed, sitting in a chair with his head bowed.
Dr. Carter walked to the door, took three deep breaths, and then opened it.
Shivani nearly jumped up. "How did it go?"
"Twenty minutes." Dr. Carter's voice was steady, professional, as if the soaked stockings, the splattered semen, and the physical reactions of the past twenty minutes had never existed.
"It seems he responds to certain neutral stimuli, which helps him relax and shortens the time."
Shivani's eyes lit up. "So we can continue with this method in the future?"
Dr. Carter avoided her gaze—and also avoided the furtive glance Lorhan sent her way.
"I don't... We can keep trying to find the best approach for him." She should have refused the next session, but the words that came out of her mouth contradicted her reason.
She could only add, "But remember, this is only a temporary measure until his body adapts or we find a fundamental solution."
Shivani nodded, relieved.
Twenty minutes, compared to forty, was already a huge improvement.
She wouldn't have to face her son's penis herself anymore, wouldn't have to bear that guilt. Paying to solve the problem—this was the cleanest way.
In the car on the way home, Lorhan silently stared out the window.
His fingers lightly rubbed against his trousers, recalling the feel of the stockings—that smooth, slightly cool sensation, with the warmth of flesh and blood beneath.
A strange, dirty, vulgar excitement began to grow inside him. He started looking forward to the next session.
Shivani calculated the costs as she drove.
Worth it, she thought.
If it could be resolved in twenty minutes every time, the money was well spent.
But she didn't realize what that faint sting in her heart meant when she thought, "Dr. Carter's method is more effective."
The car turned onto the street. Dusk settled in.
The eternal lamp before the shrine still glowed, and the scent of sandalwood still lingered.
But some things had already changed irrevocably.
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