Medical purposes

You wake to a rhythmic bleep and the scratchy taste of dried spit stuck somewhere in your throat. The ceiling above is blindingly white, the paint so clean and clinical it hurts your eyes. A fluorescent panel buzzes steadily overhead, flickering like a brain about to short-circuit. You try to roll over, but your arms are tangled in a web of stiff cotton sheets and something tugs at your wrist—an IV needle embedded, a taped-on parasite.

The second you shift, pain sharpens at the base of your skull. You groan, which is embarrassingly weak, like the death rattle of a sick kitten. The room’s cold. There’s the chemical stink of antiseptic, fake lemon, and bodies. Somewhere, a machine hisses and coughs in rhythm, the ventilator’s dull lullaby.

You twist your head. Other side of the curtain, there’s a guy about your age lying on the second bed. He’s wearing a hospital gown, too, but he actually manages to look like he owns the place—one arm propped under his head, the other in a blue foam sling across his chest. He notices you watching and flashes a quick, easy grin. “About time you woke up,” he says, voice gravelly with boredom. “They had you out for, like, a day.”

You blink, fight for a timeline. You remember the sun, so hot it boiled the sweat off your skin. You remember stumbling with your friend down the sidewalk, then nothing. Did they carry you in? Who called the ambulance? He watches you, eyes sharp and just the tiniest bit predatory. “Name’s Ken,” he adds. “I’d shake your hand, but—” He wiggles his broken arm.

You mumble your name, feel the syllables catch in your swollen mouth. There’s a memory of someone laughing, then a blank. “You were out cold,” Ken continues, “so I started betting myself how long you’d last without pissing the bed. You lasted longer than I thought. Kind of impressive.” he says with a snicker. You groan, turn to the wall, count the holes in the acoustic tile. Anything to ignore the slow, crawling embarrassment. But Ken’s voice keeps threading its way through, persistent as a rash.

“I can fix it, if you want,” Ken whispers, eyes flicking to the closed door. “I mean, not the IV or whatever. I mean your body. I can change you.”

You snort, then instantly regret it because the pain in your head doubles. “What?”

He leans in, voice so low it’s almost funny. “I’m serious. I can change people. Their heads, their minds, even their bodies.” His smile grows wider. “But I’m not supposed to. Last time, they made me switch colleges.” he whispers, almost mystically. You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. There isn’t one. “Don’t worry,” Ken says, “I’ll prove it later. I need to warm up.”

The door clicks, interrupting. In sweeps a nurse, the kind you only see in pharmaceutical ads and very specific websites. She’s got a neat brunette hair and a uniform tailored so tight you wonder if it was vacuum-sealed. The name tag reads “Maria.” She smells like cocoa butter and surgical steel. “Hello, gentlemen,” she chirps, bright and overly loud. “How are we feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a truck,” you manage. She gives you a practiced smile and checks your chart, eyes darting to Ken. He’s watching her with hungry, wolfish interest.

“Ken, how’s the pain today?” Maria asks, flipping a page.

“Could be better,” Ken replies, voice suddenly soft and innocent. “Can’t sleep at all. My arm hurts.” She comes closer, checks his sling, the cast, the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. You watch her hands—long, slender, and gentle—and you hate how you notice her perfect nails. She leans in to check the velcro straps, and Ken breathes in deep, staring straight down her scrub top.

Maria straightens and cocks her head. “You shouldn’t be in much pain with the meds you’re on,” she says. “Are you sure—?”

Ken interrupts, “You know what would really help?” She waits. Ken’s eyes flash, “If you sucked my dick.” he says almost nonchalantly. You freeze. Maria blinks twice, as if processing. For a second, you expect her to slap him, or at least threaten to call security. Instead, her face goes oddly slack, eyelids fluttering, and she exhales a shuddering breath.

“Excuse me?” she says, voice brittle.

Ken just grins. “You heard me.” he says. Something is off in the air. Maria stares at Ken, then back at you, her mouth slightly open. Her pupils dilate, her nostrils flare. She looks like someone has just switched her brain to a different frequency.

“I’m… not supposed to—” she says, but the protest is paper-thin. Maria turns to Ken, and her lips curl into a slack, half-drunk smile. She drops to her knees beside the bed, hands already reaching for his sheets. Ken lifts his hips, letting her pull down his hospital pants and boxers in a single practiced motion. You’re frozen, eyes wide, unable to look away.

Maria wraps a hand around Ken’s cock. Her professional veneer is gone; what replaces it is robotic, almost comical in its efficiency. She runs her tongue along the shaft, not even pretending to hesitate. Her lips seal around the tip, and she bobs her head with a determination you’ve only ever seen in the darkest corners of the internet. Ken groans, lays his head back, eyes rolled up in pure bliss.

She’s not supposed to do this. She can’t possibly want to do this. But Maria looks up at Ken with a wild, desperate hunger. The sounds—wet, slick, slurping—are humiliatingly loud in the small room. Ken’s left hand comes up, threading through her perfect hair, tugging her deeper. He looks over at you, and winks. Maria pulls off, gasping, saliva dripping down her chin. She strokes Ken’s cock with both hands, her face flushed red.

“I want to make you feel better,” she says, her voice suddenly husky, loaded with a heat that makes your stomach twist. Ken says nothing, just lets her go back to sucking him. She takes him all the way, her nose mashing into his belly, her cheeks caving in. The sheer effort in her jaw, the pulsing of her throat—it’s all so blatant, you can’t even pretend this is some weird dream. You try to look away, but your head is trapped by the pillow and the IV. You watch as Ken’s stomach flexes, his good arm clutching at the bedsheet.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, too loud. Maria shudders, redoubling her effort. A moment later, Ken gasps and bucks his hips. You see his entire body tense, veins popping on his neck. Maria’s eyes flutter shut. There’s a guttural swallow, then another, and she finally pulls away, licking her lips with slow, dazed satisfaction. “Good girl,” Ken says.

Maria beams, like she’s just been given an employee of the month plaque. She doesn’t even clean her face—just goes back to stroking Ken’s dick, letting him grope her breasts through the thin fabric of her top. You’re so stunned you barely notice your own erection, stiff and awkward beneath the sheet. You feel sick, but also something else—an uncomfortable curiosity, a tightness in your chest that has nothing to do with dehydration.

Ken grins at you, that wide, knowing smile. “Told you,” he says. Maria is still kneeling, still stroking and cooing. You want to scream. You want to run, but you can’t take your eyes off the nurse—off Maria—as she leans into Ken’s lap, moaning around his cock like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. You should say something, anything, but your voice is locked behind the knot in your throat.

The door swings open with the clean violence of a cop bust. New guy in a white coat—doctor, obviously. Middle-aged, athletic, jaw like a meat cleaver. Clipboard in hand. Even his walk is surgical: no wasted movement. Dr. Simms. You know the type instantly. “What the hell is going on in here?” he barks.

Maria freezes with Ken’s cock still in her mouth. She looks up, eyes huge, a ring of saliva shining on her lips. Ken doesn’t even flinch, just tugs her ponytail like he’s keeping a pet in check. “Jesus Christ, Maria!” Dr. Simms shouts. “Get away from the patient—now! I’m reporting this!” But Maria isn’t listening. Her whole body trembles, her eyes glazed. She keeps stroking, keeps humming, desperate for approval. Simms whirls on Ken, who shrugs, the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “What did you do to her?” Dr. Simms says, voice trembling with rage.

Ken tilts his head. “Why don’t you join us?” His grin splits wider. “Haruka.” The word hangs in the air. For a second, nothing happens. Then Dr. Simms' face twitches, as if he's fighting a sneeze. You see his jaw clench, his knuckles whiten around the clipboard. He tries to speak, but his tongue fumbles the words.

"Stop," Dr. Simms says. "This is...this is inappropriate. Maria, listen to me—" But his voice is wrong, rising in pitch and slurring at the edges. He stumbles, clutching his chest. The clipboard clatters to the ground. Dr. Simms' skin ripples, and as his cheeks flush feverishly, the years begin to peel away. The lines etched by time smooth out, and the pallor of middle age gives way to a youthful glow. His once-graying temples darken, reclaiming the rich color of his youth. He takes a step, then collapses against the wall, vitality seeping into his frame with each passing second.

His face undergoes a remarkable transformation: the jaw softens, cheekbones rise, and the nose refines itself, as if sculpted anew by a master artist. You hear the grinding crunch of cartilage, the wet pop of reshaping bone. Dr. Simms tries to scream, but it comes out high and breathless. His Adam's apple recedes, swallowed by a lengthening neck. His eyes, once steely gray, blacken and widen into soft brown pools, exuding the vigor of a man two decades younger. Lashes grow long, sweeping shadows over his cheeks. Hair sprouts, first in thin wisps, then as a black tidal wave that pours over his shoulders and down his back, full and lustrous, reminiscent of a twenty five year old woman.

Dr. Simms’ hands are next. They flex, fingers growing slender, nails blooming pink and oval. The back of his hand shrinks, knuckles smoothing over. His arms wither, biceps draining away, skin tightening until the veins disappear beneath a surface of perfect, glossy silk. His body caves in, spine arching with an audible crack. His hips shudder outward, popping wider, stretching the waistband of his pants. Dr. Simms tries to grab at his own chest as it swells outward, buttons bursting open on the hospital coat. The exposed flesh is pale, flawless, a rapid blossom of cleavage ballooning into impossible, heaving D-cups.

Dr. Simms falls to the floor, convulsing. As his shoes drop off, revealing shrinking feet with delicate painted toes, decades of medical knowledge drain from his mind. The careful diagnostic patterns, the thousands of patient charts, the meticulous surgical procedures—all dissolve into vapor. His stern bedside manner, his professional distance, his clinical vocabulary—all replaced by girlish giggles and breathy whispers. The thing that was Dr. Simms uncurls from the floor, twenty years of medical school and residency now just empty space filled with an overwhelming desire to please Ken. Ken nods, pleased. "Welcome to the party, Haruka."

You stare, unable to breathe. Haruka blinks, her eyes no longer assessing symptoms but seeking approval. When she tries to speak, the voice that emerges isn't discussing treatment options but cooing with need. "Ken-sama... watashi... want you," she manages, her thick Japanese accent making the English words sound like foreplay. Maria, still kneeling by the bed, glances over and moans, clearly turned on by the transformation.

Ken looks down at his cock, then up at Haruka. "Come on. You want to try it." he smirks. Where once lived thoughts of patient care and medical ethics now burns only desire. Haruka's eyes glaze over, her mind no longer calculating dosages but imagining positions. She crawls to the bed—the authoritative stride of Dr. Simms replaced by the seductive crawl of a woman in heat. Her hands, once steady enough to perform delicate procedures, now tremble as they touch Ken's thigh. Her body, so much smaller now, moves with the frantic need of first love.

Maria scoots aside, giving Haruka full access. Haruka leans in, face so close to Ken's cock she must feel the heat from it. The last fragments of Dr. Simms—his pride, his professionalism, his very identity—evaporate completely. She hesitates, then looks up at Ken, utterly devoted.

He grins. “Go ahead.”

With a sudden, greedy intensity, Haruka opens her mouth and takes Ken in. Her technique is inexperienced but enthusiastic, tongue flicking and lips sealing tight. She moans as if tasting ice cream for the first time. You catch the look in Ken’s eye, triumphant and almost bored, like this is just his lunch break. He reaches down, strokes Haruka’s hair, whispering something you can’t hear. Haruka shudders, her entire body going limp with pleasure.

Next to her, Maria begins to change. Not all at once, but slow—her pale white skin darkens to a golden honey tone, her round eyes narrowing and tilting upward at the corners. Her dirty blonde hair bleeds to black from the roots down, lengthening into a silky waterfall that cascades past her shoulders. Her nose flattens slightly, cheekbones rising higher beneath skin that now glows with a porcelain smoothness. Her thin lips plump outward, reddening as if freshly bitten. The name badge reading "Maria" blurs, the letters rearranging to spell "Chun."

Her body contorts beneath the scrubs—waist cinching impossibly small while her hips flare wider, creating an exaggerated hourglass. The modest curves she once had swell dramatically, her ass ballooning outward, straining the seams of her uniform pants. She moans, the sound no longer English but a stream of Chinese words you can't understand.

Chun tears at her top, popping buttons in her frenzy, revealing breasts that have doubled in size, nipples darkened and pointing eagerly toward Ken. She crawls forward, pressing her new flesh against him, whispering Mandarin phrases that sound filthy even without translation. When she tries to speak English, only Chinese emerges, but her hungry expression needs no interpreter.

Ken cocks his head and glances at you. “What do you think? Upgrade, right?” he says with a huge smirk. You can’t answer. You’re too busy watching Chun and Haruka fight over his cock, both hungry for more, both utterly transformed. Their old lives erased, rewritten in the space of a minute. The curtain doesn’t hide the sound: slurping, wet kisses, the slap of skin on skin. Ken’s bed creaks under the weight of two beautiful women. Chun wraps her tits around him and laughs, Haruka’s tongue cleaning every inch. They’re delirious, unstoppable.

Ken winks. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you.”

You yank at the IV, rip it from your arm. Blood beads up, but you don’t care. You swing your legs off the bed and lurch upright, head spinning. The world buckles and reassembles itself, the sterile room suddenly blurry and miles away. You need to get out. Get away from this. You stagger to the door, but Ken’s voice glues you in place. “Don’t go, Ae-Cha. You’ll miss your turn.”

The name jolts you, electric and wrong. You’re not Ae-Cha. You’re—you can’t even remember anymore. Your mind stumbles, skips. You bite your lip, try to force out your own name, but only “Ae-Cha” bubbles up. It lingers in your brain. You twist the knob, but your fingers are different. They’re smaller, softer, the nails longer. You freeze, watching them tremble in the faint blue light. Your head hurts so bad you want to scream, but when you do, the sound is high and bright, almost girly. “Stop it!” you yell at Ken. “Stop this, please.”

But Ken just smirks, lying back while Chun rides his face and Haruka grinds on his leg. “You want this, Ae-Cha. You want me.”

You try to protest, but the words fumble out, jumbled and strange. “No, I no want. You fuck up me. Stop, Ken.” The accent is thick, the vowels all wrong.

Ken’s smile grows wider. “See? You’re almost there.” You clutch your face, desperate to hold it together. You feel your jaw shrinking, cheekbones popping higher, nose thinning and twisting until it’s a dainty little nub. Your lips puff out, soft and full, and the stubble is gone, leaving your skin waxy and smooth.

Your hair falls in a glossy black curtain, streaming down your back. You reach up, grab a handful, and it’s so soft, so light you want to scream. Your eyes sting as they stretch wide and slant up, pupils brown and deep. Everything you see is brighter, clearer, but it’s wrong, so wrong. You feel it in your throat next. The pressure, the constriction, until your voice breaks into a sweet, breathy alto. “Ken, please, I beg. Please stop. I no want this.”

Your body buzzes with heat. Your chest flushes pink, your heart pounding so hard you think it’ll burst. You’re dizzy, but it’s not fear anymore—it’s hunger. Every nerve is awake, every inch of skin tingling. You try to run, but your feet won’t move. You look down, watch them crunch inwards, toes shrinking, arches rising, ankles smoothing out to dainty and fragile. Your calves contract, twisting into slim, elegant curves. It ripples upward: knees pinch tighter, thighs balloon with soft, jiggling fat. Your hips blow out, so wide your hospital gown tears at the seams, the hem barely covering your new proportions.

Your ass is next. You can feel it—muscle turning to pure bounce, inflating into a round, perfect bubble. You reach back, feel the flesh yield under your hand, so plush and sensitive it makes you gasp. Ken sits up, cocks an eyebrow, beckoning you over. “Come here, Ae-Cha.”

You want to scream “No,” but your legs move anyway, swaying side to side with every step. The feeling is insane—like you’re gliding, every part of you soft and loose and ready. Chun and Haruka watch as you approach, their mouths hanging open, faces gleaming with jealousy. You want to hate them, but you can’t. All you want is to join them. To please Ken. You stop at the edge of the bed. Ken reaches over, grabs your ass with both hands, kneads it like dough. You should pull away. Instead, you moan—high, breathy, needy. “See how easy that is?” Ken says.

You glare at him, but it’s weak, a kitten’s protest. “You monster. I no want.”

He strokes your cheek, wipes away a tear you didn’t even know was there. “Yes you do. You want to suck it, Ae-Cha. You want it so bad.” he grins. You try to tell him to fuck off, but the words catch. The hunger is real. You want him, more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life. You sink to your knees, the motion automatic. You look up, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted. Your mouth waters, tongue wet and eager. Ken guides his cock to your face, and you can smell the musk, sharp and overwhelming. Your nose wrinkles, but you can’t help yourself. You open your mouth, lips gliding over the head.

It’s so easy. It’s so right. You lean in, the command echoing in your skull. Your mouth waters as you press your plump lips against the tip of Ken’s cock, teasing him, swirling your tongue around the head. He tastes so good, salty and bitter and perfect, and you shiver with excitement. You suck, deep and slow, tongue swirling, just like you know you’re supposed to. You taste salt and skin, and you moan, louder than before. The hospital room fades away. The only thing that matters is Ken. Serving Ken. Pleasing Ken.

You open wider, lips stretching, and slide down his shaft until it fills your throat. You don’t gag, not even a little. It’s like you were made for this—maybe you were. You bob your head, slow at first, then faster, spit and pre-cum mixing in a slick, hot mess. Ken grunts, grabs your new black hair in a fist, and thrusts into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibration making him shudder. You look up through fluttering lashes and see him staring, mesmerized. “Good girl,” he whispers.

You feel his cock twitch, pulse, then flood your mouth with hot, sticky cum. You swallow it down without thinking, savoring every drop. You pull off, panting, a milky trail running down your chin. “정말 맛있어 [so delicious],” you breathe, the words sliding out. You wipe your mouth with your arm, but the skin is different—so much slimmer, the biceps melted away, your hand delicate and tiny. Even your nails are long and glossy, painted a pale pink.

Your head throbs, but this time it’s not pain. It’s memory. You see yourself in a dozen bedrooms, a hundred dark corners, on your knees for every hot guy in sight. You stroke cocks with practiced hands, take them deep, make men moan with your tongue. You giggle, blow kisses, and soak up every load. This is who you are. This is all you’ve ever been. You try to think in English, but the words scatter. Korean is all that comes out, smooth and fluid and right.

Ken snaps his fingers, and Chun and Haruka pounce on you like ravenous wolves. Chun's delicate fingers, tipped with crimson nails, slip under your thin hospital gown, tracing electrifying paths across your goosebump-covered thighs, the curve of your hips, the soft mound of your rear. Haruka's warm breath tickles your ear as she grasps your shoulders with unexpected strength, pulling you against her perfume-scented body, her lips grazing your neck. "あなたの肌はとても綺麗です、[your skin is so beautiful]" Haruka whispers in flawless Japanese. "Peachのように柔らかくて、すべてを味わいたいです。[ So soft, like fresh peach. I want to taste every inch]'"

Chun's fingers press into the muscles of your back, each fingertip sending jolts of transformation down your spine. Your vertebrae shift beneath her touch, compressing, realigning. You shrink three inches in an eyeblink, your waist cinching inward like a corset being tightened by invisible hands, ribcage compressing until you can see the dramatic curve from chest to waist to hip. Your shoulders narrow, collarbones becoming delicate and pronounced, your entire frame suddenly dainty enough to be lifted with one arm. "看你变得多么娇小完美 [Look how tiny and perfect you're becoming]", Chun purrs in Mandarin "这么漂亮的娃娃和我们一起玩。[Such a beautiful doll for us to play with]" she pants.

A high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as Chun's thumbs brush across your nipples, the sensation so intense it borders on pain. Haruka's fingers join the assault, pinching and rolling the sensitive buds until you're gasping for breath, your body writhing uncontrollably, a dampness spreading between your legs. "오마이갓, 젖이 생겼어! [Oh my god, I have boobs!]" you cry, hands flying to your chest where two perfect mounds have appeared.

Haruka smirks, her almond eyes gleaming as she cups your new breasts, kneading them like dough. "まだ成長中 [they're still growing]," she says in Japanese. "重くなっているのがわかる [I can feel them getting heavier" she coos. The flesh swells beneath her palms, skin stretching taut, nipples darkening to a rich brown and protruding like ripe berries. They're impossibly perky despite their increasing weight, defying gravity as they expand to volleyball size.

"好有弹性 [so bouncy], Chun exclaims in Chinese 像装满温暖蜂蜜的水球一样！[like water balloons filled with warm honey!" she giggles. She lowers her head, lips encircling your left nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive tip. The sensation tears a scream from your throat, pleasure radiating outward in waves. Your breasts surge even larger under her ministrations, skin stretching until blue veins map constellations beneath the surface. D-cups, then double-Ds, the weight becoming substantial, pendulous.

Your nipples tingle with sudden intensity, then release—a hot jet of milk erupts from each breast, the right one splattering across Chun's startled face, droplets clinging to her eyelashes and dripping down her cheeks. "像椰奶一样甜 [Sweet like coconut milk,], Chun gasps in Chinese "给我更多！[Give me more]" she moans.

“와, 젖이 나온다! [wow, I'm lactating]” you gasp, watching in a mix of confusion and lust. Haruka doesn’t waste a second. She leans in and latches onto your nipple, sucking greedily. It feels so good, so right, you can’t even breathe. Milk pours out in pulses, and every draw from Haruka’s mouth sends shocks of pleasure through your pussy. You can’t talk, can’t think, can only moan and beg in Korean, “계속 해줘, 멈추지 마![Keep going, don’t stop!]". Your body is so light, so hot, so hungry. You’re nothing but nerve endings and need.

Ken claps his hands. Chun and Haruka pull you onto the bed, sandwiching you between their slick, naked bodies. They stroke your skin, play with your hair, milk your breasts. You drown in pleasure, your mind erased by waves of heat and want. You’re sandwiched between Haruka and Chun, your skin slick with sweat and milk and spit, your legs spread wide, your cock harder than it’s ever been. The pleasure never stops. Every touch, every kiss, every squeeze of your E-cup tits is like fire in your veins.

Without warning, Chun wraps her lips around your cock, bobbing up and down, humming with greedy satisfaction. Her long black hair tickles your inner thighs. Haruka slips behind you, pressing her pillowy breasts against your back, whispering filth in Japanese as she strokes your arms and pinches your nipples. You moan, louder and louder, the sounds pure Korean now. “아, 좋아, 더 세게 해줘! [ah, yes, harder]”... “계속 빨아줘, 꿀꺽해! [suck it all, swallow it]” .

Chun glances up, eyes wide, cheeks bulging with your cock. She giggles, then deepthroats you until her nose mashes against your mound. She makes little choking noises, but you know she loves it. She slides off, spits on your cock, and then dives back down, determined to drain you dry. Your balls ache. You can feel them boiling, about to explode. Haruka senses it too, her hands kneading your ass, pulling you open so Chun can swallow every last drop.

You blow your load hard, the orgasm like an electric shock ripping through your whole body. Chun squeals in Chinese, “好吃! 全部吃光!” (So tasty! I want it all!), gulping down your cum like it’s milk. You watch in a haze as your balls contract, shrivel, and disappear inside you.

“어, 없어졌어…[oh... they're gone]” you murmur.

Your cock softens, then shrinks, the skin sucking inward, folding, changing. You shudder as it inverts, the tip pinching off and forming a tight, pink clit. Your new pussy lips tingle, wet and hungry, folds so slick it’s obscene. Chun doesn’t miss a beat. She transitions seamlessly from cock to pussy, her tongue burying itself between your legs, lapping at your clit, licking deep inside. You grab her hair, grind your pelvis against her face, and howl in pleasure. Haruka gropes your breasts, massaging the heavy E-cups, then leans around to suck your nipple again. The milk flows, hot and sweet, and she drinks it down greedily. Chun moans into your pussy, sending vibrations up your spine. You’re so sensitive you think you might die. You need more. You need something inside you, something big, something hard.

You crawl onto the bed, eyes locked on Ken's magnificent cock—thick as your wrist, veins pulsing beneath taut skin, standing proudly between his muscular thighs. You pounce like a hungry tigress, straddle his warm body, delicate fingers wrapping around his shaft, guiding it to your dripping, swollen pussy lips.

"잠깐만 기다려 봐 [just wait a moment]," you whisper, trembling. You savor the anticipation, feeling his tip pressing against your entrance. Then you sink down, the delicious burn of stretching flesh making your eyes roll back, your glossy lips forming a perfect O. "너무 커... 아... 완전 채워져, [so big... ahhhhnn... completely filled...]" you moan, voice high and breathy. Your hips snap down rhythmically, thighs quivering with each impact, pussy gripping him like a silken vice. Ken's rough hands seize your peach-shaped ass, fingers digging into soft flesh, lifting and slamming you down onto his throbbing shaft. The hospital bed protests beneath you, metal frame creaking, springs singing a lewd melody that mingles with the wet slapping of skin.

"더 세게, 오빠! 날 부숴 줘! [Harder.... baby! Break me!]" you beg, breasts bouncing wildly, sweet milk arcing through the air with each impact. You crush your cherry-red lips against his, tongue dancing desperately with his, tasting his breath, drowning in his essence. He pounds upward, each thrust deeper than the last, his cockhead hammering your cervix, reshaping your insides to fit him perfectly. Your eyes widen at the exquisite violation. "사랑해, 오빠... 영원히 내 안에 있어 줘, [I love you, baby.... stay inside me forever...]" you plead, tears of joy streaming down your flushed cheeks.

Your orgasm hits like lightning, your entire body convulsing, pussy clamping down with vise-like pressure. "가고 있어! 나 지금 가! [I'm cumming! I'm cumming right now!]" you moan, as Ken erupts simultaneously, hot seed flooding your womb, marking you forever as his. You collapse against his chest, still grinding weakly, milking every precious drop. Haruka and Chun slither over like devoted serpents, lapping sweat from your neck, sucking milk from your heavy breasts, tongues collecting Ken's essence as it leaks from your thoroughly used hole.

"난 오빠의 최애야, 맞지? [I'm your favourite, right?]" you murmur against his neck. Your past self—that boring, masculine existence—feels like someone else's dream.

Ken laughs, strong hand stroking your silky hair. "Good girl," he says, voice thick with satisfaction. He adds something in English, but the words are meaningless noise to your Korean mind.

"고마워요, 주인님, [thank you, master]" you whisper, eyes fluttering closed. Footsteps echo outside. Another nurse approaches, unaware of the fate awaiting her. "예쁘면 좋겠다, [I hope she's pretty]" you giggle softly. "다음은 그녀 차례야. [she's next]"