The clinic

Vanessa stared out the window, watching trees blur into a green smear. Every bump sent tremors through her hypersensitive body. She focused on breathing—short, shallow breaths that didn't stir the tarp too much against her skin. The clinic emerged from the woods: a small log cabin with a red cross painted beside the door. As Hank parked, Vanessa noticed two teenage boys loitering near the entrance, their eyes widening as they took in the tarp-clad figure in the truck bed.

"This... is the clinic?", Vanessa asked incredulously. She had pictured a big white multi storey hospital, although realized they were too far from civilization to find anything like that nearby.

"Yes," Hank replied matter-of-factly. "This is the clinic." He parked the truck and stepped out, ignoring the teenage boys who were now openly staring. Vanessa clutched the tarp tighter, acutely aware of every fold brushing against her hypersensitive skin. The coarse material felt like sandpaper on her inflamed nerve endings, each slight movement sending tremors of unwanted pleasure through her body. She squeezed her thighs together, fighting the instinctive urge to rub them against the rough canvas.

Hank walked around to the truck bed. "It may not look like much," he added, his voice low and steady as he helped her down, "but the doctor here specializes in treating Eros lily poisonings." Vanessa's feet touched the gravel, and she stumbled, Hank's strong grip the only thing keeping her upright. The boys snickered, one whispering something to the other. Vanessa's cheeks burned crimson. She kept her gaze fixed on the worn wooden steps leading to the clinic door, the tarp slipping slightly as she moved. A cool breeze found its way underneath, caressing her lower back. She gasped, her knees buckling as the sensation raced straight to her core. Hank tightened his hold, his expression unreadable.

Inside, the clinic smelled sharply of antiseptic and pine. A middle-aged woman in scrubs looked up from a cluttered desk, her eyes widening momentarily before settling into professional neutrality. "Another Lily case, Hank?" she asked, her tone brisk.

"Worse than usual, Doc," Hank replied, guiding Vanessa toward an examination room partitioned by a thin curtain. "Full-body saturation. Slept in the grove."

The doctor — her name tag read Dr. Vance — paused mid-stride, her pen clattering onto the clipboard. "Slept?" Her professional mask slipped for a second, revealing stark disbelief. "Skin-to-pollen contact for... how many hours?"

Vanessa swallowed hard, the tarp rasping against her collarbone. "All night," she whispered. The admission hung in the antiseptic air like an indictment. Dr. Vance’s gaze sharpened, clinically assessing Vanessa’s flushed skin, the tremor in her hands, the way her breath hitched when the tarp shifted.

"Right," Dr. Vance said, snapping back into action. She gestured toward a narrow door at the back of the clinic. "Suppressants need compounding—takes about twenty minutes. First, you need a thorough washdown. Residual pollen trapped anywhere..." She trailed off meaningfully, her eyes flicking to the coarse tarp still clinging to Vanessa. "Shower room’s through there. Scrub every inch, vigorously. Use the medicated soap—green bottle."

Vanessa hesitated, clutching the tarp. The thought of water cascading over her hypersensitive skin was terrifying. Every droplet would feel like a lover’s tongue. Plus the doctor told her to actively scrub her skin.

Dr. Vance correctly interpreted her ****. "Privacy’s guaranteed," she said firmly, pulling the tarp away before Vanessa could protest. The sudden exposure made Vanessa gasp, her hands instinctively flying to cover her breasts and mound. The doctor didn’t react, merely pointing toward the door. "Shower room’s sound-proofed. Won’t hear a thing out here."