Prescriptive Shots

The door to Director Jeong Jinsol’s office closes with a soft click that feels louder than it should have.

“You're late.” A stern, yet soft voice thunders around the room. Her office is dim — curtains drawn, ceiling lights switched off. Only the lamp on her desk and the faint blue glow from her dual monitors remain lit. The air carries a sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with leather and something musky that seems to have been lingering for hours.

“I-I’m sorry, Director Jeong,” you say timidly. “I came as soon as I—”

“Is this how the nursing school teaches their students?” Director Jeong says, cutting you off.

Your gaze remains low, not daring to look up, but you catch a glimpse of the two from the corner of your eyes. It's Dr. Heejin from General Medicine and Dr. Haseul from ER (Emergency Medicine).

Haseul looks at you with a grin from the side, to which you sheepishly smile. Veering over to Heejin who stands beside Haseul, she looks at you with a mix of concern and worry, nodding to the empty space beside her, urging you to take your place beside her.

You scuttle through the room, standing right beside Heejin. None of you sit. Director Jeong didn't invite anyone to. She just continues to look at the monitor on her desk, staying silent throughout.

You mouth to Heejen: ‘What’s up?’

Heejin shakes her head with a puzzled expression. They're both in their doctor-wear, unbuttoned long white coat semi-covering their outfits, stethoscope hanging around their necks. She's in her off-shift clothes, they both are: Heejin is wearing an elegant white dress that hugs her every curve and bares her milky and smooth shoulders, and Haseul is wearing a tight leather miniskirt that rides dangerously high when she shifts, the lacy black top underneath peeking through her open jacket.

They texted you earlier:

<Haseul 🖤, 17:36> Hey wtf, why am I being called to Director Jeong’s office on my day off for an emergency?

<Heejin 🤍, 17:38> I’ll be going to Director Jeong’s office right now, emergency. We’ll have to cancel our date. Sorry 😢

You were already dressed up, preparing to head out to the fancy Italian restaurant a few blocks away from the hospital, but the text from Heejin set your plans on fire. Although, at the very next moment, your pager buzzed:

<Director Jeong Jinsol, 17:40> 18:30 sharp. My office. Emergency.

You slid your socks that was already half removed back on, and bolted out of your apartment. It's Director Jeong. If it's 18:30 sharp, it's 18:30 sharp.

And here you are, late. By a whole 2 minutes. It's not a big deal if you're meeting your chimaek friends, but it's definitely a huge deal in your line of work. Every second counts. Especially so with Director Jeong Jinsol. Why? Well, she's the director of the hospital you're working at, so she holds one of the highest authorities in this system. Known to be an extremely strict and tenacious person, she's climbed to her position in a mere five years from her graduation, and have been celebrated as the “Iron-Willed Monarch”. No one wants to step on her toes. But you just did anyway.

The silence is uncomfortable. The hum of the echoey room mixes with a low buzz — probably coming from the lamp light or her desktop’s CPU — and it's so quiet that you’re hearing your own heartbeat.

Director Jeong is seated right by her office desk, its bottom hollow, allowing you to see everything underneath. She's leaned back in her high-backed chair with her legs crossed, and a short black leather skirt that's high enough to show the lace tops of her sheer stockings. Her blazer lace hangs open, revealing the thin black camisole underneath — no bra line, just the subtle shadow of nipples that's already hard against the fabric. On her desk lies a tablet, a stethoscope that’s coiled neatly, and a small black digital metronome that looks out of place until you remember who owns the room.

She taps a key on her keyboard without looking down. The large wall-mounted screen behind her wakes up.

Director Jeong finally looks up. Her eyes are dark. She doesn’t smile.

Plastered on the right side of the bright screen is a video thumbnail of the ER’s supply closet, the date stamp exactly three weeks ago. That's no big deal. Not until Director Jeong drags the timestamp to 14:17. A translucent triangle flashes on the screen and the video plays.

Your feet turns cold. You're driving into Haseul from behind as she braces against a metal shelving, her skirt bunched at her waist. Her moans and screams echo around the room as you pound into her from behind, the angle capturing everything — the way her thighs trembles, the flex of your hips, the shelf rattling with every thrust.

“I—”

“Silence.” Director Jeong cuts you off instantly. She moves her finger again, and another picture pops up on the left of the TV screen. It's another thumbnail, date stamped last Tuesday, 23:42. The video plays and Heejin is bent over on an empty patient bed, white coat open like wings, and her long elegant legs shaking as you sink deep. Her gasps are softer and melodic, muffled against her forearm as you thrust into her, the squelching sounds of your sexes colliding captured crisp and clear.

Director Jeong pauses both feeds on the most incriminating frames — Haseul mid-moan, Heejin’s eyes half-lidded in bliss — then turns the tablet toward you three so you can see the playback controls still active

“I’ve had these looping on loop for three hours and forty-seven minutes,” she says calmly. “Every angle. Every sound. Every time you thought the hospital was asleep.”

She uncrosses her legs and spread them. Her chair creaks as she shifts. No panties. Her pussy is visibly swollen — lips dark pink and glistening, inner thighs slick with multiples as a small egg vibrator embedded in her buzzes with a low vibration. That's where the buzzing sound is coming from, not the lamp light, not her CPU. A dark wet spot is stained on the leather seat beneath her, and a small, glistening puddle has formed on the hardwood floor between her heels.

She reaches down and trails two fingers through her folds, lifting them against the soft lamp light so that it catches the thick strings of arousal stretching between her fingertips, then let them snap.

“This,” she says, “is what your secret performances did to your director. I sat here touching myself to every replay, getting wetter each time you filled one of my doctors. The chair is ruined. The floor is marked.” She turns up the intensity of her vibrator with a click of a wireless switch on her table. The buzzing sound gets louder and her hips jerk a little, but her face remains composed. ““I could end all three careers right now. One email to the board, one attachment of these files, and by this time tomorrow you’d be explaining to your families why you’re no longer doctors or nurses.” She says, her hand tightening into fists. “But I’ve invested too much in my staff to discard talent so carelessly.”

You three stand there quietly, fingers clenching your clothes with worry and nervousness. She pauses and looks up at you all with a haughty gaze, the loud buzzing filling the empty silence of the room.

Then she speaks. “So here’s the deal. Satisfy me tonight completely, obediently without any complaint, and these videos will disappear. Your jobs stay secure. Your reputations stay intact.” She leans forward slightly, hands resting on the desk as her thighs quake from the vibration. “Fail to impress me… and you’ll be lucky to find work as a medical scribe in another country.”

“Do we understand each other?” she asks.

All of you nod. What else can you do other than agree? If this gets out, you're fucked. And Heejin and Haseul? They’ll be fucked worse than you. All their effort to become a doctor, gone.

“Good.” Director Jeong says. She stands up slowly, the vibrator still tucked in her, and walks around the desk. Her wet essence drips onto the floor with every step she takes, and she walks close enough until you can smell the scent of her perfume that’s mixed with musk.

She stands right in front of you, thighs subtly shaking, and drags her finger across your shirt. Her nails claw over your chest, across your nipples, and you let out a soft grunt. Her finger stops right at the center of your chest, and she digs her nail in.

“Strip. Everything. Fold it neatly.” she orders.

“H-here? Right now?” You ask.

“Did I stutter?” She retorts with a raised eyebrow. “Do you also question your doctors when they give you instructions? Maybe I should just send the files.”

“N-no Director. I’m sorry. I-I’ll do it right now.” In a spate of panic and fear, you fumble as you remove your shirt and pants, folding them neatly and placing it on her desk. All the while, the gazes of three ladies look at you, one with fear, the other with greed, and the last with satisfaction.

“I said everything,” she says, “Everything. Director Jinsoul looks into your eyes, before lowering down to gaze at your unremoved underwear. “And you. Dr. Heejin. Strip. To the exam table. On your back. Legs wide.”

Heejin makes a tiny, startled sound, but moves quickly. She knows to not disobey Director Jeong’s absolute instructions. “Y-yes.” She turns and walks toward the medical examination table that lies at the corner of the room. Her fingers tremble as she slips her white coat off, letting them pool on to the floor. She unzips her white dress from her back and folds it nicely, putting it on Director Jeong's desk. Black bra, black panties all already soaked through at the crotch from the short “porn” snippet earlier.

She climbs onto the padded table, the paper sheet crinkling loudly with every shift of her weight. She lies back, arms at her sides and her legs part wide. She's incredibly toned, pronounced abs that glimmer with the sweat that beads off her skin.

“From here, I am no longer Director Jeong. You will all refer to me as… Jinsoul.” Jinsoul wheels an IV pole over — tall, stainless steel, adjustable hook arms. She positions it behind Heejin and grabs her wrists, looping soft medical cuffs around them before securing them to the pole.

“Direc—no, Jinsoul, what—”

“Shush.” Jinsoul cuts Heejin short, before adjusting the IV pole’s height, raising them until her arms stretch above her head. She then pulls the pole further back until her back arches enough to lift her small breasts with nipples that's already stiff against her black bra lace.

“Perfect,” Jinsoul murmurs. She reaches into the drawer on her side and pulls out a pair of blue nitrile gloves. She puts them on, snapping the areas near the wrist with a sharp, echoing crack that makes all three of you flinch.

“You. Come here.” Jinsoul hooks her fingers and gestures toward the table, pointing to the space between Heejin’s spread legs. She walks to the desk, taking her coiled stethoscope and puts the earpieces into both of her ears. Her hand grabs the cold bell, pressing it to your bare chest. You shiver at the contact, its coldness almost freezing your heart.

“Heartbeat 98,” she announces. “Elevated. Excited? Nervous?” Her gloved fingertip traces a slow line down your sternum, stopped just above your cock. “We’ll use that.” She turns to the digital metronome, tapping the screen a few times, setting it to 60 bpm. She places it on the edge of the exam table and the steady electronic tick-tick-tick fills the silence.

“Heejin’s resting rate is 60,” Jinsoul explains clinically. “Nurse, every inward thrust on the beat. No faster. No slower. If you break rhythm, I lower the bpm and we restart from zero. Understand?”

You nod.