21-10-2025, 11:03 AM
(This post was last modified: 24-10-2025, 11:06 AM by lee.jae.han. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
## Update 19: The Pretense of Sickness and the Inspection (Avi and Madam)
Madam returned, the glass of water cool in her hand. “Here’s the water.”
“Thanks, Madam,” I replied, taking the glass and bringing it to my lips.
Madam settled back onto the sofa, her gaze becoming distant and vacant, lost in a profound silence. *He’s not talking about a friend; he’s talking about himself,* I could almost feel her thinking. *He thinks Madam won’t find out, but you’re forgetting that I’ve seen more of the world than you have. Either his lunď is small, or it could be big. If it’s small, it’s no use to me. But if it’s long… he did say his friends’ lunďs were long. I’ll be having a great time.*
The silence was too intense, the quiet energy emanating from her too powerful. “What are you thinking, Madam?” I asked, finally breaking the spell.
Madam blinked slowly, smoothing her expression into a practiced neutrality. “Nothing. I was just thinking about your friend,” she lied, the words flowing effortlessly.
*To see his lunď, I’ll have to play some tricks,* Madam’s eyes narrowed slightly as she concluded her internal planning.
I felt a sudden jolt of alarm, seeing the manufactured worry etched on Madam’s face. “I’m confused. What happened to my friend?” I asked, the glass trembling slightly in my hand.
Madam leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, planting the seed of pure panic in my mind. “Seeing the worry on your face, I feel that maybe your friend might have a disease.”
My throat instantly went dry. “What disease?” I asked, a wave of genuine fear washing over me.
Madam’s gaze pinned me down, her expression firm and professional. “If I see his lunď, I can tell if he has a disease or not.” She waited, watching my reaction with unblinking intensity.
I hesitated, the water forgotten. I wrestled with the mounting shame of my lie and the terrifying fear of an unknown sickness.
Madam pressed on, her tone challenging and provocative. “What’s wrong? Why are you thinking so much? It’s your friend who has the disease, not you.”
My shoulders slumped with the effort of holding my secret. “The thing is…” I started, the words shamefully sticking to my tongue.
*Now he’s coming around,* Madam’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, yes, say what you’re saying,” Madam urged, leaning forward, her focus absolute.
I swallowed hard, the shame finally breaking through. “I lied to you that…”
“Yes, tell me,” Madam demanded, her impatience barely concealed behind a tight smile.
“That my friend’s lunď is long,” I finally managed to confess, my cheeks burning.
Madam’s eyes flashed, her excitement instantly replaced by profound disappointment. “So is it small?” she snapped. *Everything is ruined,* I could hear the disappointment in the sharpness of her voice.
“No, it’s long, but it’s not my friend’s, it’s…” I trailed off again, incapable of completing the sentence.
*This boy is going to give me a heart attack,* Madam thought, taking a visible, stiff breath to stifle her rising frustration.
“Yes, say it clearly. What is it?” she insisted, her command stripping away my last defense.
The words exploded out of me, a confession of relief and sheer terror. “I wasn't talking about my friend, I was talking about myself!”
Madam blinked, her face a carefully constructed mask of shock. “What?” she questioned, feigning complete surprise.
“Yes, I think my lunď is long,” I confessed, dropping my eyes to my lap, unable to meet her gaze.
Madam shifted, crossing her arms, a coy skepticism in her voice. “I’ll have to see it to know. And now I don't believe you. Maybe you’re lying again.”
“No, Madam, I’m telling the truth,” I rushed to explain, desperate for her belief. “I was just scared and didn't know how to ask you, so I asked through my friend.”
“Okay, never mind. You got the answers to your questions, right?” she asked, a slight softening in her voice.
“Yes. But you said there could be a disease,” I insisted, the panic still a cold knot in my stomach.
Madam raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, using her authority as a final weapon. “I can only tell by looking at it. How can I tell you just like that?”
“But how can I show you? I’m feeling shy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
The final, decisive manipulation. Madam’s voice became a low, grave warning. “If you’re going to be shy, your disease can get worse.”
“No, no, I’ll show you,” I immediately caved, the thought of a worsening disease overriding everything. I scrambled to my feet, fumbling frantically with the button and zipper of my pants. My hands were shaking too hard to work the small metal button, and the zipper snagged halfway. I struggled, my face growing hot with the effort and the embarrassment.
Madam watched for a moment, then stepped forward, her eyes still locked on my bulging front. Madam reached out, her fingers gently covering mine on the zipper pull. “Come closer, Avi,” she instructed softly. Her touch sent a jolt through me, but I obeyed, leaning in.
Her fingers were surprisingly steady as she pulled the difficult zipper all the way down. She didn't remove her hand. Madam then pressed her thumb lightly against the waistband of my underwear, pushing it a tiny bit to gauge the tension.
“Hold still,” Madam murmured. She slipped one finger, then two, into my pants, right inside the fabric of my underwear. I gasped at the unexpected, direct contact. She then gripped the cloth. Madam tried to pull my underwear down, but it was tight, and my lunď was straining hard against the fabric. She had to use both hands to firmly grip my pants and underwear.
I quickly popped the button at my waist. Madam took the opportunity to pull my trousers down to my knees. The thick fabric gathered there, and now my long, hard lunď was completely exposed, straining free of the last bit of tight elastic.
When Madam finally saw it, her mouth fell open in an involuntary gasp. She stood there, absolutely frozen, staring at my lunď like a statue. It was as if she had been bitten by a snake, paralyzed by shock. I was utterly terrified by her extreme reaction. Do I have a disease? I thought, my fear spiking with every silent, agonizing second. Madam was neither speaking nor moving. She was only staring. The entire room seemed to have disappeared, compressed into only Madam and my exposed, trembling body. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, so loud I thought she must surely hear it. A knot of pure dread tightened instantly in my gut, making me feel physically sick. My hands clenched into useless fists, and a cold numbness began to creep up my legs. The fear of her diagnosis was overpowering me, trapped and helpless under her intense, unwavering gaze.
---
Madam returned, the glass of water cool in her hand. “Here’s the water.”
“Thanks, Madam,” I replied, taking the glass and bringing it to my lips.
Madam settled back onto the sofa, her gaze becoming distant and vacant, lost in a profound silence. *He’s not talking about a friend; he’s talking about himself,* I could almost feel her thinking. *He thinks Madam won’t find out, but you’re forgetting that I’ve seen more of the world than you have. Either his lunď is small, or it could be big. If it’s small, it’s no use to me. But if it’s long… he did say his friends’ lunďs were long. I’ll be having a great time.*
The silence was too intense, the quiet energy emanating from her too powerful. “What are you thinking, Madam?” I asked, finally breaking the spell.
Madam blinked slowly, smoothing her expression into a practiced neutrality. “Nothing. I was just thinking about your friend,” she lied, the words flowing effortlessly.
*To see his lunď, I’ll have to play some tricks,* Madam’s eyes narrowed slightly as she concluded her internal planning.
I felt a sudden jolt of alarm, seeing the manufactured worry etched on Madam’s face. “I’m confused. What happened to my friend?” I asked, the glass trembling slightly in my hand.
Madam leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, planting the seed of pure panic in my mind. “Seeing the worry on your face, I feel that maybe your friend might have a disease.”
My throat instantly went dry. “What disease?” I asked, a wave of genuine fear washing over me.
Madam’s gaze pinned me down, her expression firm and professional. “If I see his lunď, I can tell if he has a disease or not.” She waited, watching my reaction with unblinking intensity.
I hesitated, the water forgotten. I wrestled with the mounting shame of my lie and the terrifying fear of an unknown sickness.
Madam pressed on, her tone challenging and provocative. “What’s wrong? Why are you thinking so much? It’s your friend who has the disease, not you.”
My shoulders slumped with the effort of holding my secret. “The thing is…” I started, the words shamefully sticking to my tongue.
*Now he’s coming around,* Madam’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, yes, say what you’re saying,” Madam urged, leaning forward, her focus absolute.
I swallowed hard, the shame finally breaking through. “I lied to you that…”
“Yes, tell me,” Madam demanded, her impatience barely concealed behind a tight smile.
“That my friend’s lunď is long,” I finally managed to confess, my cheeks burning.
Madam’s eyes flashed, her excitement instantly replaced by profound disappointment. “So is it small?” she snapped. *Everything is ruined,* I could hear the disappointment in the sharpness of her voice.
“No, it’s long, but it’s not my friend’s, it’s…” I trailed off again, incapable of completing the sentence.
*This boy is going to give me a heart attack,* Madam thought, taking a visible, stiff breath to stifle her rising frustration.
“Yes, say it clearly. What is it?” she insisted, her command stripping away my last defense.
The words exploded out of me, a confession of relief and sheer terror. “I wasn't talking about my friend, I was talking about myself!”
Madam blinked, her face a carefully constructed mask of shock. “What?” she questioned, feigning complete surprise.
“Yes, I think my lunď is long,” I confessed, dropping my eyes to my lap, unable to meet her gaze.
Madam shifted, crossing her arms, a coy skepticism in her voice. “I’ll have to see it to know. And now I don't believe you. Maybe you’re lying again.”
“No, Madam, I’m telling the truth,” I rushed to explain, desperate for her belief. “I was just scared and didn't know how to ask you, so I asked through my friend.”
“Okay, never mind. You got the answers to your questions, right?” she asked, a slight softening in her voice.
“Yes. But you said there could be a disease,” I insisted, the panic still a cold knot in my stomach.
Madam raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, using her authority as a final weapon. “I can only tell by looking at it. How can I tell you just like that?”
“But how can I show you? I’m feeling shy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
The final, decisive manipulation. Madam’s voice became a low, grave warning. “If you’re going to be shy, your disease can get worse.”
“No, no, I’ll show you,” I immediately caved, the thought of a worsening disease overriding everything. I scrambled to my feet, fumbling frantically with the button and zipper of my pants. My hands were shaking too hard to work the small metal button, and the zipper snagged halfway. I struggled, my face growing hot with the effort and the embarrassment.
Madam watched for a moment, then stepped forward, her eyes still locked on my bulging front. Madam reached out, her fingers gently covering mine on the zipper pull. “Come closer, Avi,” she instructed softly. Her touch sent a jolt through me, but I obeyed, leaning in.
Her fingers were surprisingly steady as she pulled the difficult zipper all the way down. She didn't remove her hand. Madam then pressed her thumb lightly against the waistband of my underwear, pushing it a tiny bit to gauge the tension.
“Hold still,” Madam murmured. She slipped one finger, then two, into my pants, right inside the fabric of my underwear. I gasped at the unexpected, direct contact. She then gripped the cloth. Madam tried to pull my underwear down, but it was tight, and my lunď was straining hard against the fabric. She had to use both hands to firmly grip my pants and underwear.
I quickly popped the button at my waist. Madam took the opportunity to pull my trousers down to my knees. The thick fabric gathered there, and now my long, hard lunď was completely exposed, straining free of the last bit of tight elastic.
When Madam finally saw it, her mouth fell open in an involuntary gasp. She stood there, absolutely frozen, staring at my lunď like a statue. It was as if she had been bitten by a snake, paralyzed by shock. I was utterly terrified by her extreme reaction. Do I have a disease? I thought, my fear spiking with every silent, agonizing second. Madam was neither speaking nor moving. She was only staring. The entire room seemed to have disappeared, compressed into only Madam and my exposed, trembling body. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, so loud I thought she must surely hear it. A knot of pure dread tightened instantly in my gut, making me feel physically sick. My hands clenched into useless fists, and a cold numbness began to creep up my legs. The fear of her diagnosis was overpowering me, trapped and helpless under her intense, unwavering gaze.
---
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