The Japanese nurse came into the exam room, her pristine white uniform triggering fantasies that you store for later. The short skirt surely wasn't regulation. Although she does have incredible legs. Like many Japanese women, she's not overly blessed with curves, so you assume it's her choice. But you snap your eyes back from her gorgeous legs, and accept the clip-board.
Her name badge is bilingual Japanese/English, and flanked on one side by a simple red cross. On the other side, it's the logo of the research company.
You realise you weren't listening to a word she said, however, the form on the clip board has two large red crosses on it, so you sign beside them.
"This will help lower your testosterone levels, and keep you from getting angry." Her English is flawless, without the trace of an accent. That's the only hint that she's not a native English speaker.
You hold out your arm, and unbutton your cuffs. But she smiles (just a little), blushes slightly, and with a single spinning digit indicates you need to turn around.
"Oh..." you mutter, slightly embarrassed.
Obediently you comply, and dropping your trousers, you rest your elbow on the leather examination bed. Her soft fingers run over your rear, as she looks for the right injection spot.
They feel terrific, and your body starts to respond. You try to focus on something else, anything else that the teasing caress of her fingers. Then the needle sinks home, and you flinch. You hiss slightly, and she pats your rear, comfortingly, as if you were a nervous family pet. With a chill, you feel the drugs enter your body.
"All done." she says chirpily withdrawing the needle. Once more a friendly pat, as you slip your trousers back up, and tidy yourself up.