Tension pools in your stomach as they approach the imposing metal doors of the Penile Evaluation Center. Today is the day you have been expecting for some time, a rite of passage that all those born with a penis must face. The reality of the intimate examination that awaits truly sinks in as the doors swing open, ushering you inside.

Stepping through the threshold, the clean white walls and harsh fluorescent lights make the building feel quite sterile. A gentle sandalwood air freshener mixes with antiseptic cleaner, failing to make the space more inviting. Chairs line the walls of the lobby, only a few other people loitering about who eye you with trepidation, whether out of some sort of sympathy or their own worries is unclear.

A stern-faced receptionist sits at a large circular reception desk, the top granite with rich wood siding that looks strangely opulent in comparison to the rest of the space. The receptionist glances up from his computer, straightening out his crisp buttonup shirt and clearing his throat—likely a Beta, given the lack of Omega collar, and no respectable Alpha would settle for a measly receptionist position.

His expression is impassive as he looks you over, and his voice even moreso as he simply asks, "Name?"

While the checkin process realistically only takes a couple minutes, it feels agonizingly slow as he pulls up your appointment information, verifies a few things, and prints out some forms that are quickly stuck onto a clipboard.

"Put your name and date of birth on the top and take the entire clipboard with you," he drones as he slides the clipboard across the desk. When you try to grab the clipboard, he holds it in place momentarily, making intense eye contact as he stresses, "*Only* the top page. The rest is for the evaluators, if you write on them you're going to have to come back and get copies. And I will *not* be happy."

With that, he lets the clipboard go and leans back in his chair, his intense expression fading back into a stern but neutral one. "And remove all clothing below the waist. You'll find a gown in the changing room," he points to a door to the left, the word 'Changing' on a plaque above it.

It's a short walk to the changing room, the wait before such an important evalution rapidly waning. Everyone has heard the stories of males being reduced to tears and begging for mercy during the intimate penile evaluation. Others, crying tears of joy as their life is cemented as one of opulence and great privilege. And now, it's your turn to face the same fate.

The changing room is a small bumper room between the lobby and the examination chamber, one wall lined with small personal lockers and the other with benches. The small space is cramped and cold, the air thick with the tense energy of others who have gone before. Your pants and underwear are quickly removed and stored in one of the small lockers, before shrugging on a thin paper gown that rustles as you walk.

Pushing open the door to the examination room, you are greeted by two evaluators, both Deltas clad in white lab coats that are open to show their luxurious dresswear underneath. A small panel of assistances move about in the background, seemingly ready to assist only if needed.

The shorter of the two Deltas, a slightly chubby woman with warm brown eyes wearing a sequined black shirt with a deep neckline, notices you first and gives a smile, waving them over, "Oh! Just in time. Come, come, I can't wait to get started. I'm Erin, by the way."

The other Delta regards you cooly, her gaze immediately falling to the apex of their thighs with a look of curiosity and clinical detachment. "Jade. Pleasure," she says, sounding almost mocking. "Let's see what you've come bearing for us. Get on the table and pull the gown up, then we will begin the evaluation." Jade jerks her head towards a medical examination table in the center of the room, a sheet of sanitary paper laid over it. Trays on wheels surround it, holding tins of strange ointment and various sex toys in sterile packaging.