I adjusted my tie in the reflection of the bookshelf’s glass door, feeling a restlessness that no amount of clinical detachment could soothe. Today was Mary’s session. My first patient. My first success. And yet, as I ruminated on the past few months, a sharp pang of frustration pricked at me. I had “sampled” almost every other branch of my growing web: Amy’s feral submission, Emily’s voyeuristic obedience, Petra’s rewritten biology, and Angela’s high-profile depravity. But Mary? I had watched her, coached her, and shaped her, yet I had never actually taken her for myself.

The thought of her, that 5′11″ frame, the athletic power of her volleyball-honed legs, the way her blonde hair caught the artificial “magic hour” light, made my breath hitch. I found my hand drifting to my crotch, rubbing the fabric of my slacks. I could almost feel the heat of her, the way she had looked in the chair last session, double-penetrated and screaming.

A soft, intentional cough from the direction of the bookshelf reminded me I wasn’t alone.

“Doctor?” Emily’s voice came through the intercom.

“Yes, Emily?”

“She’s almost here. And... Doctor? I was wondering. That story she’s going to tell... about the date? I’d very much like to be in the bathroom for this one. To peep. If you’ll allow it.”

I smiled. My gatekeeper was becoming quite the connoisseur of my work. “Of course, Emily. Get in position.”

I heard the click of the hidden door. Moments later, a brisk knock sounded on the main entrance. I quickly straightened my clothes, ensuring my fly was secure, though my erection remained a stubborn, throbbing presence.

“Come in,” I said, settling into my chair.

Mary bounded in, her energy as infectious and bubbly as ever. She was wearing a tiny pleated skirt and a tight-fitting baby-tee that left nothing to the imagination.

“Hey, Doctor W!” she chirped, throwing her bag toward the desk and moving straight for the couch. “Oh my god, I have so much to tell you. My break was crazy, but this past week? Totally legendary.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Mary,” I replied, watching her settle into the leather. “You look... different. More settled.”

“I feel amazing,” she said, and then, without me even having to prompt her, she reached for the hem of her shirt. “Actually, check this out.”

She pulled the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her athletic B-cups were as perfect as I remembered, but now, a pair of thick silver barbells glinted through her nipples, identical to the ones I’ve seen on Amy. She stood up to kick her skirt and panties away, and as she spread her legs to sit back down, I saw a third glint—a silver stud through her clitoral hood.

“You got the piercings,” I noted, my throat dry.

“Totally! I loved Amy’s so much I had to get them. And the clit stud? Doctor W, it makes everything feel like ten times more intense.”

She didn’t wait for the machine. I hadn’t even reached for the laptop. I had never actually given Mary a trance trigger; our relationship was built on the slow, corrosive “truth” of the sessions. She reached for the desk drawer herself, pulling out the flesh-toned eight-inch dildo and the black anal dildo I had provided before.

“I need to get started while I tell you,” she whispered, already slicking the toys with a ropy glob of spit. “The story is too hot to sit still for.”

She lay back, spreading her long, tanned legs. She shoved the flesh-toned toy into her pussy and the black one into her ass with practiced, wet schlocks, her body arching as she began a rhythmic, dual-pumping motion.

“So, the date with Amy,” she panted, her eyes glazing over with the memory. “The toughest part was getting the right guy. I needed someone huge, someone who could handle someone being ‘fuckmeat,’ but also someone who wouldn’t blab. I settled on Marcus Round. Do you know him? He’s 6′6″, like a giant teddy bear with shaggy hair. We had English together last semester.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know the name.”

“He was always so polite to me,” Mary continued, her hips bucking as she worked the toys. “But I saw how he looked at me. And one time, we were studying and he went to the bathroom... I snooped on his laptop. Doctor W, he had the nastiest porn hidden away. Bukkakes, BDSM, sex pretzels... and so much piss. I kept that in my back pocket. Thinking back on that moment I realize that I’ve always been a bit of a slut. I’ve always been drawn to the filth. I just needed you to tell me it was okay.”

I watched her, fascinated. Her mind was already justifying its own descent.

“Anyway,” she moaned, “Marcus was shocked when I proposed it, but he said yes before I even finished the sentence. Then I had to prep Amy. I asked her out for a real dinner. A nice place. But the day before, I sat her down and laid it out. I told her I didn’t see her as just a friend. I saw her as a lover. A girlfriend. I told her I had real feelings for her.”

I blinked, surprised. This was a deviation. My instructions had been to see Amy as not a friend but fuckmeat.

“But,” Mary continued, her breath hitching as she slammed the dildos deeper, “I told her that when we have sex, she isn’t a person. She’s fuckmeat. Period. I gave her a safeword, told her she could stop whenever, but that meant the sex was over and we’d have to go into a ‘cooldown’ as lovers to talk about why she was uncomfortable. I made it a choice.”

I leaned back, my mind racing. Mary had created a loophole. By elevating Amy to “girlfriend” status outside the bedroom she wasn’t just a “friend.” She was able to rationalize the absolute degradation inside it. Her mind didn’t want to be evil; it just wanted to be depraved. It was a sophisticated, consensual framework of debauchery that I hadn’t predicted.

“The date was actually really sweet,” Mary giggled, her hand moving in a blur against her clit. “We talked about anime for like two hours—did you know Amy is a huge nerd for Neon Genesis Evangelion? Who knew? But after dinner, I took her back to my dorm. I told her again: safeword is there. You can leave. And she just pulled me down and whispered, ‘I’ve been wet all night thinking about you finally making me your fuckmeat. I want to be your object, and I promise you that absolutely nothing will make me say the safeword.’”

Mary’s eyes went wide, reflecting the flickering strobe of her own memory. “I led her in, and Marcus was already there. Naked. His cock was ten inches, Doctor W. Just a massive, pulsing log. Amy was terrified, but she was dripping. I pushed her down on her knees and told her to worship him like good fuckmeat. She started blowing him, and I just watched, still in my dress. I was wearing a strapon the whole night, just feeling it against me while we ate pasta.”

She let out a high-pitched whine as she pumped the dildos. “Marcus started skullfucking her at my instruction, his massive hands pinning her head in place as he used her mouth with a rhythmic, punishing force that left no room for breath. He was so deep her eyes were watering and rolling back, her throat making a series of wet, desperate gagging sounds as she fought to accommodate him. She ruined her nice top almost immediately, the expensive fabric becoming a sodden, translucent mess as thick strings of mucus and spit ran freely down her chin and soaked into her chest.

“Then I stripped her violently, my fingers hooking into the collar of her ruined top and yanking downward until the silk groaned and the buttons flew across the floor like hail, clicking against the hard linoleum. I didn’t care about the expensive silk or the effort she’d put into dressing up for me; fuckmeat doesn’t need to be pretty, it just needs to be accessible and fully exposed. I peeled her bra and skirt away in a blur of rough, heavy tugs that left her pale skin shivering, leaving her naked and trembling while she was still struggling to accommodate the punishing depth of Marcus’s cock. I stripped myself then, leaving me with just the strapon.

“Marcus hauled her up like a doll—he’s so massive that her feet weren’t even touching the floor—and he began fucking her in a powerful, standing reverse cowgirl. I stood directly in front of her, biting and sucking on those silver nipple barbells, my teeth catching the cold metal and tugging hard to make her back arch with every heavy slam of his hips. Then I told him to move out of her cunt into her ass.”

“Did you use the poppers?” I asked, my voice a gravelly whisper.

“Yeah! Marcus is so big he was having trouble with her ass. I cracked a bottle of Rush and held it under her nose, letting the sharp, chemical sting of the fumes hit her brain and strip away the last of her muscle control. I watched her head roll back as her body went slack, and her hole just... melted. It was like her sphincter simply dissolved, going soft and heavy as it dilated to the absolute limit. Marcus didn’t even have to force it anymore; his massive cock just sank into her, sliding home with a heavy, wet thud. He slammed into her ass while I came up and fucked her pussy with my strapon. We were DPing and she came like five times in ten minutes as her body bucked and twitched. I kept whispering that she was just meat—a convenient, mindless hole for us to use and stretch as we pleased.”

Mary was thrashing now, the black leather of the couch squeaking under her sweat-slicked skin.

“Then I told Marcus to pull out. I ordered him to turn around and spread his massive ass, and the shaggy-haired giant complied with a submissive grunt, spreading his glutes wide with both hands to expose his hairy, puckered ring directly to Amy’s face. I grabbed a thick handful of Amy’s dark hair, and I shoved her face directly into his rear and commanded her to eat! He was groaning, and I was in front of him, jerking that ten-inch cock. Just as he was about to blow, I put my mouth on the tip. I caught every single drop of his hot jizz, Doctor W. My mouth was full of it. Also, I’m pretty sure the big guy let out a heavy, wet fart right into Amy’s face the second he started blowing his load. The sound was so vulgar and gross, echoing in the small dorm room, but watching her just stay there and take it while she was buried deep in his ass made the whole thing feel way more depraved. It was like his body was just reacting to the intensity, and honestly, it was the perfect punctuation for treating her like a mindless piece of fuckmeat.”

She paused, her breathing ragged, her hand pausing on the dildo. “I rushed over to Amy, forced her mouth open, and poured all of his cum into her. I slammed her jaw shut and barked ‘Swallow!’ She did it. She looked so cockdrunk, so fartdrunk, so happy to be used. But I told her we had one more thing. I told her she was a meat urinal.”

“The pissing,” I murmured.

“Marcus didn’t hesitate; he shoved his still semi-stiff cock back into Amy’s waiting mouth, driving it all the way down her throat until his balls were pressed tight against her chin. He just unleashed, a hot, rhythmic torrent of piss that went directly into her stomach, the sound of it hitting the back of her throat a heavy, wet gurgling that I could hear from across the room. Halfway through his bladder’s release, he pulled out with a sloppy pop, and I watched with a wicked grin as he just painted her face and body with the rest of it, the golden stream steaming slightly in the cool dorm air as it soaked into her dark, messy hair and ran down her chest. The sheer, violent depth of the deepthroating, combined with the warm flood of waste pouring into her system, finally forced her body to rebel against the intrusion. Amy’s stomach lurched and she began to retch violently, her body bucking as she vomited back up the entire cocktail of Marcus’s cum, his acrid piss, and the expensive pasta dinner we’d shared just hours before. I was ready for it, though; I had a plastic bucket positioned right beneath her chin, catching the thick, steaming mess before it could hit my rug. I caught every single drop of her total degradation, holding the bucket like a trophy while she shuddered and gasped, completely reduced to a leaking, broken meat urinal.”

Mary’s body began to cord with tension. She was nearing the end.

“Afterward,” she whispered, her voice a low, satisfied rasp, “we cleaned up. We spent hours in my bed just... cuddling. I did aftercare. We talked about what we liked. Amy loved all of it. Marcus said the piss and vomit was a bit much because of the smell, but he liked the rest. And me? I loved the dominance. I loved owning them both.”

Mary’s back arched violently. She let out a final, tearing scream, her hands flying to her chest to tweak her pierced nipples as her body was racked by a massive, prolonged orgasm. Pussy juice flooded out of her, soaking the leather for the thousandth time.

I sat there, stunned. The depravity in the sex was absolute, yet the framework—the communication, the aftercare—felt... healthy. It was a bizarre, pornographic mirror of a functional relationship. I realized I needed to be more careful; my subjects were evolving in ways I hadn’t mapped out.

I stood up, my erection straining against my zipper. “Mary, that was... quite a story. I think we should explore—”

“Oh!” Mary said, suddenly sitting up and blinking as the post-coital haze cleared. She looked at the clock. “Doctor W, I totally lost track of time! I have to meet Amy for lunch in ten minutes. We’re going to talk about the next playdate.”

She scrambled off the couch, wiping herself with her discarded panties before pulling her skirt on.

“But Mary, we haven’t finished the—”

“See you next week, Doctor W!” she chirped, blowing me a kiss as she bounced out the door.

The latch clicked. I was left alone, standing in the middle of the room with a raging, unfulfilled hard-on and no new instructions planted in my prime subject.

I turned toward the secret bathroom door and ripped it open.

Emily was sitting on the floor, her cardigan bunched around her waist, her glasses fogged over, her fingers buried deep in her own messy wetness.

“That story...” she gasped, looking up at me with wide, desperate eyes. “It was so hot, John. I couldn’t stop.”

“Good,” I growled, unzipped my fly and stepping toward her. “Because you’re going to be my relief.”

As I lowered myself to her, I made a mental note: Refine the Mary protocol. The consensual slut is more complex than the broken one.