The weeks of silence had been excruciating, a void filled only by the acquisition of Emily and the breaking of Amy. But now, the holidays were over. The semester was beginning. And Mary was back.

When she walked into my office, the change was palpable. She didn’t just bounce; she vibrated. Her eyes were bright, feverish, and fixed on me with a devotion that bordered on religious.

“Doctor W!” she exclaimed, practically throwing herself onto the couch. “Oh my god, I missed this. I missed you.”

“Welcome back, Mary,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the spike in my own pulse. “How was your break?”

“It was... intense,” she breathed, shifting her hips on the leather. “I did everything you said. But... honestly? I couldn’t stop thinking about being here. About the sessions. I masturbated every single day, sometimes three or four times, just fantasizing about coming back to this office. About what you’d make me explore next.”

I paused, my pen hovering over my notepad. This was... unexpected.

“You fantasized about the therapy?” I asked carefully.

“Yes! It’s like... I finally realized who I am,” she gushed. “All that time, pretending to be the good girl, the athlete... it was exhausting. But here? With you? I feel like I’ve awoken this inner slut that was always sleeping inside me. It’s not just that I have to do these things... it’s that I want to. It feels like... like my true self coming out.”

I leaned back, hiding my surprise behind a steepled hand. Fascinating. Since I hadn’t used a traditional deep trance for the heavy lifting, relying instead on the Wagstaff Technique’s unique blend of sensory overload and subliminal suggestion, her mind had filled in the gaps. To avoid the cognitive dissonance of doing things she “shouldn’t” want to do, her psyche had constructed a narrative of consent. She wasn’t being forced; she was being liberated.

It was a stroke of luck. If her reality had fought the “truth” I was implanting, the friction could have shattered her mind, resulting in psychosis or a total breakdown. Instead, she had integrated the corruption seamlessly. Honestly, there probably was the ember of an inner slut in there that I had just turned into a fire. I was lucky. I made a mental note: Be more careful. The illusion of agency is a powerful stabilizer, but a fragile one.

“I’m glad to hear you’re embracing your growth, Mary,” I said smoothly. “Tell me about your time at home. Did you enjoy being back in your hometown?”

“It was okay,” she shrugged. “A bit boring, usually. My dad died when I was seven, so it’s just me and my mom, you know Angela, in this big empty house. We usually just watch movies and eat too much.”

She pulled out her phone. “Look, here’s a pic of us from New Year’s.”

She held up the screen. I leaned in.

Angela Simpson. My god. She was a stunning, mature echo of Mary. Where Mary was taut and athletic, Angela was ripe and voluptuous. She had the same blonde hair, but styled in a sleek, expensive bob. Her breasts were significantly larger, and almost certainly fake, pressing against a sequined black dress with confident heaviness, and her smile had a knowing, sultry edge that Mary’s lacked. She was a MILF in the truest sense of the word. She was even sexier than what I remembered when I last saw her.

“She looks lovely,” I commented neutrally, my mind already racing with possibilities. “And did you... complete your homework?”

Mary bit her lip, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Every assignment. And extra credit.”

She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Can I... can I start now? I’m so horny I can barely sit still. I need to touch myself.”

“By all means,” I said, leaning back. “Take your clothes off.”

She stripped with frantic speed, kicking her jeans and panties into the corner. She was already glistening, her shaved slit puffy and wet.

“Can I use the toy?” she asked breathlessly. “The one from last time?”

“Of course.” I opened the drawer and handed her the eight-inch silicone shaft. Then, I reached deeper and pulled out a second toy—a black, textured probe, thicker than the first. “And this one as well.”

She took them greedily. She lay back, spreading her legs wide, and didn’t even wait for lube. She spat into her hand—a thick, ropy glob of saliva and mucus—and slicked up the first dildo. She shoved it into her pussy with a wet schlock, gasping as it filled her.

“God, yes,” she moaned.

Then, she spat on the black one. She raised her legs, exposing her puckered asshole. She lined up the tip and pushed. Her sphincter, trained and eager, opened readily. She slid the second toy into her ass, groaning as she double-penetrated herself.

“Tell me,” I commanded, watching her work the toys in a rhythmic, wet cadence. “Tell me about the ‘creative and nasty’ thing you did.”

“Oh god,” she panted, pumping her hand. “It was... Christmas Eve. Mom was making dinner. I... I snuck into the pantry. We had this... this big, English cucumber for the salad. I stole it. I took it to my room.”

She bucked her hips, slamming the toys deeper.

“I didn’t wash it. I didn’t wrap it. I just... shoved it in. Into my pussy. Into my ass. It was cold and bumpy and... dirty. I fucked myself with a vegetable destined for our dinner table. And then...” She let out a high, keen sound. “Then I put it back. I didn’t even clean it. I put it back in the fridge. Mom sliced it up an hour later. I watched her eat it. I watched her put my pussy-juice cucumber in her mouth and chew. It was the nastiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Excellent,” I murmured, genuinely impressed. “And what else? You mentioned a discovery.”

“Yeah,” she giggled, a delirious sound that bubbled up from deep in her chest. “I was snooping. Mom was out at her book club, and I was just wandering around the house, feeling itchy and bored. I ended up in her room. I don’t know why, really. Maybe I wanted to smell her perfume. But then I looked under the bed. There was this big, nondescript plastic bin. I pulled it out. It was heavy.”

She paused, her eyes glazing over as she replayed the memory.

“I opened it, and... Doctor W, my jaw hit the floor. It was filled with toys. Not just little vibrators, but serious stuff. Leather cuffs, a ball gag, huge glass plugs. And right in the middle, still in its packaging, was this... monster. It was one of those ‘Bad Dragon’ dildos? The fantasy ones? It was bright red, shaped like some kind of knotted, alien cock, with a flared base that looked like dragon claws. It was huge. Thick as my wrist and covered in ridges and bumps.”

She let out a low moan, her hips picking up the pace.

“My mom... my prim, proper, PTA-president mom... she slams that monster into herself. I couldn’t believe it. But then... I touched it. The silicone was high quality, firm but yielding. And next to it was a bottle of lube. Her lube. It was half empty. I... I couldn’t help myself. I stripped right there on her carpet. I slathered that red beast in her lube and just... went to town. It stretched me so wide I thought I would split. Every ridge, every knot... it was like being fucked by something inhuman. And the smell... the lube smelled like her. Like her perfume. It was like she was there, watching me, approving of me wrecking myself with her secret toy. I came so hard I left a wet spot on her rug that I had to scrub out with carpet cleaner.”

She let out a little groan as she slowed her speed with the dildos.

“I realized then, that the mom I always knew was just one version of her,” she said. “And this slutty woman I was discovering. Well that was her too. I guess I just needed to see her with grown up eyes.”

That was an insight that actually made this feel like real therapy. She picked up the pace of her current masturbation, ramming the twin dildos inside of herself.

“And the test?” I pressed. “Christmas morning.”

“I woke up at 4am,” she recounted, her voice taking on rhythmic quality that matched the frantic pumping of her hips. “The house was dead silent. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. I snuck downstairs in my PJs, tiptoeing past Mom’s room. The tree was still lit, just glowing in the corner of the living room. I crawled under it, pushing gifts aside until I found the vintage ornament. I knew exactly which one I needed. It was a solid ceramic sphere, painted red and gold with little swirling patterns. Heavy. Cold. Dense. I tapped it against my teeth to make sure it was solid, not hollow glass that would shatter and kill me. It was perfect. A perfect, heavy ball.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the sensation, her body tensing as she relived the moment.

“I had to prepare,” she admitted, a flush rising on her chest. “I knew my ass wasn’t ready for something that wide, that unyielding. So I stole a bottle of Poppers from a guy at a frat party before break. ‘Rush’ brand. I sat on the living room rug, right there in the glow of the Christmas tree, and unscrewed the cap. The chemical smell hit me instantly—sweet and sharp and dizzying. I took a huge, deep hit, holding it in until my head felt like it was floating away and my heart started hammering like a rabbit’s. My muscles just... melted. My asshole went loose and hungry. I grabbed the ornament. I didn’t have my own lube, so I’d stolen a handful of those little sample packets from Mom’s stash. I ripped them open with my teeth and slathered that ceramic ball until it was dripping. I tied a string to the end so I’d be able to get it out again. Then I just... pushed.”

She groaned, arching her back as if feeling the phantom stretch.

“It was so wide. So incredibly wide. I felt my ring stretching to its absolute limit, burning and stinging, but the poppers kept me loose, kept me from clamping down. It slid in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me open until I thought I would tear. And then... pop. It slipped past my sphincter and thwumped deep inside. My hole snapped shut around it, trapping it there. It felt... massive. Heavy. Like I was carrying a lead weight in my gut. Every time I shifted, I could feel it rolling slightly, pressing against the thin wall between my ass and my pussy, filling me up completely.”

“I sat through presents,” she moaned, thrashing her head side to side, sweat flying from her brow. “I sat on the floor in my pajamas, smiling at my mom, opening boxes of sweaters and books, and every time I leaned forward to grab a gift, that heavy ceramic ball pushed deeper. Every time I laughed, my muscles clenched around it. I sat through breakfast—pancakes and bacon—and I could feel it pressing. I was so full, so stretched, and so incredibly secret. I looked at my mom across the table, sipping her coffee, and I thought, ‘You have no idea. You have no idea your daughter is stuffed like a turkey right now.’ I loved it. I loved the pain. I loved the secret. I was a dirty little slut, right there in the middle of Christmas morning.”

I watched her, astounded. She hadn’t just followed orders; she had internalized the logic of the filth. She had problem-solved with the poppers, she had improvised with the cucumber. She was evolving.

“Doctor W...” she gasped, her body going rigid. “Please... please can I cum? I need to cum!”

I hadn’t given the directive, but she had internalized that too—that in these sessions her pleasure was mine to grant.

“Do it,” I said. “Cum for me.”

She screamed—a raw, tearing sound that filled the room. Her body convulsed, the dildos jerking inside her as fluids flooded out of her pussy, soaking her thighs and the leather beneath her. She rode the orgasm hard, shaking and crying out until she finally collapsed, the toys slipping halfway out.

I let her lie there for a moment, waiting for her breathing to slow.

“You’ve done very well, Mary,” I said.

“Thanks,” she whispered, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Oh! Before I forget. My mom. She’s coming to town next week. To visit. I told her how much you’ve helped me. She... she wants to see you. For a session. She’s been... stressed.”

Angela. My old friend. The MILF with the Bad Dragon. She was an administrator at a college one town over. Normally a 30 minute drive.

“I think I could fit her in,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

Mary sat up, beginning to gather her clothes. I realized I hadn’t even used the machine yet. I needed to plant the seeds for the next phase.

“Mary, lie back down for a second.”

She complied instantly. I tapped the sequence. Lights. Sound. Scent.

“Listen to me,” I said in a therapist voice that was clearly saying statements, not questions. “You have done well, but you are not done. You need to push further. Your hookup Amy. You will initiate another sexual encounter with her. But this time... it will be different. During sex, Amy is not your friend. She is not a person. She is fuckmeat. You will treat her as such. You will use her holes without regard for her pleasure, only yours.”

I had to specify “during sex” there so Mary wouldn’t start questioning why she started feeling that way about someone who clearly had a life on campus that was not just sex.

“Oh yeah, totally,” she said, her voice breathy but entirely normal, like she was agreeing to a brunch date. “I can’t wait to just... absolutely wreck her holes. It’s gonna be so hot.”

“And for your homework,” I continued. “You will bring a man into it. You will find a guy—any guy—and you will bring him to Amy. You will have him use her as fuckmeat. And you will have him piss on her. You will watch, and you will participate.”

“Got it. Guy. Use Amy. Piss on her.”

Like she was making a grocery list.

“Thanks again, Doctor W!” she chirped, pulling her shirt on. “See you next week! And I’ll tell my mom to call you.”

“Do that,” I smiled.

She left, bouncing out the door.

As the latch clicked, I sat back, exhaling a long breath. Then, I heard a noise from the outer office. A chair scraping. Emily.

She had been out there the whole time. She had heard the screaming.

I stood up and walked to the door. Emily was sitting at her desk, typing furiously, her face pale, her glasses sliding down her nose.

“Emily,” I said softly.

She jumped, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

“Doctor Wagstaff... I...”

“Come in here for a moment,” I said. “We need to review some filing protocols.”

She stood up, trembling. She knew.

“And Emily?” I added, holding the door open. “Blue Velvet.”

She slumped instantly, her eyes rolling back as she shuffled past me into the office. Time for a little edit. And maybe a command to wipe down the couch.