Dr. Angie's Playground
Corrupted Therapy Session
Dr. Angie's office was a place of power and submission, where the line between therapy and perversion blurred. She invited her new patient, a youthful man with a troubled past, into her lair, not knowing he would soon become her plaything.
As he nervously took a seat across from her, Dr. Angie's eyes raked over his body, analyzing him like a piece of meat. She smirked when she noticed the tremble in his hands as he clasped them together on his lap; she could sense his vulnerability.
"Tell me," she purred, leaning forward in her chair, "have you ever been with a woman before?"
His face flushed crimson, and he couldn't meet her gaze. "No, Dr. Angie," he whispered.
She leaned back in her seat, a predatory grin spreading across her face. "Well, that won't do," she said, standing up and walking around her desk. "We need to fix that."
Before he could even register her movement, she was looming over him, her towering frame casting a shadow that made him feel even smaller. She reached down and undid the first button of her blouse, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage.
"Take a good look, sweetheart," she commanded. "Because this is what real women look like. And you're going to love every inch of it."
Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, "Now get on your knees and show me what you're made of."
His heart was pounding in his chest as he lowered himself onto the cold, hard floor, his eyes fixed on her towering figure. She stepped closer, her stiletto heels clicking against the tile, and knelt down in front of him, her face inches from his.
"Now, open your mouth," she said, her voice a husky rasp.
He did as he was told, and she reached into her desk drawer, pulling out a small bottle. She unscrewed the cap and held it under his nose, and he instinctively leaned back, trying to avoid the foul smell.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"This," she replied, her eyes glinting with malice, "is the essence of a true woman. And it's going to change you, forever."
With that, she poured a generous amount of the thick, viscous liquid into her hand and pressed it against his lips. He hesitated for a moment before parting his lips and tasting it. It was bitter and metallic, and he could feel it burning down his throat.
"Swallow," she commanded, and he did as he was told, gagging as the thick liquid made its way down his esophagus.
Dr. Angie stood up, towering over him once again. "That's a good boy," she purred, her eyes dark with lust. "Now let's continue with your therapy."
And so, their twisted dance continued. With each passing moment, he felt himself being consumed by her, his mind and body succumbing to her corrupting influence. He was no longer a man, but a plaything for her amusement. And he loved every minute of it.
As the session drew to a close, Dr. Angie leaned down once again, this time pinching his chin and forcing him to look up at her. "You know what you are now?" she hissed. "You're a worthless faggot, and I've turned you into nothing but a pathetic worm. A cock-hungry slut who will do anything for a taste of real womanhood."
Her words sent shivers down his spine, and he could feel himself growing hard in response to her dominance. "And what am I, Dr. Angie?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She leaned in close, her breath hot against his cheek. "You're my bitch," she purred, her eyes burning with lust. "And you'll always be my bitch, no matter how small or worthless you become."
