No mercy after hours wmv

Description: I’m a psychologist. he comes in for another session — that patient who, for reasons i can’t fully explain, stirs something in me. i try to remain professional, ask all the right questions, keep the tone neutral. but between the standard inquiries, i slip in something more. i want to know what i am to him. does he feel anything? does he sense how his presence electrifies me? his answers are disappointing. cold. detached. to him, i’m no one. just another service, another chair to sit in for an hour. i feel a sharp sting of rejection. and then, anger. i suggest a relaxation exercise, tell him to breathe deeply, to close his eyes. once he does, i don’t hesitate. i shrink him — down to a size i can cradle in my palm. then i take him home. at home, all pretense falls away. i’m bare, shameless, commanding. he’s tiny now, helpless, and i make him mine. i press him between my cheeks, let him writhe. slip him into my navel, let him in my warmth. then between my breasts, where every movement is a tidal wave. i use him — relentlessly, completely, without apology. and when i’m done, i swallow him whole. no hesitation. no mercy. i consume him — his body, his pride, his indifference. let him learn what happens when you toy with a psychologist especially one with a hunger that no conversation can ever satisfy.