When Stefan signs up for an unconventional therapy session, he expects a bit of guidance maybe even relief from his particular problem. What he doesn't expect is Dr. Petra: a dangerously composed therapist whose methods blur the line between professional care and utter submission.
With every calculated touch and clinical command, Petra strips him down mind, body, and control until he's left at her mercy, a subject in her most intimate experiment yet.
But Stefan isn't the only one watching his boundaries crumble.
Hidden behind a screen, Mina can't look away. Curiosity turns to obsession as she witnesses what real domination looks like and wonders how it would feel to be next on the doctor's table.
A story of dominance, psychological play, and the kind of therapy that leaves you begging for more.
"Treatment complete... or is it?"
............................................................................................................................................................
Mina wasn't even thinking about sex.
At least, not consciously.
If anything, she was thinking about how much she hated cleaning. The apartment did look good now floors shiny, shelves dusted, even that annoying corner behind the couch had been vacuumed for once. But in exchange, she was sweaty, slightly annoyed, and craving something mindless to unwind.
The windows were wide open, letting in that lazy Belgrade breeze that smelled faintly of sun warmed concrete and the neighbor's cooking. Her tank top clung uncomfortably to her back, damp with sweat, and her loose cotton shorts had bunched up so high on her thighs she didn't bother adjusting them anymore. Barefoot, hair thrown into a messy knot with strands sticking rebelliously to her neck, she looked like the picture of post chores exhaustion the kind you earn.
With a dramatic sigh worthy of an award, Mina flopped onto the couch like she was collapsing after a marathon.
"Done. Finally."
Her body sprawled out, one leg tucked under her, the other lazily draped over the armrest. She could still feel the light sheen of sweat cooling on her skin, goosebumps rising where the breeze hit damp patches through her tank top. She stretched, her back arching slightly, feeling the delicious ache of muscles that had been worked not in fun ways, sadly.
She reached for her phone, the universal tool of boredom relief.
No messages. Nenad was still at work, probably for another hour or two.
No notifications worth caring about.
So, she scrolled.
Reddit. Nothing but memes and drama.
Instagram. A few stories of people pretending their lives were more interesting than they were.
Twitter. Chaos as usual.
Then the meme.
A crude, exaggerated cartoon of an anime girl eyes rolled back, mouth open in a dramatic "O", surrounded by way too many guys, all censored just enough to get past social media filters. The caption read:
"If it exists, there's porn of it. #Rule thirty four was the moto."
Mina snorted, shaking her head. "God, people are such degenerates."
But the grin tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. She bit the inside of her cheek, thumb hovering over her screen as the tiniest spark of curiosity flickered to life.
It wasn't like she didn't know what thirty four rule was everyone on the internet had heard the phrase. But she'd never actually... looked. Not properly. Maybe a glimpse here or there, a joke link sent in some group chat. But today? She had time. She had no plans. And frankly, after scrubbing floors and wiping down countertops, she felt like she deserved a little harmless entertainment.
"Just a peek," she told herself, already unlocking her laptop with a wicked smirk.
A quick search later, and there it was the thirty four rule window.
Her eyebrows shot up the moment the site loaded.
"Wow... subtle," she muttered, taking in the neon colors, endless scrolling thumbnails, and the flood of categories that ranged from "mildly kinky" to "how is this legal?"
Tags like:
"Monster Girl"
"Thighjob"
"Hypnosis"
"Tentacle Massage"
"Futa"
"Pmv captions"
"Derpixon"
"Jackerman"
"Nyl"
"Sissy"
"Marvel Rivals"
"BWC"
"BBC"
And many more...
"Tentacle... massage?" Mina blinked, then laughed. "Okay, now I have to see what kind of freaky shit people are into."
Her initial scroll was filled with amused snorts and raised eyebrows.
Some thumbnails were hilarious like a girl getting railed by a literal octopus wearing a top hat.
Some were... well, she quickly learned to avoid anything labeled "vore" or "inflation".
"Nope. Nope. Definitely nope."
But then halfway down the page a different kind of thumbnail caught her eye.
It wasn't monsters, or aliens, or whatever bizarre crossover she'd just skipped past.
This was... oddly normal. Well, normal by hentai standards.
A sharply drawn blonde woman hair up in a messy bun, thick rimmed glasses perched low on her nose, a clipboard in hand like she was about to diagnose someone. Her white blouse strained to contain a pair of cartoonishly large breasts, buttons threatening to pop. Kneeling beside a couch, she looked both professional and sinfully inviting.
Behind her sat a guy nervous, flushed, with dark brown hair and the most obvious bulge in his pants Mina had ever seen in a animated video before.
The poor bastard looked like he wanted to disappear.
The title floated beneath it in bold, playful letters:
"Urgent Care: The Therapist's Hands On Method."
Mina stared at it for a second. Then burst out laughing.
"No. No, they didn't..."
But god, of course they did.
Her finger hovered over the trackpad.
She should've clicked away found something else to waste her time on. But instead, she tilted her head, that devilish grin creeping back onto her lips.
"Okay... this I gotta see."
The screen faded to black.
