The program, one of several offered through a wellness program at your work, made you do a double take when you first read the description. A machine which is able to produce psychotropic states to rapidly develop new and improved habits has been making headlines, but what strikes you about this particular program is the description: "The nature and power of a man is primal, in his very sex lies his authority in this world. When man is disconnected from this basic function of power, he gets bogged down and lost, drained of will. But those men who know, or sense, that this power can be reclaimed come to us for the treatment." On a whim, you make an appointment for that afternoon after work.
When you walk in, you are led to a room that looks like a doctor's office. There's a large black chair with a machine attached. The assistant asks you to sit in the chair. "This session," she explains, "is set up as a first appointment, and instills all the psychic receptor feedback to guide you when you leave. You will have the chance to agree to continue or cut off treatment at the end of the first session, but if you agree, there is no way to back out later. Once the psychic receptors are active, there's no way to stop them. The session slowly transitions you from student to master. By the end, you will know whether it is for you or not." You nod, and the assistant moves a helmet over your head. At first everything is black and then suddenly, you find yourself standing in a hallway outside of an office door.
When you walk into the office, you see that it is simple: a warm lamp, a comfortable couch, and a desk. The doctor sits at her desk and when she turns to you, you see her - beautiful, with inviting eyes and tempting, large breasts.
She invites you to sit on the couch, and to your surprise, she sits down next to you. She speaks to you, softly, but clearly. "You know why you're here, yes? To reclaim your vitality and your power? Deep within you, you know that you are entitled to what you need and want." Her voice is mesmerizing.
"Tell me," she urges gently, "tell me what you are."
"I-I am a man."
"And what do you deserve?" She murmurs, and suddenly you feel her hand on your back, rubbing gently. You look at her, confused, unsure of what she wants you to say.
"Tell me you deserve whatever you want," she whispers.