Ashamed and Eager, He Steps Inside
The Psychiatrist's Office
As he enters the pristine office, the patient can't help but feel a sense of foreboding. The smell of antiseptic and leather fills his nostrils, and he wonders if he's made a terrible mistake.
Dr. Angiejoy, a striking woman with piercing blue eyes and an aura of command, looks up from her desk. Her smile is cold and clinical, like a shark scenting blood in the water.
"Have a seat," she says, gesturing towards a plush armchair. The patient complies, his heart thudding in his chest. He tries to steady his breathing, but it comes out in rapid gasps.
Exposing the Patient's Deepest Shame
A Lurid Confession
Dr. Angiejoy leans back in her chair, crossing her legs slowly. "So," she begins, her voice low and velvet-smooth. "You've confessed to having sex with men. Tell me, did you fuck him this morning?"
The patient tries to keep his face impassive, but he knows he's failing miserably. "Yes," he mumbles, his throat dry and tight. "But it doesn't mean anything."
Dr. Angiejoy's eyes glint with triumph. "Oh, really?" she says, leaning forward again. "Let me see your dick, now. I need to examine it."
With shaking hands, the patient unzips his pants and pulls out his penis. It's smaller than usual, but not significantly so. Still, it feels like a dead weight in his lap.
The Psychiatrist's Twisted "Therapy"
A Demonic Demonstration
Dr. Angiejoy's face contorts into a snarl of disgust. "What is this?" she spits. "Ha ha ha! That little worm will never satisfy a woman. No wonder you're a faggot! You fucking disgusting faggot."
The patient flinches, his face burning with shame. He wishes he could disappear into the floorboards, but he knows there's no escape from Dr. Angiejoy's wrath.
"Close your eyes," she commands, her voice now eerily calm. "Open your mouth. Breathe... oh, who's so tiny here?" She pauses for effect, her eyes glittering. "Not only are you a smaller, now your dick is basically completely gone. You're not useful to women at all. You're licking my shoes, filthy with mud and the grime from my office. Oh, see? I'm not wearing any panties." She leans back in her chair, exposing her crotch. "But my pussy is not for you! You're a faggot and you're only good for licking my feet and rotting away."
The patient can feel the hot tears welling up in his eyes. He wants to protest, to defend himself, but he knows it's useless. Dr. Angiejoy has him right where she wants him: vulnerable, humiliated, and utterly broken.
