Therapy is going well..

Therapy has been good for me… I think. I’ve adapted well to my schedule… my therapist has carefully planned out my days, and it’s made me so much more productive.

Last week, I sat in his office setting alarms on my phone, one for when to wake up, one for meals, one for leaving for work… an alarm for every single thing I need to do. And now, every time one of them goes off, I can’t help but see his face and hear his voice. Methodically, he slips into my day, over and over again.

He made a comment last week about my wardrobe and the changes he’d like to see me make. I’ve been thinking about it constantly. I’ve been hyper-aware of how I’ve dressed all week, wondering what exactly he meant and what he would like to see. So today, I decided to challenge him… to see if he would say anything again.

I slipped into a satin skirt that hit mid-thigh, black knee-high stockings, and a simple tank top. The weight of my small breasts showed that I wasn’t wearing a bra. I hoped his office would be cool enough for my nipples to give me away.

I arrived five minutes early, as instructed. He was seated, almost scribbling in his notebook, eyes never lifting as I walked in and sat down. The clock ticked loudly in the silence while he read and scribbled for a full five minutes.

And then, at the exact moment my appointment officially began, he looked up. His lips pressed together as his eyes flicked to my knee-high socks… then up to my face.

My breath caught. My nipples tightened instantly under his gaze, not fully sure if I enjoy the feeling or am regretting my decision.

I kept quiet until he spoke.

We went over my schedule, what worked and what didn’t. He was stern but understanding, listening to my concerns, redirecting me when I rambled. The hour passed, steady and controlled. At the end, he closed his notebook and told me our time was finished.

I stood, ready to leave, but then he said my name. I stopped in place.

Still looking down at his notes, he spoke… “Wear this same outfit again next week. Understood?”

Softly, I said yes.

Walking out of his office, I could hardly contain the heat twisting in my stomach, the warmth between my legs. I’d convinced myself he hadn’t noticed my outfit… that he’d ignored it completely but maybe he hadn’t.

As I reached my car, my phone alarm rang. The screen lit up with the label…. Leave therapy. I couldn’t help but smile. And of course… thought of him.