[M4f] Daddy's dumb therabitch doesn't deserve to think

How it started:

This office was the nicest one that Nick had ever been in.

Life dealt Nick a tough hand. Born to a pair of troubled parents, growing up on the bad side of town, if something could go wrong... then it probably did. As soon as he scraped by high school, he immediately got to work at the local supermarket, making pennies to the boss's dollars. Was it any surprise that he turned a life of crime: slinging drugs, beating people up, or more? First, he worked solo. Then, after punching out some mouthy bastard, he caught the eye of a local crime lord, becoming his enforcer.

An unlucky break and a quick arrest, combined with a slick lawyer, saw him shipped off to State-mandated therapy on the State's dollar in exchange for minimal jail time, which brings us to the office in question: The therapist's office.

Nick cast a scornful glance at the framed diploma hanging on the wall: what was the point of it? A piece of paper that made you feel better than other people? Ooh, she went to school, now she has life all planned out for her - big fucking whoop. She, with her pressed shirts and skirts and manicures compared to him.

By comparison, Nick had a rough edge. Tousled black hair that fell to his shoulders. Eyes that have seen a bit too much. A lean but muscular build like a starved wolf's own: dangerous and predatory. He hadn't bothered dressing up for this thing, wearing a baggy tee of some band he saw once alongside beat-up jeans.

"Why not just sign off and let me go, doc? I don't want to be here. Trust, it'll be better for the both of us, cuz I promise you, you won't want to see me either." Nick's lip curled into a sneer as he arrested the psych's gaze with his own for a moment, before his eyes blatantly dropped to stare at her tits through her modest top.

"Why's that, Nicholas?" That air of pretention and professionalism. Her clipped and hurried tone had to come from the fancy diploma that made her feel like she was better than people like himself. Bet she was calling him a thug in her mind.

"Because I've got things to do. Let's just leave it at that."

"Sure. Why don't we unpack that?" Dismissive. Grating. Why did she have to have this kind of attitude? He was warning her to back off. And here she was, treating him like a case.

"Well..." Nick leaned back in his seat, wrapping an arm over a rest. "Because I'm a big, bad man. If you aren't careful, I might make you bad, too," he teased, a cockiness warming his tone. Just his own form of crude humor.

"Hah. I doubt that. Now, why don't we get started..." More of that dismissal and pride. It was just a joke, but as Nick glared across the table, eyes raking over her body, he thought: why not do exactly as he had threatened?

---

How it's going:

A few months later, Nick still found himself attending therapy. After all, the courts still thought he was a dangerous case. The only difference was that he hated it less.

Not because he suddenly learned to accept himself or to internalize all of the things that happened to him, or whatever.

The sight of his erstwhile therapist squatting in whorish six-inch heels with her legs spread wide helped. Directly beneath her sat her framed diploma, a dildo suctioned to the museum quality glass... and rolling down its length was her own juices as she vigorously bounced up and down the silicone shaft. They oozed from her cunt, making a grotesque mockery of her degree.

She recited a mantra as she continued her self-pleasure for his pleasure, a script that he'd drilled into her mind. "Daddy's dumb therapist doesn't deserve to think," she moaned between thrusts. Her glassy eyes weren't looking up, no, he'd slapped the sense into her long ago. She didn't look without his say-so. Instead, she greedily stared at his cock, which he was stroking.

He amused himself off her self-degradation. Nick leisurely touched himself as she continued bouncing, bouncing, as she repeated the mantra faster and faster.

Daddy's dumb therapist doesn't deserve to think. Daddy's dumb therapist doesn't deserve to think. Daddy'sdumbtherabitchdoesn'tdeservetothink, Daddy'sdumbtherapistdoesn'tdeserveDaddy'sdumbdumb--GLHRK

Finally, Nick roughly grabbed her by the hair, interrupting the frenzied mantra. He roughly guided his cock to her lips, pushing past them, down her throat.

"That's enough. There's only one thing that mouth's good for."

---

He's a backstreet guy. She's an uptown girl living in an uptown world. He's got pearls for her, but not the kind she'd expect. ;) Let's make you bad, shall we? Worse, even. Though I've written Nick as a street level thug in this intro, I'm happy to change the motif to your liking. White-collar manager? Mafia Don? Arrogant frat guy? The possibilities are endless.

Kinks: Corruption, cheating, lingerie, heels, misogyny, mantras, discipline

Limits: Bathroom stuff, the -ores, bestiality, incest, bimbo aesthetics