"Can you bring that file with the reports from the cabinet?"

 He walked over to the cabinet.

"Which one, Ms. Holt?"

"The blue one with the string, and the red one next to it."

 He quickly brought and placed them on the desk. He was an intriguing young man, reserved and quiet by nature. I was thirty-two years old, and he was about ten years younger than I was. He spoke rarely. When you asked him a question, he would respond with quick answers like "yes" or "no". I asked him to pull out the report for the girl from yesterday. I had written it that morning. The patient was a nineteen-year-old girl. I told him to read it.

"Out loud?" he asked.

"Silently," I said.

When he finished reading, he put on that blank expression of his again.

"What is your opinion?" I asked.

"I don’t think the reason for the girl constantly washing her hands is necessarily the sexual repression or sexual myths you wrote about. I wouldn’t say those have no effect, but I think the dominant factor is her repressed violent urges toward her parents. Then again, that’s not entirely accurate either. It’s impossible to say that these urges stem from any real energy. Honestly, I don’t think they do. I believe Ivy has these ambivalent feelings, and the solution isn’t necessarily to get rid of them through psychotherapy, but rather to equip her with the ability to express these feelings. Show her that such emotions and thoughts are human, and that she can take an active role in finding a resolution."

I was surprised by his answer. I had thought he wasn’t interested in the subject. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

"Declan, why are you so quiet?" I asked.

"Ms. Holt, I just can’t think of anything to say. I’m generally quite shy anyway."

"You speak just fine. Have you ever thought that you might have social anxiety?"

“Yes, Dr., I’ve been struggling with social anxiety.”

"Have you ever been to therapy or a psychiatrist for this condition?"

"Dr., I went to a psychiatrist once, but I didn’t follow up."

"Therapy might be helpful for you, you should consider it.”

"Yes, Dr."

It was lunchtime. There was a knock at the door, and Jamal walked in. I stood up, hugged him, and brought him inside. I told Declan to step outside the door, wait there, and not let anyone in or come in himself until I called for him.

"Alright, Dr." he said as he left the room.

Jamal was Tunisian. We had met at the gym. He was about 1.90 meters tall. He had dark skin and a hairy body. He was twenty-three, but he looked at least thirty. His face was covered in a scruffy beard. He had short black hair. When I first saw him, he was wearing a pair of shorts. His upper body was bare. Unlike the other men in the gym, he was hairy. He had a solid physique. He was a real man. I was willing to do whatever it took to make him fuck me. I did

As soon as Dacklon left the room Jamal and I started kissing. Our tongues were intertwined. He touched my ass. I disappeared beneath his massive body. He lifted me. We were still kissing. He took me to the side of the window behind the desk. He lowered me to the floor and took off my skirt. He lowered my tights and turned me around. Then he took off his pants and underwear. He pushed me against the wall. First, he started playing with my pussy which was alreay wet. He slowly entered me. The heat of the first penetration drove me crazy. He started hitting me with slow but hard strikes. I hardly stayed without mourning loudly. Then, he started pumping like a machine. I was flying. With every thrust, the tone of my moans began to rise. Jamal lifted my left leg and put it on the window-sill. Now, he was inserting his cock from the left angle. He inserted his right hand’s forefinger into my mouth. I touched his cock from underneath with my hand. His circumcised cock was almost 20cm and as thick as my wrist. I let him pound hard and begged, “Harder, daddy, harder!”. Now, he so fucked that I was hitted to the wall with every stroke and the clapping sound coming from my buttocks echod in the room. For a moment, Dacklon standing at the door came to my mind. I started to mourn louder to make him hear. I had completely lost myself and surrendered entirely to Jamal. I was cuming. My legs were trembling, I was even able to stand thanks to Jamal. He was holding my leg tightly. At that moment, Jamal pulled my head against himself and mournig with his masculine voice beside my ear, he cummed to.

When the work was done, I sent Jamal away. I got dressed, sat down on the chair, and called out for Declan to come in. He did as I said and stood in front of me. I told him to pick up my fallen name tag, which read, "Dr. Laney Holt – Expert Clinical Psychologist." He immediately did what I asked. I pulled out a cigarette from the drawer and lit it. After taking a puff or two, I looked at Declan.

"Sit," I said.

 He sat across from me on the chair to the right of the desk. I studied him for a moment. He looked very nervous, though, to be fair, he always did. Yet, his usual inscrutable and indifferent demeanor was still there. But of course, I knew that wasn’t really the case, especially given the circumstances we were in. He never spoke unless I asked him something. For a moment, I thought about helping him, taking a special interest in him, and assisting him in realizing his potential. That thought didn’t last long. I handed him a cigarette as well. He smoked it in silence. The room was filled with smoke. I told him to open the window. Later, I had him make me a coffee. I didn’t ask if he wanted any. We sat in silence for a while. There were no patients scheduled for the first hour after the lunch break. I told him he could leave.

He grabbed his bag, which he had leaned against the chair, and said, “Have a good day, Dr.,” as he walked out of the room.