Edit: please send me a personal message instead of a chat – and please allow me to write back in case I miss out. I appreciate all the “concern” lol but having my brain opened and holes drilled is taking time lol. I do promise to respond to all thought out responses!

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and honestly, I kinda resembled a grown-up version of Alex from Modern Family. You know, working that boring office job, stuck in a 40-hour grind every week, overflowing 34D tits tucked away in a conservative shirt – hair parted neatly. There was this unmistakable sadness in my eyes and a total lack of direction in life. But hey, at least I dressed sharp as hell, always on point like a razor.

White blouse a bit too tight for my modest chest, slick black tie, long hair parted clean almost going down to my butt. My pencil skirt was a tad shorter than usual, paired with plain black stockings and a classy garter belt. I rocked those short office heels like a pro. With black lipstick to highlight my fair complexion and round glasses framed in sleek silver, I unintentionally ended up with a "gothic" look. They say your appearance reflects your state of mind, and well, it just happened that way.

But those around me constantly insisted that seeing a therapist was a luxury reserved for the wealthy, an indulgence to have someone listen to your crazy thoughts. According to them, "grown-ups" should handle their own issues without burdening others. "It's all in your head," they proclaimed. "Just stop stressing and enjoy life!"

But the reality is that depression isn't something that can simply vanish at will. And so, there I was, sitting nervously all by myself in the waiting area. The chair, oddly uncomfortable for my small stature, added to my unease. I eagerly awaited the receptionist's signal, indicating that it was finally my turn to step into the therapist's office. "Dr. BrianBrakhar". Strange name. Asian maybe? Hopefully it's worth "300$ per session".

Even stranger were the numerous certificates lined up on the opposite wall. "Gooner Training Course Completion"? "Whoreolgy PhD from a Colonel Sanders Institute"? "BDSM University of Iowa"? And what in the name of God is "Ronald McDonald's HardcorePound Association?"?!

Yet, it was already my time to go in for my first scheduled session...

---seventeen hours later---

The receptionist, bless her heart, had to summon all her strength to tug at my leash, urging me to keep moving and crawl out of the waiting room. I must have been quite a sight, reluctantly dragging myself forward. But she knew it was for my own good, guiding me toward the next step in my journey - leaving a cute trail of semen and all other kinds of juices behind me with every small step.

My outfit has been reduced to frail remains of my soaked blouse and torn stockings, with only one of my heels still on and my broken glasses proudly poking out of my gaped asshole, skirt never to be seen again. My face was covered in a thick coat of what seemed to be a mix of my black lipstick, tears, saliva and admittedly excessive amount of yellowish jizz on top of that.

I was not sure if that "session" had anything to do with my depression or any mental issues at all. Still, at the time I definitely felt quite happy and was convinced enough to sign up for a "24 sessions rehabilitation course" in advance, even if it costed me almost all of my savings. After all, good doctor was promising significant improvements after each session and I was a living proof of that.

Once again, the receptionist gently tugged at my leash, letting me know that the taxi she had arranged was waiting outside to take me back home. So, with a bitter taste of my own asshole in my mouth and a strangely ecstatic smile on my face, I slowly walked out of the building, with a burning desire to return here back tomorrow...

Hello there! I noticed you've stumbled upon another self-therapy session disguised as a brainfuck prompt. In this story, we delve into the life of a girl (me, duh) grappling with depression as she embarks on a journey to find solace and healing (LMAO). However, along the way, she inadvertently explores her own self-destructive tendencies, leading to a rather unhealthy and tumultuous path. Although please do keep in mind that "hatefuck" is not a real way of fixing any mental issues, this is just a made up story with a mouthwateringly cheesy and frankly quite absurd premise so definitely don't take it as a step-by-step instruction.

In my opening I tried to convey the idea of our good doctor doing literally nothing but violence, sex, abuse and violently abusive sex. Not really because it's a miracle way to treat a mental illness, but because our poor girl is already convinced that she doesn't deserve any love or respect, with obvious signs of self-acceptance issues, not deeming herself worthy of any comfort.

And our good doctor on the other hand is a literal fraud with meaningless certificates and no interest in any actual medicine, being a self-centered jerk with huge libido and no sense of compassion. Why such a business is even allowed to legally exist? Who the fuck cares, this is my prompt and I want myself some manipulative therapy with a huge moron (sorry :P) :)

The conclusion of me writing all that is the fact, that my heroine is not going to find happiness, comfort or anything resembling a solution to her situation in your office. Miracle is not going to happen and things will only get worse. Yet you, dear doctor seem to be convincing enough to make your new patient think otherwise. Sounds fun so far? Let's get to kinks then.

For this story I see myself in a more submissive position. My kinks include: deep anal, creampies, spanking, humiliation, orgasm control, mind breaking, spitting, collars, raceplay, clothed sex, public sex, body worshiping, humiliation, large toys, breeding, very angry sex, choking, dickgirls, feet, bondage, condoms, slapping, hair pulling, messy orgasms, forced orgasms, body control, unusual positions, breeding, musk, size difference, rimming and outercourse in general and many, many more. As for limits - no vore, no sexual gore, no excessively bad grammar. None of my preferences are mandatory but the more openminded you are - the more fun we're going to have together.

So, if you ever dreamed to start your own career in psychology by using degrading porn as tutorial videos - feel free to slide into my message to get our story going! Also, if you are the kind of DPP regular who loves breaking open a girl’s goonette brain, I'm available on Discord for more long-term psychoanalytical sessions, but that's not in any way a requirement.