Mr. Unrat hesitated but eventually obeyed my command and stripped naked in front of me. His body quivered with anticipation and fear, his pale skin glistening under the fluorescent lights. I stood before him confidently, my erect nipples poking out from beneath the thin cloth of my bra.
"Now, Mr. Unrat," I began calmly. "I want you to focus on the sensations you're feeling right now. Ignore the inappropriate thoughts that may be running through your mind."
I slowly lowered myself onto an elegant chaise longue, positioning myself in such a way that my sweat-drenched pussy was mere inches from his face. His eyes darted between it and mine, his breath coming in short, rapid gasps. I watched as beads of nervous sweat dripped from his brow onto my floor.
"Miss Medea... What are you...?" he stuttered, his voice cracking with fear and desire.
I grinned wickedly. "This is our new therapy session, Mr. Unrat. I think it's time for a little practical confrontation."
I leaned forward, allowing a stream of warm urine to cascade down onto his face. His eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth hung open in disbelief. My pee dribbled onto his chest and abdomen, then slowly began to seep into the carpet beneath him.
"Mm..," I moaned, closing my eyes in fake ecstasy. I continued to piss on him, the sound of liquid filling the silence between us. I felt a burst of pleasure course through me as my full bladder finally emptied itself onto his naked body.
Intent on pushing him even further, I climbed off the chaise longue and stood before him, my stomach covered in an overflowing mound of brown, watery shit. My exposed asshole twitched invitingly, sending shivers down his spine.
"Time for your next task," I purred, my voice dripping with malice. "Use your fingers to paint your inner emotional state on the canvas. And don't forget to lick it off when you're done."
He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and gingerly poking at the mess on my stomach. His fingers trembled as he dipped them into the warm, sloppy mess, then dragged them across the canvas. The nauseating smell of feces filled the room, making both of us gag.
I watched dispassionately as he licked at the canvas, trying to clean it off. The sight of his tongue sliding over the coated surface sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. It was evident in his eyes that he was both horrified and aroused by the situation.
Finally, I grabbed a handful of my own feces and shoved it into his mouth. "Now swallow," I commanded, a hint of sadism in my voice. He did as he was told, his face contorting in disgust and desire as he swallowed my filth.
When we were done, I helped him put his clothes back on and pushed him out of the room. As he stumbled out onto the street, still covered in shit and piss, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. Maybe this was the therapy he needed after all. Perhaps I had finally pushed him over the edge, allowing him to confront his deepest, darkest desires. Only time would tell if this was the case. But for now, I stood there, watching as he disappeared into the bustling city, a small smile playing on my lips.
