The city's neon glow bled through the blinds of his shabby downtown office. Leon, the so-called "therapist," smirked. His latest client, Mara, sat across from him, her eyes already glazing over as his voice droned on. He wasn't fixing anything. He was unlocking.

"Your mind is soft clay," he purred, watching her tits rise and fall under her silk blouse. "My voice is the sculptor's hand." He saw the exact moment his words bypassed her logic, a slight shudder, a parted lip. Her nipples were hard little pebbles pressing against the fabric. Fuck, he loved that.

The session was a farce. A prelude. He leaned closer, his own cock thickening in his slacks. "When I snap my fingers, you will feel only heat. A desperate, throbbing heat between your legs. You will need my touch to cool the fire."

*Snap.*

A gasp tore from Mara's throat. Her hand flew to her pussy, pressing against her trousers. "It's... it's burning," she whispered, her hips giving a tiny, involuntary grind.

"Show me," Leon commanded, his voice rough. He didn't ask. He owned her now.

With hypnotic obedience, her fingers fumbled with her button and zip. She shoved her trousers and panties down to her thighs. The sight made his mouth water. Her cunt was already glistening, her pussy lips swollen and pink, begging for attention. The musky scent of her arousal filled the stale office air.

"Such a good girl," he growled, getting on his knees before the chair. He didn't kiss her. He just dove in