Break is over.

With the stuffing break over, we file back to my office. However, I begin to see severe problems with Abby's integration into polite society. The police had delivered her to my office only noting some of the real issues.

• She has not trained to hold in her bodily fluids for appropriate intervals, which means that she could just soil herself at any moment. (In the messtaurant, only half of a regular stuffing portion even fit into her butt!)
• She also lacks the fine muscle control over her sphincter, meaning that she cannot portion out the contents of her butt. (After the incident where she flushed out the whole portion of my meal that was inside he"r, we had the messtaurant staff clean up; and it was Erin who served my the second half of my stuffings. That was awkward and took quite a while.)
• She shows symptoms of stimulomania, meaning that ordinary furniture intended for relaxation brings her to orgasmic outbreaks. (While it was great to see her getting horny, massage tables and chairs should not have that reaction.)
• Additionally to the fear of showing her body in public, she also has even stronger aversion to defecate in public, or even eat out somebody in public. (In the messtaurant, I had to portion out her stuffings into her bowled hands, and then she would lick the meal out of them.)
• She also avoids physical contact, which she claims is "too intimate".

"So, Abby, I cannot say often enough that I'm sorry for your displacement into our world. But, to make any progress with my diagnosis, I need to feel you up a little."

Abby shivers on my therapy couch. She has rolled herself together into a ball: Knees to the chin, arms slung around her legs. She seems to think of this as a protective position, although I can't help but stare at her pussy slit that blinks out between her legs. Any healthy adult woman should have a blooming rose-like entrance to heaven, wide open from permanent usage. Hers looks like that of a first week's virgin.

"But aren't you a psychologist? I thought we would just... talk?"

"I'm a therapist. Psychology was certainly part of my studies, but I'm not just doing the theory. So, I just want you to tell me, when you feel I am 'too intimate', as you say. Please position yourself on the couch in a prone position... on your back, please."

Stroking her body part for part, I can finish that final point in my diagnosis: She considers her entire pussy as a no-go zone, and everything below the navel and above the knee is on a sliding scale of "intimate" to "very intimate". That also goes for her breasts, and I don't even need to touch her nipples for her to volunteer that they are also in he "very" category.

To my delight however, Abby has no problem with me caressing her feet. She giggles as I tickle her sole and play with her toes. "Okay, yeah that much is okay with me." she says. "Are we now finish... eeeeek!"

She kicks my face as I have begun licking between her toes. "What the HELL!"