The Mitigation Program

Three days had passed since the "inspection." True to her broken spirit, Tori had called George the very same night, her voice small and defeated as she agreed to the fictitious Infidelity Mitigation Program. George had scheduled their first "therapeutic session" for today, instructing her to meet him at a cheap motel on the outskirts of town.

"Neutral territory is essential for the initial mitigation sessions," he had explained, his tone clinically detached. "Psychological disassociation from both your home environment and mine allows for more effective recalibration of your responses."

It was complete nonsense, of course, but George's powers made it sound authoritative and scientific to Tori's manipulated mind. Now, as he waited in the dingy motel room, sprawled across the bed in just his stained boxers, George reflected on how perfectly his powers had served his perverted desires.

The door opened precisely at the appointed time. Tori entered, her eyes downcast, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt that she'd clearly chosen to be as unrevealing as possible. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and she wore minimal makeup—all attempts to make herself less attractive, less desirable.

"You're punctual. That's good," George acknowledged. "Adherence to the session schedule is a key component of successful mitigation."

Tori stood just inside the door, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. "How long will this... therapy take today?"

"Each session is calibrated based on response metrics," George explained, patting the bed beside him. "Approach and disrobe for baseline assessment."

The command hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their previous encounter. For a moment, George thought she might refuse, might turn and run from the sordid motel room. But the threat of her husband receiving that damning report kept her rooted in place.

With visible ****, Tori began to unbutton her blouse, her fingers trembling slightly. George watched with undisguised lust as she revealed herself inch by inch, dropping each garment onto the stained carpet until she stood completely naked before him.

"The body-shame response is diminished from our previous session," George observed, his eyes roving over her curves. "That's a positive indicator. Approach the bed."

Tori moved forward on wooden legs, stopping at the edge of the mattress. George pulled down his boxers, revealing his already hardening cock.

"The first mitigation technique involves desensitization through repeated oral exposure," he announced. "Kneel and begin."

There was a flash of something in Tori's eyes—a brief rebellion quickly suppressed by fear and resignation. She sank to her knees beside the bed and leaned forward, taking his rapidly swelling member into her mouth without being told exactly what to do.

"Good. Your procedural memory is functioning well," George commented, sighing with pleasure as her warm mouth enveloped him. "Deeper now. Throat exposure is essential for complete desensitization."

Tori struggled to take more of him, gagging slightly as his cock hit the back of her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes—whether from the physical discomfort or the psychological humiliation, it was impossible to tell.

"Your gag reflex is still pronounced," George noted with mock concern. "This indicates ongoing resistance to the mitigation process. We'll need to address that with intensive therapy."

Without warning, he grabbed the back of her head and **** his cock deeper, pushing past her gag reflex until her nose was pressed against his pubic hair. Tori's hands flew up to push against his thighs, but George held her firmly in place.

"Resistance is counterproductive," he admonished her as she choked and struggled. "Accept the therapy as prescribed."

After several seconds of holding her down on his cock, he released her, allowing Tori to pull back and gasp for air, saliva dripping from her chin onto her breasts.

"Your resistance levels remain concerning," George observed, his tone clinically detached despite the obvious cruelty of his actions. "We'll need to employ more aggressive desensitization techniques. On the bed, face down, ass up."

Tori complied with wooden movements, positioning herself as instructed, her face buried in the musty-smelling motel pillows. George moved behind her, his hands roughly spreading her buttocks.

"The anal fixation detected during your inspection requires specific attention," he explained, spitting onto her exposed hole as his only form of lubrication. "Repeated exposure therapy is the most effective treatment protocol."

Without further preparation, he pressed the head of his cock against her tight entrance and pushed forward. Tori cried out into the pillow as he breached her, the pain evident in the tensing of her entire body.

"Pain response noted," George acknowledged without pausing his invasion. "However, pain avoidance reinforces resistance patterns. Complete acceptance is the goal of mitigation."

He pushed until he was fully seated inside her, his heavy balls resting against her pussy lips. Tori's whole body trembled beneath him, her face still buried in the pillow to muffle her sounds of distress.

"The therapy now requires active participation," George instructed, delivering a sharp slap to her buttock. "Move against me. Show your commitment to the mitigation process."

With visible ****, Tori began to rock back against him, impaling herself on his cock in a grotesque parody of willing participation. George groaned with pleasure, not just from the physical sensation but from the psychological dominance of making her an active participant in her own degradation.

"Good. Your compliance is improving," he praised, his hands gripping her hips tightly enough to leave bruises. "Now, vocalize the therapeutic affirmation as instructed during our phone consultation."

Tori hesitated, clearly struggling with this new humiliation. George delivered another sharp slap to her ass.

"Vocalization is essential to the therapy," he insisted. "Repeat the affirmation with each thrust."

In a broken voice, barely audible at first, Tori began to recite the degrading phrases George had made her memorize: "I am... a potential cheater... being treated... for my own good."

"Louder," George demanded, increasing the **** of his thrusts. "With conviction!"

"I am a potential cheater being treated for my own good!" Tori cried out, her voice cracking with emotion. "My body betrays my marriage vows! I need this therapy to save my marriage!"

"Excellent," George panted, his excitement building as she repeated the humiliating affirmations. "Now reach back and spread yourself wider. Show your commitment to complete therapy."

With shaking hands, Tori reached back and pulled her own cheeks apart, exposing herself even more completely to his violation. The sight pushed George closer to his climax, but he wasn't finished with her degradation yet.

"The therapy now requires positional recalibration," he announced, suddenly withdrawing. "Turn over. Missionary position test is essential for comparative response analysis."

Tori turned onto her back, her tear-stained face now visible as George positioned himself between her legs. Without warning, he thrust into her pussy, which was unwillingly wet from the stimulation of her previous position.

"Vaginal lubrication despite anal penetration," George noted with satisfaction. "Classic response pattern of a high-risk subject. Your body continues to betray your marriage with its reactions."

He established a brutal rhythm, pounding into her with enough **** to make the cheap motel bed creak in protest. Tori's breasts bounced with each thrust, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the reality of what was happening.

"Open your eyes," George commanded. "Visual engagement is required for complete therapy effectiveness."

When Tori reluctantly opened her eyes, George was struck again by the depth of emotion he saw there. Beneath the surface humiliation and resignation, there was something else—a growing seed of self-doubt that his manipulation had planted and was now nurturing.

"Continue the affirmations," he instructed, his voice strained with approaching climax.

"I am a potential cheater being treated for my own good," Tori recited mechanically, her voice devoid of emotion now. "My body betrays my marriage vows. I need this therapy to save my marriage."

"Now the supplementary affirmations," George prompted, slowing his thrusts to ensure she complied.

Tori's face crumpled in fresh humiliation, but she obeyed. "My... my body responds to other men. My infidelity potential is high. I... I deserve this therapy."

"And what would happen without the therapy?" George pressed, his hips moving in a circular motion now, grinding against her in a way that he knew would stimulate her clit.

"Without therapy, I would cheat on my husband," Tori whispered, a fresh tear sliding down her cheek as her body betrayed her again, responding to the stimulation despite her mental anguish.

"And what does that make you?" George demanded, increasing his pace again.

"A potential whore," Tori choked out the cruel words he had made her memorize. "A wife who can't be trusted without intervention."

"And who provides that intervention?" George's thrusts became more erratic as his climax approached.

"You do," Tori whispered. "The Infidelity Inspector."

With those words, George drove into her one final time and came, flooding her unwilling body with his seed. The physical claiming was symbolic of the psychological ownership he had established over her—her body, her mind, her self-image now all influenced by his malicious manipulation.

When his pulsing had subsided, George withdrew and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, watching as his cum leaked from Tori's body onto the already-stained motel bedspread.

"Session one complete," he announced, reaching for his phone as if making notes. "Initial response to therapy is within expected parameters, though resistance levels remain concerning."

Tori lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her expression vacant. The broken quality of her gaze gave George a perverse thrill—evidence of his power over her.

"Clean yourself up," he instructed, gesturing toward the bathroom. "Session documentation requires before and after assessment."

Moving like a sleepwalker, Tori rose from the bed and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The sound of the shower starting came moments later.

George smiled to himself, already planning the next "therapeutic session." The Infidelity Mitigation Program he had invented would allow him to continue violating Tori indefinitely, all while making her believe it was somehow necessary to save her marriage. The psychological **** was as satisfying to him as the physical violation.

When Tori emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, her skin was red from scrubbing, her eyes puffy from crying. She dressed quickly, avoiding looking at George.

"When is the next... session?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Three days from now," George replied, still lounging on the bed in his boxers. "Same time, same location. The consistency is therapeutic in itself."

Tori nodded mechanically, gathering her purse. "And how many sessions will be needed before I'm... cured?"

George pretended to consider the question seriously. "Infidelity potential isn't something that's 'cured' so much as managed," he explained with false compassion. "Your risk factors were extremely high. Realistically, you're looking at ongoing maintenance therapy for the foreseeable future."

The implication—that she would be subjected to this degradation indefinitely—hit Tori like a physical blow. She swayed slightly on her feet but didn't collapse.

"I see," she whispered, her hand on the doorknob now. "And if I... if I can't continue?"

"Then unfortunately, the full inspection report would need to be filed with your husband," George reminded her. "Including video documentation of your responses during all four phases."

Tori's head snapped up. "Video? You never mentioned video."

"All inspections are recorded for verification purposes," George lied smoothly. "It's standard protocol, outlined in section 17B of the guidelines you agreed to when you consented to the inspection."

There had been no such guidelines, no consent forms, no section 17B. But George's powers made the lie sound credible, and Tori's manipulated mind filled in the blanks, creating false memories of agreeing to terms she'd never actually seen.

"Of course," she murmured, defeat evident in every line of her body. "I'll see you in three days, then."

As she left the motel room, closing the door quietly behind her, George lay back on the bed with a satisfied sigh. His first victim was thoroughly ensnared, her mind and body both falling under his control. And while Tori drove home, trying desperately to formulate some explanation for her husband about where she'd been for the past two hours, George was already thinking about the apartment building where he lived—and about the other women there who might be candidates for his special brand of "inspection."

The Infidelity Inspector's work was just beginning.