Therapy Session

David glanced at the clock on his bedroom wall: 3:30 PM. Time to go. He grabbed his jacket and headed downstairs, where Ellen and Mia were waiting by the front door. To his relief, they were dressed again—Ellen in a simple sweater and jeans, Mia in a hoodie and leggings. The “naked in the house” rule he’d impulsively set earlier seemed to apply only indoors, as they’d slipped back into clothes without comment, their obedience as seamless as ever. David’s stomach churned at the thought of what he’d asked them to do, but he pushed it aside. The therapist’s office was his chance to get answers, or at least some perspective.

Ellen drove, her hands steady on the wheel, while Mia sat in the back, scrolling on her phone. The car ride was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine and Mia’s soft tapping on her screen. David stared out the window, the familiar streets of his neighborhood blurring by. Every woman they passed—joggers, dog-walkers, a cashier visible through a store window—seemed to carry the potential of another “Master” greeting. He didn’t test it, didn’t want to. The weight of the title was heavy enough already.

They arrived at Dr. Mark Reynolds’ office, a modest brick building tucked between a pharmacy and a bakery. The waiting room was empty, the air faintly scented with lavender from a diffuser on the receptionist’s desk. Sarah, the receptionist who’d answered his call, looked up with a bright smile. “Welcome, Master,” she said, her tone professional but warm. “Dr. Reynolds is ready for you. Head right in.”

David nodded, avoiding her gaze as he led Ellen and Mia through the door to Mark’s office. The room was familiar: a cozy space with a leather couch, a couple of armchairs, and a desk cluttered with papers and a small cactus. Mark, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses, stood to greet them, his expression calm but curious. “David, good to see you,” he said, shaking his hand before gesturing to the seats. “Ellen, Mia, please, have a seat. Thanks for coming in on short notice.”

Ellen and Mia sat on the couch, their postures relaxed but attentive, their eyes occasionally flicking to David as if awaiting his next command. David took an armchair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Mark settled into his own chair, a notepad balanced on his knee. “So, David,” he began, his voice steady, “you sounded urgent on the phone. Why did you want to be seen so soon, and with your mom and sister here?”

David exhaled, his nerves fraying. “It’s… their behavior. They think they’re my slaves. Like, they believe they belong to me, that they have to do whatever I say. I can tell them to do anything, and they’ll do it, no questions asked. It’s not normal, Mark.”

Mark nodded, jotting something down, his expression unsurprised. “I see. And you’re aware, of course, that all women call you Master. That’s just… how the world works. But I checked your records before you came in, and I noticed that your mom and sister are listed as your slaves. That’s a specific dynamic, one that’s documented in your file.”

David’s jaw dropped, his heart lurching. “Listed as my slaves? What the hell does that mean? Like, officially? Are there other families with this kind of… record?”

Mark tilted his head, considering. “As far as I know, David, you’re the only client I have with that kind of record. It’s unique to your household. I don’t have details on other families—my practice is small, and this isn’t something that comes up often. But your file clearly notes Ellen and Mia as your slaves, bound to your authority. It’s been that way since you started seeing me.”

David’s mind reeled. His file? Since when? He’d been seeing Mark for two years, mostly for work stress and occasional anxiety, and no one had ever mentioned anything like this. “That’s… insane,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “So, what, it’s just written down somewhere that I own them? And no one else has this?”

“Not in my experience,” Mark said, his tone measured. “But let’s focus on what’s happening now. What kinds of things have you asked them to do, to test this dynamic?”

Before David could respond, Ellen spoke up, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “Master set new rules for the house today. We’re to be naked at all times when we’re home, and whenever we’re near him, we’re to… play with his cock.” She said it without a hint of embarrassment, as if listing chores.

Mia nodded, her ponytail bobbing. “Yeah, Master’s rules are clear. We follow them because that’s what we do. It’s no big deal.”

Mark scribbled a few notes, his face neutral. “I see. And that’s within your authority, David, given their status. It’s not unusual for someone in your position to set such rules. Sounds fairly standard, considering.”

David’s jaw tightened. “Standard? This isn’t standard! They’re my mom and sister, not… property! And why can I command them like this, but every other woman out there—Lila at the coffee shop, random women on the street—they call me Master but still have their own autonomy? They’ll do some things, like… blowjobs, but not everything. Why’s it different with my family?”

Mark leaned back, his pen tapping lightly against his notepad. “I don’t have all the answers, David. I’m a therapist, not a philosopher or a scientist. But from what I’ve observed, that’s just how life works. All women recognize you as Master—it’s a universal truth, like gravity. But only your mom and sister are bound to you in this… absolute way. It’s a unique dynamic, one I can’t fully explain. It’s just how your reality is structured.”

David’s frustration boiled over, his voice rising. “That’s not good enough, Mark! You’re telling me it’s just ‘how it is’? That’s bullshit! Watch this—let me show you what I mean.” He turned to Mia, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation to prove his point. “Mia, crawl over to Mark and give him a blowjob.”

Mia didn’t hesitate. She slid off the couch, dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled toward Mark, her movements smooth and unhurried. Mark raised an eyebrow but didn’t move, his expression calm as Mia reached him and began undoing his belt.

“David,” Mark said, his voice even, “blowjobs aren’t intimate in this context. They’re… casual, like a handshake. My secretary, Sarah, does it for me all the time. It’s not a big deal.” He didn’t push Mia away, didn’t react beyond a slight shift in his seat, as if this were just another day at the office.

David’s face flushed, his frustration spiking. “Fine, then watch this.” He turned to Mia again, his voice sharp. “Mia, stop that. Now ride Mark’s cock.”

Mia paused, shifting seamlessly to comply, climbing onto Mark’s lap. Mark’s calm demeanor cracked, his hands rising defensively. “Whoa, David, hold on,” he said, his voice firm but not panicked. “I don’t want this. This isn’t something I’m comfortable with.”

But Mia didn’t stop, her hands moving to follow David’s command with the same obedient ease she’d shown at home. David leaned forward, his voice tight with defiance. “See? They do whatever I tell them. No questions, no limits.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, his hands gently but firmly trying to guide Mia off his lap, though she persisted, her focus locked on David’s order. “Okay, David, I get it,” Mark said, his tone sharper now. “You’ve made your point. They obey you completely. But let’s de-escalate this.”

David wasn’t done. The anger, the confusion, the sheer weight of this reality pushed him further. He turned to Ellen, who sat quietly on the couch, watching with that same serene devotion. “Mom, take your top off and shove your breasts in Mark’s face.”

Ellen stood immediately, pulling her sweater over her head and unclasping her bra in one fluid motion. She stepped toward Mark, who was still trying to gently redirect Mia, and leaned forward, pressing herself against him as instructed. Mark’s face flushed, his professional calm fraying as he raised his hands, trying to create space. “David, enough,” he said, his voice firm. “I understand your point. They’ll do anything you say. But this isn’t helping us get to the root of your distress.”

David sat back, his chest heaving, a mix of triumph and guilt swirling in his gut. He’d proven it—shown Mark exactly what he was dealing with—but the sight of his mom and sister, so utterly compliant, made his skin crawl. “That’s what I’m saying,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “They’ll do anything. Anything. And I don’t know why, or how to stop it.”

Mark managed to guide Mia back to the couch, where she sat without protest, her expression as calm as ever. Ellen stepped back, picking up her sweater but not putting it on, waiting for David’s next command. Mark adjusted his glasses, exhaling slowly. “Alright, David,” he said, his voice steady again. “I see the dynamic clearly. It’s… intense, and I can see why it’s overwhelming. Let’s take a step back and focus on how this makes you feel, and what you want to do about it.”

David stared at the floor, his anger fading into exhaustion. He didn’t know what he wanted—answers, a way out, or just a way to live with this without losing himself. All he knew was that his mom and sister’s absolute obedience, and the world’s casual recognition of him as “Master,” were reshaping his reality in ways he couldn’t control. For now, he just nodded, letting Mark steer the session, hoping somewhere in this mess there was a path forward.

David’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white as the weight of the session pressed down on him. Mia sat back on the couch, her expression serene despite the surreal scene that had just unfolded. Ellen stood nearby, her sweater still clutched in her hands, waiting for his next command. The air in Dr. Mark Reynolds’ office felt thick, the faint hum of the lavender diffuser in the waiting room barely audible through the closed door. David’s frustration, which had briefly flared into defiance, now hardened into a **** need for answers. He leaned forward, his voice sharp and insistent.

“Mark, I need to know why,” David said, his eyes locked on the therapist. “Why do I own my mom and sister? You said it’s in my file, that they’re listed as my slaves. How the hell does that happen? Why them, specifically, and not every other woman out there who calls me Master?”

Mark adjusted his glasses, his expression calm but cautious, as if navigating a minefield. He set his notepad down, folding his hands in his lap. “David, I understand this is overwhelming. From what I can piece together, based on your file and what’s generally understood, your role as ‘Master’ is a unique societal designation. All women recognize it—it’s a universal constant, like I said. But the specific dynamic with your mom and sister… it’s formal, documented. It’s not just a cultural quirk; it’s a legal status, at least in your household. Beyond that, I don’t have a clear explanation for why it’s only them. It’s likely tied to your family’s history, something specific to your birth or circumstances.”

David’s jaw tightened, his frustration spiking. “That’s not good enough, Mark. That’s vague as hell. You’re telling me it’s just ‘in my file’? Like it’s some bureaucratic checkbox? I want to know why I own them—why they think they’re my slaves, why they’ll do anything I say, no matter how crazy. Give me something real.”

Mark sighed, his calm demeanor fraying slightly. “I’m trying, David. I’m not an expert in the metaphysics of this. My role is to help you process how this affects you emotionally and psychologically. The ‘why’ might be beyond my scope—it could involve legal, cultural, or even historical factors I don’t have access to. Maybe it’s tied to a family tradition, or a governmental system we don’t fully understand in this context. I can look into it, but I don’t have a definitive answer right now.”

David shook his head, his voice rising. “That sounds like a cop-out. You’re my therapist—you’re supposed to help me figure this out! You’re telling me you don’t know why my mom and sister are my slaves, but it’s just ‘how it is’? That’s bullshit, Mark!”

Before Mark could respond, Ellen spoke up, her voice soft but clear, cutting through the tension like a gentle breeze. “Master, if I may?” She stepped forward, her sweater still in her hands, her posture relaxed despite her partial nudity. “I can explain it, at least as much as I know.”

David turned to her, his heart pounding. “Go ahead, Mom. Tell me.”

Ellen’s green eyes met his, warm and steady, as if she were explaining a family recipe. “When you were born, I signed paperwork to become your ****. It was… just what was done. The moment you came into the world, the hospital provided the forms, and I signed them without question. It felt right, natural. Later, when Mia was old enough—eighteen, I think—she signed the same papers. I was your first ****, and Mia was your second. It’s all documented, filed with the government. On paper, we belong to you.”

David’s mouth fell open, his mind reeling. “Paperwork? The government? You’re saying there’s, what, an official record that you’re my slaves? And you just… signed it?”

Ellen nodded, her expression serene. “Yes, Master. I’m still your mother, and you’re my son—I love you, and that hasn’t changed. But legally, on paper, Mia and I are your slaves. It’s how it’s always been.”

Mia chimed in, her tone light, almost casual, as she leaned back on the couch. “Yeah, Master, I remember signing the papers. It was, like, a quick thing at the county office. Mom took me, and I just did it. No big deal.”

David’s head spun, his breath coming in short bursts. “Why? Why would you sign something like that? Why would you agree to be my slaves?”

Ellen tilted her head, a faint crease forming on her brow, as if the question puzzled her. “I’m not entirely sure, Master. It’s… blurry. I just know it was expected, like a duty. The hospital staff gave me the forms, and it felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t question it—it was for you, my son, my Master.”

Mia shrugged, twirling a strand of her ponytail. “Same here, Master. I don’t really know why. I just knew it was my turn to sign, and I did. It’s just… how things are.”

David stared at them, then at Mark, who was scribbling notes, his face unreadable. “So, what, there’s some government office out there with a file saying I own my mom and sister? And you don’t know why you signed it? That’s insane! How does that even happen? Is there a law? A tradition? Something?”

Mark cleared his throat, his voice cautious. “David, I don’t have access to those details. It’s possible there’s a legal framework, maybe something tied to your family or your status as Master. But I don’t have the records here, and I’ve never encountered this with other clients. Your situation is… unique.”

David’s frustration boiled over, his hands clenching into fists. “Unique? That’s all you’ve got? My mom and sister are legally my slaves, and you’re just shrugging it off? This isn’t normal, Mark! None of this is normal!”

Ellen reached out, her hand resting gently on his arm, her touch maternal despite the surreal context. “Master, please don’t be upset. We’re happy to serve you. It’s our place, our purpose. The paperwork just makes it official.”

Mia nodded, her smile soft. “Yeah, Master, it’s not a bad thing. You’re a good Master. We trust you.”

David pulled away, standing and pacing the small office, his mind a storm of disbelief and anger. “You trust me? You’re my mom and sister, not my… property! And you don’t even know why you signed these papers? That’s not an answer!” He turned to Mark, his voice sharp. “What am I supposed to do with this? Just accept that I own them because some form says so?”

Mark set his pen down, his expression steady but empathetic. “David, I know this is a lot to process. My advice is to focus on how you want to navigate this dynamic. You have significant influence over your mom and sister, and it sounds like that power is causing you distress. We can work on setting boundaries, finding ways to make this feel less overwhelming.”

David shook his head, his voice bitter. “Boundaries? They’ll do anything I say, Mark. Anything. And there’s a government file somewhere saying I own them. That’s not something you just ‘navigate.’”

Mark nodded, his tone calm but firm. “I hear you. Let’s take it one step at a time. Maybe we can look into the legal side—see if there’s a way to access those records, understand the process. For now, how about we focus on what you want this relationship to look like? You’ve set rules at home—maybe we can explore what feels right for you.”

David sank back into the chair, his energy draining. He looked at Ellen and Mia, both watching him with that same devoted calm, and felt a pang of guilt. They weren’t just his mom and sister anymore—they were his, in a way that went beyond family, beyond reason. And the worst part was, they didn’t question it. They didn’t even know why.

He exhaled, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I want. I just… I don’t want this to be my life.”

Mark leaned forward, his tone gentle. “That’s a start, David. Let’s work from there. We’ll schedule another session soon, and I’ll see what I can find out about the legal aspect. For now, try to take it one day at a time.”

David nodded numbly, his mind still grappling with the idea of paperwork, a government stamp on this twisted reality. Ellen and Mia stood, ready to follow him out, their obedience a constant reminder of the power he didn’t ask for. As they left the office, Sarah at the reception desk gave him a cheerful “See you next time, Master,” and David just nodded, too exhausted to respond. The ride home loomed ahead, and with it, the reality of a house where his every word was law, backed by forms he’d never seen but couldn’t escape.