“I think we should work on a concept called reframing today.” Your therapist sits across from you, uncrossing and sprawling his legs, he set his clipboard aside.
“Reframing?”
“Yes. It’s a technique trauma survivors such as yourself tend to find quite helpful. When you reframe a traumatic incident, it can help you work past it. Usually done in a safe setting,” he gestures to his peaceful office, “with a person you feel safe with,” he gestured to himself, “you recount the traumatic event, and go through it in a play-by-play, acting it out, and working through all the tough, scary feelings that come up as you face it.”
“Oh…” the worry and confusion on your face settles at the explanation, “I guess that makes sense…. How do you do it?”
Slowly standing up, his hand came to his tie, loosening it. Dropping down to his belt buckle. “How does a demonstration sound?”
That’s how you ended up here— your cheek pushed into the carpet, pants ripped down. The speed he set is bruising. “Tell me again— how many times did he fill you up?”
He slaps your ass when he doesn’t get a response. When you finally sob out a wrecked, “t-three!” He pets your hair affectionately. His pace never relenting.
“Then I’ll fill you three times. Remember, reframing is all about repetition— fuck,” his hips stutter, before continuing, “repeat the trauma. Tell the story again.”
“I-I don’t want to—“
“You need to. You need to. Go ahead and start at the beginning, when did it happen? Tell me.”
“W-when I was…. Ah! Walking home…”
“How did he grab you?” His fingers knot in your hair.
“He— he grabbed my, my hair…” another sob shakes your body. “Then he pulled me into the bushes, a-and… started touching me…”
“How did he touch you?”
“Pushed me down, and… ah, put his… his hand down my pants, and mounted me…. Like, like a dog….”
“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly, stopping to grind deep inside you, “like a dog. Like you’re some bitch in heat. That’s what you were, were you not?”
“No!”
“Yes, yes you are. You needed it, too. Say it. Say you needed it. Reframe it.”
“I…. I needed it…”
“Again.”
“I needed it.”
“Good job. Say it again, louder this time.” These soundproofed walls are such a blessing.
“I needed it!”
“What did you need?”
“I needed him to fuck my holes!”
“Fuck!” He lays over you, crushing you under his weight as he humps your little hole, filling it up with his cum. His cock throbbing as it pumps load after heavy load deep inside you. “Yes! Yes you fucking did! You need your stupid holes filled up all the time, don’t you? Yeah, you’re made to take cock. Made to be a perfect little cum dump. Fucking— fuck, take it. Take it.”
Your hour long session turned into two, then three. He assures you when it’s all over that it’s completely normal for reframing to take so long. He even schedules your next appointment for the same length of time, insisting that delving even deeper next time will be just the right thing for you.
And you, you poor innocent thing— all you can do is thank him for helping you find your place. With cum dripping into your underwear, and bruises littering your skin— you do seem to feel a lot better about being the world’s designated cum dump.
Let us work through your trauma together. We can take that negative experience and turn it into a positive one.
