LIBIDINAL NARRATIVE THERAPY: Selena Gomez

LIBIDINAL NARRATIVE THERAPY: 

Selena's First Masturbation

by Noopster.

 

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DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction, based on nothing real or plausible at all. Fantasy is legal and this is all made up. Thanks for reading.

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"Good morning, Selena,” Dr. Sarah Bennett said, extending her hand with a warm smile that immediately put the 32-year-old pop star and actress at ease. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Selena shook her hand and glanced around the tastefully decorated office. Soft beige walls, minimalist furniture, and a few carefully placed plants created an atmosphere that felt both professional and intimate. The large window overlooked a small garden, providing natural light that softened the clinical nature of their meeting. Selena settled into the leather couch opposite Dr. Bennett, crossing her legs and smoothing down her baggy jeans. The familiar scent of lavender essential oil hung in the air, a calming constant she'd come to associate with these weekly sessions. She placed her designer handbag beside her feet and exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the past seven days pressing down on her shoulders.

Dr. Bennett adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and flipped open her leather-bound notebook. "So," the therapist said, her long auburn hair falling in gentle waves around her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were sharp but kind behind those glasses, and a light dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of her nose, giving her an approachable quality despite her professional demeanor. She wore a simple charcoal pencil skirt with a cream-colored silk blouse, a thin gold necklace her only adornment. "How have you been since our last session? Any progress with those techniques we discussed?"

Selena's fingers instinctively moved to the gold hoop earring in her left earlobe, twisting it nervously. They'd been meeting for almost two months now, yet Selena still felt that initial resistance, that urge to present the public version of herself—smiling, put-together, in control.

"I tried them," Selena said, her fingers picking at an invisible thread on her designer jeans. "The breathing exercises help, sometimes. But then I had that meeting with the label execs on Wednesday and..." She trailed off, remembering the way their eyes had lingered on her body, the subtle suggestions about her image for the upcoming album.

"And?" Dr. Bennett prompted gently. Her pen remained motionless above the notepad, her eyes fixed on Selena's face with that careful blend of professional distance and genuine concern that had slowly earned Selena's trust over their sessions.

Selena sighed, gripping the armrests of her chair. “I’d rather talk about something else, if I’m being honest.”

Dr. Bennett set her pen down and leaned forward. "Selena, we've been working together for some time now, and I've noticed a pattern. Whenever we approach these subjects, you retreat. You give me just enough to acknowledge those issues exist, but never enough to process them."

Selena's cheeks flushed. "I'm trying."

"I know you are," Dr. Bennett said, her tone softening. "But I think it's time we address the core issues. Your sexual history isn't just adjacent to your trauma—it appears to be central to it."

Selena's body tensed visibly. She shifted in her seat, her hand moving from her earring to grip the armrest. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Dr. Bennett's voice remained clinical, matter-of-fact. "I'd like to propose a technique I've developed for patients with significant sexual shame, particularly those whose careers have become entangled with their sexuality."

"That sounds..." Selena searched for the right word, her throat suddenly dry. "Intense."

"It is intense. But so is what you're going through." Dr. Bennett adjusted her position, crossing her legs at the ankles. "You've mentioned Benny and your engagement several times in our sessions. But we haven't discussed how your unresolved sexual trauma might affect your marriage."

Selena's stomach clenched. She hadn't expected the conversation to veer in this direction. "Uh, Benny and I are fine," she said defensively, the diamond on her left hand catching the light as she gestured dismissively.

"Last week you described freezing during intimacy with him. You said sometimes when he touches you, you feel like you’re suddenly back in some producer's office, but then you changed the subject.”

"I don't see how dragging all this up is going to help me," Selena said. "What's done is done."

Dr. Bennett leaned back in her chair, studying Selena carefully. "You remember how you found me, don't you?" she asked, her tone conversational but deliberate.

"Taylor, yeah" Selena said simply.

"Yes, Taylor Swift." Dr. Bennett nodded, setting her notepad aside completely now. "She came to me three years ago with similar struggles. Different circumstances, perhaps, but the same core issues—sexuality weaponized against her, intimacy distorted by power dynamics in the industry. She gave me explicit permission to tell you this, by the way. She thought it might help you feel more comfortable."

"Well, she does speak very highly of you," Selena said, fidgeting with the sleeve of her oversized brown sweater. "She said you helped her through some pretty dark stuff."

Dr. Bennett nodded. "And you must understand that, if she felt comfortable recommending me, it is because everything we have discussed remains completely confidential."

"Yeah, she mentioned that too." Selena's dark eyes darted around the room before finally meeting the therapist's gaze. “And that’s why I decided to give this a try. I mean, I’ve been in therapy before but, there's still so much I've never told anyone. Things that would destroy my career if they got out."

Dr. Bennett's expression remained unchanged, professional yet warm. She'd heard confessions that would make tabloid editors salivate, secrets that could topple careers built over decades. Selena's anxiety was nothing new to her.

"That's precisely why this technique might be valuable for you," Dr. Bennett said. “I call it Libidinal Narrative Reprocessing. It involves detailed disclosure of sexual experiences, especially traumatic or shame-inducing ones, followed by cognitive restructuring."

Selena shifted uncomfortably. "You want me to just... what? Tell you every dirty detail of my sex life?"

"Not just tell me," Dr. Bennett clarified, her voice steady. "We would examine these experiences chronologically, analyzing power dynamics, consent issues, and emotional responses to understand how these experiences shaped your relationship with your body, with pleasure, with men."

"I’m really not sure I can be completely upfront about everything,” Selena said, her voice smaller now. "Some things I've never said out loud. Not to anyone."

Dr. Bennett leaned forward, her eyes meeting Selena's directly. "That's precisely why they hold power over you.”

There was a heavy silence that stretched between them. Selena's eyes drifted to the window, watching a hummingbird dart between the flowers in the garden outside.

"I'm scared," Selena finally admitted, her voice cracking slightly. "Not just of someone finding out, but of saying it all out loud. Like, maybe if I keep it locked up inside, I can pretend some of it never happened."

Dr. Bennett nodded, understanding flickering across her features. "That's a common reaction. We build internal vaults for our most painful experiences, thinking we're protecting ourselves. But those vaults have a way of leaking, Selena. The memories seep into your relationships, your career decisions, your self-worth."

Selena's fingers trembled slightly as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You make it sound so simple."

"Not simple," Dr. Bennett corrected. "Necessary."

Outside, the garden's sprinkler system activated with a soft hiss, water droplets catching the late morning sunlight. Selena watched the rhythmic spray, hypnotized by the pattern. "Taylor told me," Selena began, her voice barely audible, "that after she did this with you, she could finally enjoy sex again. That she stopped dissociating during intimacy." She looked up, vulnerability naked in her expression. 

Dr. Bennett nodded. "Taylor made significant progress. But I need to be clear—everyone's journey is different. Therapy isn't magic but, yes, for many of my patients in high-profile positions like yourself, this approach has been transformative."

Selena's gaze drifted to the framed credentials on the wall, the prestigious universities and accolades that had initially convinced her to trust this woman with secrets she'd buried so deep. "Okay then, fuck it," she finally said, squaring her shoulders. "Let's do this. But I need your absolute guarantee that nothing leaves this room."

Dr. Bennett nodded solemnly. "You have my word, professionally and personally. Everything discussed here is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality."

"So…" Selena's fingers twisted the engagement ring on her left hand, spinning it nervously. "Where do we even start with this?"

"Well, I usually like to start with a visualization exercise. I want you to close your eyes and get comfortable. Take three deep breaths for me."

Selena complied, sinking deeper into the leather couch. She inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill her lungs, then released it in a controlled stream.

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine a screen in front of you. Like a movie screen, but it's displaying your memories. You're in control of the memory. Imagine you have a remote control in your hand. You can pause, rewind, fast-forward. At any point, if the memory becomes too overwhelming, you can hit stop."

Selena nodded slightly, her eyelids flickering beneath closed lids.

"I think before we explore anything else, we should establish a baseline understanding of your relationship with your own sexuality." Dr. Bennett said, her voice shifting to a more direct tone. “Can you recall the first time you masturbated?”

Selena's eyes opened, wariness evident in her expression. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to take a step back chronologically. Before the industry, before the men who may have taken advantage of you."

"Jesus," Selena muttered, a flush creeping up her neck. "This is already very uncomfortable."

"I've found that understanding a person's earliest sexual experiences, particularly self-pleasure, provides crucial context for later sexual development," Dr. Bennett explained calmly. "Especially for women raised in religious households."

Selena let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, growing up Catholic, that wasn't exactly encouraged." Her eyes drifted toward the window again, but this time she wasn't really seeing the garden outside. Her mind was somewhere else entirely, back in a small house in Grand Prairie, Texas, seventeen years ago.

"It was the day I found out I got the role on Wizards of Waverly Place. I was fifteen."

Dr. Bennett nodded encouragingly but remained silent, giving Selena space to continue at her own pace.

"My mom got the call from my agent while I was at Middle school. When I got home, she was crying. Happy tears, you know? She hugged me so tight I could barely breathe and kept saying how proud she was." Selena's lips curved into a small, sad smile at the memory. "It was this huge fucking deal for us. Disney Channel. A starring role. The kind of break we'd been grinding for since I was seven. We'd been struggling for years. Audition after audition. My mom had given up everything for me: Relationships, her career, everything. And finally, it had paid off."

Selena twisted her earring again, her eyes focused on some distant point. "There was this... celebration dinner. My mom invited our whole extended family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone. They were all hugging me, telling me I was going to be a star." Her voice hardened slightly. "And I remember one of my uncles saying, 'Our little Selena's going to be famous’"

Dr. Bennett made a small note but kept her eyes on Selena.

"Anyway, after everyone left, I was too wired to sleep. I kept thinking about how everything was about to change. I was going to move to L.A., be on TV, make real money. It was terrifying and exciting all at once." Selena's fingers tapped restlessly against the armrest. "I went to bed around midnight, but I just laid there staring at the ceiling."

"I think it was all the emotions from the Disney news," Selena continued. "Like, this crazy adrenaline rush had nowhere to go. I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about how everything was about to change." She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "My body needed some kind of release and, uh, I don’t know, I had felt tingling down there before, but I'd always ignored it. Catholic guilt and all that shit. But that night was different."

Dr. Bennett nodded, her pen making a soft scratching sound against her notepad.

Selena paused, twisting her engagement ring nervously.

"I had this magazine under my mattress. Teen Vogue or something, and Leonardo DiCaprio was on there. Selena's cheeks flushed deeper. "God, this is embarrassing."

"There's nothing embarrassing about sexual curiosity, especially during adolescence," Dr. Bennett assured her. "Please continue."

Selena exhaled sharply. "Right. So I pulled out this magazine, and I just... started touching myself. Over my pajamas at first, but then..." She paused, swallowing hard. "Then I slipped my hand inside. I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Just that it felt good, and I wanted more of it."

"That's good, Selena," Dr. Bennett said, her voice neither judgmental nor overly encouraging. Just professional. Clinical. "But I notice you're still speaking in generalities. Part of this process is learning to inhabit these memories fully—to claim them as your own experiences rather than distant events that happened to someone else."

Selena's eyes widened. "You want me to go into more detail? About masturbating?"

"Yes." Dr. Bennett's gaze remained steady. "The shame we carry about self-pleasure often connects directly to our inability to advocate for our needs with partners. By reclaiming these private moments, we begin to reclaim agency in shared ones."

"Fuck," Selena muttered, running a hand through her dark hair. "This is—"

"Uncomfortable. Yes. That discomfort is the boundary we need to push through.”

Selena took a deep breath, her eyes drifting closed again. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, almost as if she were talking to herself.

"Okay… So it was this small bedroom with these ridiculous pink walls my mom had painted when I was twelve. Posters everywhere—Britney, Christina, all these women I wanted to be like." She paused. "The house was completely silent.” Selena laughed nervously, running her hand through her dark hair. "Fuck, this is weird." She took a deep breath. "And, uh… I was on my back, in this tiny twin bed with these stupid Disney princess sheets my mom had bought me years before. I remember feeling both too old and too young all at once, like, I was about to be this TV star, but I still had The Little Mermaid on my fucking bedsheets."

Dr. Bennett nodded. "What were you feeling physically?"

Selena's tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I was... hot. There was this ache between my legs that I didn't fully understand, but I knew touching it felt good." She shifted in her seat. "I started with just pressing my palm against myself, over my pajama pants. These stupid cotton ones with clouds on them."

"And then?" Dr. Bennett prompted when Selena fell silent.

“Well, I… slid my hand inside. My fingers were trembling. I remember being surprised at how… wet I was. I didn't know that was normal."

"A common reaction for young women raised in religious households," Dr. Bennett noted. "What did you do next?"

Selena's cheeks burned crimson, but her voice grew steadier. "I… touched myself.”

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly, her pen hovering above her notepad. "You're being vague again, Selena. Remember what we discussed about shame? It thrives in silence and generalities. I need you to be explicit. This technique only works if you push past the abstract descriptions.”

Selena's mouth fell open slightly. "Are you serious? That's... Jesus Christ." She shifted uncomfortably, the leather couch creaking beneath her. "I don't think I can do that."

"You can," Dr. Bennett said, leaning forward. "And you need to. The shame lives in the details you're avoiding. Every time you gloss over the specifics, you're reinforcing the idea that your pleasure is something dirty, something to be hidden."

Selena stared at her therapist, her dark eyes flickering with a mix of disbelief and vulnerability. "This feels fucking insane."

"It feels that way because you've been conditioned to believe your sexuality should be hidden, packaged, managed—never fully expressed or owned."

Selena exhaled sharply, her fingers digging into the leather armrest. "Fine. Fuck it." She closed her eyes, finding it easier to speak without seeing Dr. Bennett's reaction. "I was lying there, and my hand was shaking. I slid my hand down my stomach, under the waistband of my pajamas. I remember how soft my skin felt, how different it was touching myself there compared to anywhere else." She swallowed hard. "I could feel the heat between my legs, and I used my fingers to… spread my lips open. Everything was so… well, wet, and when I touched my clit with just the tip of my finger, this jolt went through my entire body."

Dr. Bennett nodded, her pen making quick, efficient notes.

"I had no idea what I was doing," Selena continued, her voice gaining confidence. "But I circled that spot with my fingertip, slowly at first, then faster. The pressure built so quickly it scared me. I remember biting my lip to keep quiet, terrified my mom would hear me from down the hall. But I kept going, using just the tip of my finger, circling it." Her breathing had quickened slightly. "I didn't even know what it was called then. Just that when I touched that spot, my whole body responded."

Dr. Bennett made a small note. "How did you feel emotionally during this?"

"Guilty. Excited. Powerful." Selena's eyes remained closed, her breathing slightly faster now. "I knew it was supposed to be a sin, but it felt too good to stop. I started circling my clit with my finger, pressing harder when I found a rhythm that worked. My other hand was clamped over my mouth because, again, I was terrified my mom would hear."

"And the magazine? What role did that play?"

Selena let out a small laugh. "I had it propped open with my knee. There was this picture of Leo from Titanic—shirtless, you know? But then it shifted.”

"What do you mean it 'shifted'?" Dr. Bennett asked, her pen poised over her notepad.

"Uh, actually, I don't think I can talk about that," Selena whispered, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. "It's too fucked up."

The therapist set her pen down and leaned forward slightly. "Selena, sexual fantasies often incorporate unexpected elements, especially during formative experiences. There's no judgment here."

"You say that now," Selena muttered, "but you haven't heard what's in my head." She abruptly stood up and walked to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. Outside, the sprinklers had stopped, leaving glistening droplets on the garden foliage.

"Whatever you're about to share," Dr. Bennett said calmly, "I assure you I've heard similar confessions many times before. These thoughts don't define you, Selena."

Selena pressed her forehead against the cool glass. "It shifted to… my uncle," she finally said, her voice barely audible. "The one from the celebration dinner. While I was... touching myself, Leo's face morphed into his in my mind. And I didn't stop."

Dr. Bennett didn't gasp or recoil in horror as Selena had feared. Instead, she maintained that same calm, professional demeanor. "Thank you for sharing that, Selena," she said after a moment.

"I've never told anyone that," Selena whispered. "Not a single fucking soul."

Dr. Bennett nodded. "Fantasy is an incredibly complex psychological space, especially during sexual development. Sexual fantasies, particularly our first ones, often incorporate people or scenarios that might disturb us in our conscious minds. The brain makes connections that aren't always logical or socially acceptable."

"But that's so fucked up," Selena insisted, her voice cracking. "He was my uncle. My Dad’s cousin."

"I understand why this feels disturbing to you," Dr. Bennett said. "But I need you to understand something important: our minds sometimes process complicated emotions through sexual imagery, especially during adolescence. It doesn't mean you wanted anything inappropriate with your uncle."

"Then why would I think about him like that?"

"Let's explore that," Dr. Bennett suggested. "Was there anything specific about that dinner that might have triggered this fantasy?" Dr. Bennett asked, her pen still set aside, her full attention on Selena.

Selena's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sweater sleeve. "He never actually did anything, though," she said, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "That's what makes this so fucking weird. He never touched me inappropriately or said anything explicit. Nothing I could point to and say 'that crossed a line. He didn't actually do anything wrong."

Dr. Bennett nodded, her expression neutral. "Sometimes the subtlest interactions can have the most profound impact on our psyches."

"It was all in the way he looked at me," Selena continued, her eyes fixed on the potted succulent beside Dr. Bennett's desk. "Like he knew something about me that even I didn't know yet." Selena's eyes met Dr. Bennett's. "The most fucked up part is that I liked it. Not in a 'I want to fuck my uncle' way," she hastily added. "But there was something about knowing I had that power over him. Having this grown man look at me like I was something desirable." She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "I was fifteen, awkward as hell, with this body that was starting to change," Selena continued, “My body was changing, my boobs were starting to grow and I was starting to realize I could be sexy. My hips were getting wider, my breasts were filling out—not much, but enough that I'd started wearing a real bra instead of those stupid training ones. I'd catch myself in the mirror sometimes, turning sideways, wondering if boys at school could tell."

Dr. Bennett nodded encouragingly.

"I'd been raised to be modest, you know? But suddenly I had these curves, and I could see how they affected people. Not just my uncle, but everyone. The way casting directors would look at me differently than they had when I was twelve. I'd catch my mom's boyfriends looking sometimes too. Teachers. Friends' dads."

Dr. Bennett nodded. "The transition from childhood to a sexualized body can be particularly jarring for young women in the public eye."

Selena turned away from the window, returning to her seat with a heaviness in her movements. She sank into the leather couch, her fingers absently tracing the stitching on the armrest.

"At the dinner that night—the celebration dinner—I wore this dress my mom had bought specially for the occasion," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Nothing crazy revealing. Just this simple blue dress that was kind of CUTE. But it fit differently than my clothes usually did. The fabric clung to my body, the neckline dipped just enough to show a little bit of cleavage."

Dr. Bennett remained silent, giving Selena space to continue.

"I remember walking into my aunt's dining room and feeling this... shift in the air. The conversations didn't stop, nobody gasped or anything dramatic like that. But I felt eyes on me. My uncle's eyes. Some of my older cousins too." Selena's fingers moved to her collarbone, tracing an invisible line. "But my uncle… He was sitting across from me at dinner, and every time I looked up, he was watching me." She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing. "The fucked up thing is... I liked it. I'd catch him staring, and instead of looking away or feeling disgusted, I'd sit up straighter. Push my chest out a little more. Reach for the salt so my dress would pull tighter across my breasts."

Dr. Bennett's eyes remained neutral, but she leaned forward slightly. "And how did that make you feel, Selena? That awareness of your effect on him?"

Selena's fingers twisted the edge of her sweater, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Powerful. Like I suddenly had this... currency. This way to make people pay attention to me that had nothing to do with how well I could sing or act." She exhaled shakily. "It's fucked up, right? To get off on your uncle looking at you that way?"

"What you're describing is actually quite common," Dr. Bennett said, her voice steady. "Adolescence is when many women first discover the power of their sexuality. The attention you received validated something you were just beginning to understand about yourself."

Selena's shoulders relaxed slightly at the therapist's words. "When dinner was over, everyone started leaving. My mom was in the kitchen helping my aunt clean up." Selena's voice grew quieter, almost confessional. "My uncle approached me and told me how proud he was, how he always knew I'd make it big." She paused, fingers drumming nervously against her thigh. “And then he hugged me. Not like the quick side hugs most relatives give. This was... different." Selena's breathing changed, becoming slightly shallow. "He pressed his entire body against mine. His hands were low on my back, just above my ass. And he held me there for what felt like forever.”

Dr. Bennett watched her carefully, noting the physical reactions accompanying the memory.

"I could feel everything," Selena continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. "His breath on my neck. The scratch of his five o'clock shadow against my cheek. The way his fingers spread out, like he was trying to touch as much of me as possible without crossing an obvious line." She shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "But I don't know," Selena said suddenly, her brow furrowing as she stared down at her hands. "Sometimes I wonder if I made it all more sexual in my head than it actually was. I'm not even sure anymore if it was actually inappropriate, or if I was just... I don't know... already turned on by the whole situation and imagined it was more than a normal family hug." She looked up at Dr. Bennett.

"I was already so... aware of my body that night. So hyper-focused on how people were looking at me. And then later, when I was touching myself..." She trailed off, cheeks burning. "Maybe I just needed someone to fantasize about, and he was there. Maybe there wasn't anything inappropriate about the hug at all."

Dr. Bennett regarded her thoughtfully. "That ambiguity is quite common in situations like these. The lines between appropriate and inappropriate physical contact can be blurry, especially when we're young and still developing our boundaries."

"But that's what makes me feel so fucking sick about it," Selena said, her voice cracking. "Because what if I made it all up? What if he was just giving his niece a congratulatory hug and I turned it into something sexual because I was already feeling... that way?" She pressed her palms against her eyes. "And then I went home and masturbated thinking about him. How fucked up is that?"

"You're being very hard on yourself," Dr. Bennett noted. "You were fifteen, experiencing new sensations, in a heightened emotional state after receiving life-changing news. And you took those emotions into your bedroom that night."

"Yeah." Selena exhaled shakily. “When I went to bed that night," Selena continued, her voice barely audible, "that feeling was still there. This weird mix of disgust and... arousal." She pressed her palms against her eyes, as if trying to physically block the memory. "So when I touched myself, thinking about Leo, my brain just... went there. To him. To that hug. To what might have happened if we'd been alone."

"Can you tell me more about what you imagined?" the therapist asked, her voice neutral yet encouraging. "The specific fantasy that formed around your uncle?"

Selena stood abruptly, pacing toward the window again. The garden outside looked impossibly normal, at odds with the churning in her stomach.

"Remember, Selena, these are thoughts you had as an adolescent discovering her sexuality. There's clinical value in examining them without judgment."

"Jesus, this is so fucked up," Selena muttered. "Fine," she said finally, her back still to Dr. Bennett. "I imagined him following me to my bedroom after everyone left. In my fantasy, he knocked softly on my door, and when I opened it, he just... pushed his way in." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He told me how beautiful I was, how he'd been watching me grow up, waiting for me to become a woman." She turned back to face Dr. Bennett, her cheeks flushed with shame. "In my head, he pushed me onto the bed—those stupid Disney princess sheets—and started kissing my neck. And I didn't fight it.”

“What happened next, in your fantasy?”

"He…" Selena paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "He started undressing me. Slowly. Like he was unwrapping something precious. And all the while, he kept telling me how special I was." She returned to her seat, but perched on the edge, as if ready to flee at any moment. "In my fantasy, we somehow ended up back in my aunt's kitchen. Everyone else had left. It was just us. The dinner dishes were still in the sink." Selena's voice grew husky, her breathing shallow. "He bent me over the same granite counter where I'd helped my aunt arrange appetizers hours earlier.”

Her eyes darted to Dr. Bennett's face, searching for judgment but finding only clinical interest. "In my head, he pushed up that blue dress, bunching it around my waist,” Selena continued. "He whispered in my ear how he'd been watching me all night, how my dress had been driving him crazy."

Dr. Bennett maintained her professional demeanor, though her pen remained motionless above her notepad.

“I imagined him pulling my underwear aside. Not even taking it off, just... moving it enough. And I remember–" Selena's voice caught, her eyes half-lidded now as she sank deeper into the memory. "I remember how in my bedroom, I pressed my face against my pillow to muffle any sounds. My hips were moving on their own, grinding against my hand." Her free hand unconsciously moved to her throat, fingers splaying across her collarbone. " And I was thinking about my uncle whispering these filthy things in my ear, telling me how tight I was, how he'd been waiting for this moment."

She stopped and let out a sigh. "I should probably mention that I'd seen porn before that," she said. “I think that’s probably where most of that stuff was coming from.”

Dr. Bennett tilted her head slightly. "Tell me a little about that."

"It was with my friend Demi. We were both child actors, both hustling for the same Disney roles sometimes. She had an older brother who had this whole secret stash on his computer," Selena said, her voice shifting as the memory crystallized. "I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. We were supposed to be rehearsing lines for some audition, but Demi's parents weren't home, and her brother was out with friends." Selena's eyes took on a distant look. "Demi had this mischievous streak, always pushing boundaries. She asked if I wanted to see something 'totally insane' and we snuck into his bedroom."

Dr. Bennett nodded, making a small note. "And what did you find?"

"Folders and folders of porn.” Selena said with a hollow laugh. “Not just like, Playboy-type stuff. Hard-core videos with these explicit thumbnails. Women bent over, on their knees, faces covered in... you know." She shifted uncomfortably. "We clicked on this video of a girl who looked barely older than us. She was with these three guys, all taking turns with her. The sounds she made..." Selena swallowed hard. "She had this high-pitched voice, fake blonde hair. She was on her knees in this living room, surrounded by these three older guys and they were taking turns... you know, putting themselves in her mouth. Calling her names. Telling her she was a dirty little whore, that sort of thing."

Dr. Bennett nodded, her pen making a quick note. "And how did that make you feel, watching such explicit content at that age?"

"Confused. Disgusted. Turned on." Selena's cheeks flushed darker. "The girl in the video was moaning so loud, taking all these guys at once. Her mascara was running down her face. They were calling her these awful names, and she just kept begging for more. It, uh, really made an impression on me."

Bennett nodded, making a brief note. "Completely normal at that age."

"But the one that really stuck with me was this other scene. The woman was bent over a kitchen counter, and this guy just took her from behind.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, visibly uncomfortable but continuing.

Dr. Bennett observed the physical changes overtaking her patient, the flush spreading across Selena's chest, visible at the neckline of her sweater, the slight parting of her lips, the way her thighs pressed together.

"Did you want to be her?" Dr. Bennett asked abruptly, her eyes fixed on Selena's face.

Selena froze, her mouth slightly open. "What?"

"The women in those videos. Did you fantasize about being them? Being used like that?" Dr. Bennett's tone remained strictly professional.

Selena's throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes darting to the door as if calculating an escape route. "I... that's..."

"It's a simple question, Selena," Dr. Bennett pressed gently. "When you watched those women being objectified, degraded, did part of you want to experience that?"

The color drained from Selena's face, then rushed back in a violent flush. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words caught in her throat. "I... fuck," she whispered. "Yes, but… But that doesn't mean I actually wanted my uncle to—"

"Of course not," Dr. Bennett interjected smoothly. "Fantasy and desire are complex, often contradictory spaces. What we find arousing in our imaginations isn't necessarily what we want in reality. But it is relevant because in that fantasy about your uncle, you cast yourself in that same role; being taken, being used. Being desired so intensely that social boundaries became irrelevant."

Selena stared at Dr. Bennett, her breathing shallow, fingers digging into the leather armrest. The therapist's assessment had struck a nerve so raw she could barely speak.

"I want you to continue," Dr. Bennett said, her voice gentle but firm. "Tell me more about the fantasy with your uncle. What happened after he bent you over the kitchen counter?"

"Jesus Christ," Selena muttered, wiping her palms on her jeans. ""I already told you—"

"You gave me broad strokes. I need you to inhabit that memory fully." Dr. Bennett's voice was gentle but insistent. "The details you're avoiding are precisely the ones that contain the most therapeutic value. The shame you feel isn't just about who was in your fantasy, but what happened in it. What you wanted to happen."

Selena exhaled shakily and closed her eyes again. "Fine. "In my head, he… he was taking me hard from behind, one hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back. He wasn't gentle." Her breathing had grown noticeably heavier, chest rising and falling in a quickened rhythm. A thin sheen of sweat glistened at her temples. "And I… I could feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me completely. I'd never had sex before, never even been fingered, but somehow my body knew what to imagine." A small bead of sweat formed at Selena's temple, trailing down along her jawline. She didn't bother to wipe it away, too lost in the recollection. "I remember the way my imagination filled in all these details I couldn't possibly have known, like, the weight of an adult man on me or his warm breath against my neck.” Her fingers trembled against the armrest. "And when he, when my uncle, started to move faster, I did too. My fingers were frantic against my… clitoris, circling harder, faster."

Selena's fingers gripped the armrest, knuckles white. "In my fantasy, he was groaning my name against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. Telling me I was his good girl, his perfect little niece." Her breath hitched, a small gasp escaping her lips before she caught herself. "And when I came, it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. I had to bite down on my pillow to keep from screaming." She swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. "When it was over, I just lay there trembling. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. My body felt like… I don’t know, like it belonged to someone else."

Selena's eyes flew open suddenly, awareness flooding back. The flush on her cheeks deepened from arousal to mortification as she realized how carried away she'd gotten. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, tugging at her sweater.

"Jesus," she said, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, her body still thrumming with unwanted arousal. "I got really... carried away." Selena's hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water on the side table. She took a long sip, buying herself time to regain composure.

"You've shown remarkable courage today," Dr. Bennett said. "What you just shared—that level of vulnerability and honesty; that's the foundation of real healing."

"It doesn't feel like courage," Selena muttered. "It feels like I'm fucked up beyond repair."

"May I share an observation?"

Selena nodded, her fingers still trembling slightly as she set the water glass back down.

Dr. Bennett leaned forward, her professional demeanor intact but with a new intensity in her gaze. "When you described that fantasy just now, your entire physiological state changed. Your breathing quickened, your pupils dilated, your skin flushed." She gestured subtly toward Selena's body. "Your physical response was immediate and powerful, suggesting this particular fantasy still holds significant emotional and sexual charge for you. You were aroused by the memory of the fantasy, not just recounting it."

"That's not exactly comforting," Selena muttered, tugging at the sleeve of her sweater.

“Perhaps not," Dr. Bennett acknowledged, "but it's clinically significant. The shame you've carried about this fantasy—the way you've buried it so deeply—has given it undue power over your sexuality." She paused, selecting her next words carefully. "I'd like you to revisit this fantasy deliberately. I believe you should try masturbating to that fantasy again. Deliberately, mindfully, and without shame."

Selena's eyes widened, her body tensing visibly. "You want me to get myself off thinking about my uncle? That's your professional recommendation?" Her voice cracked with disbelief.

Dr. Bennett remained composed, her eyes fixed steadily on Selena's. "Not exactly. What I'm suggesting is more nuanced. I want you to reclaim this fantasy from the shadows of shame. To experience it knowingly, with adult awareness, rather than letting it lurk in your subconscious."

"That sounds like some seriously fucked up exposure therapy," Selena said, running a trembling hand through her hair.

"In a way, it is," Dr. Bennett acknowledged. "But with a crucial difference. Traditional exposure therapy gradually desensitizes you to something that causes anxiety. This is about integration—acknowledging the fantasy as part of your sexual development without letting it define you."

Selena shook her head, incredulous. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that? Go home and just... get myself off while thinking about my uncle?"

"Actually, I think it would be more therapeutically valuable if you did it here. Now."

The silence that followed was deafening. Selena's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in shock.

"You want me to masturbate... here? In front of you?"

"Yes," Dr. Bennett said simply. "Under my guidance, in a controlled, therapeutic environment. I call it Psychosexual Catharsis Externalization."

Selena laughed nervously, certain this was some sort of test or joke. "That can't be ethical. Or legal."

It's both, actually," Dr. Bennett replied, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. "It's called surrogate partner therapy, though what I'm suggesting is a modified version. It's an established therapeutic approach for addressing severe sexual trauma and dysfunction." She stood and walked to a discreet cabinet in the corner of her office. "I've used this technique with several high-profile clients, including Taylor."

Selena watched, dumbfounded, as Dr. Bennett retrieved what looked like a small remote control from the cabinet.

"Taylor did this?" she finally asked. "This specific... exercise?"

Dr. Bennett nodded, pressing a button on the remote. The blinds on the office windows automatically closed, and the lighting dimmed to a soft, ambient glow. "Yes. After considerable hesitation, much like what you're experiencing now." Dr. Bennett returned to her chair, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Think about what just happened, Selena. Simply recounting that fantasy verbally triggered a powerful physiological response. You became aroused despite your conscious feelings of shame and disgust."

Selena shifted uncomfortably, unable to deny the lingering wetness between her thighs. "This is insane. People would kill to get this kind of dirt on me. 'Disney Star Masturbates in Therapy Session'—can you imagine the headlines?"

"Everything that happens in this room is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality," Dr. Bennett reminded her. "And, because of the high-profile nature of my patients, this office is swept weekly for recording devices. There are no cameras, no possibility of exposure."

"I can't believe we're even discussing this," Selena whispered, her voice barely audible. "This is so beyond anything I expected from therapy."

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly, her professional demeanor unwavering. "Think about why you're here, Selena. You came to me because traditional approaches haven't worked. Your sexual trauma isn't resolving through conventional talk therapy."

"Okay, but this feels… extreme."

"What's extreme is continuing to allow these unprocessed sexual experiences to control your life," Dr. Bennett countered before removing her glasses, a subtle shift that made her appear less clinical, more approachable.

Selena paced the perimeter of the office, her fingers trailing along the spines of the psychology textbooks lining the shelves. "And Taylor really did this? It's not just some bullshit to convince me?"

"She did," Dr. Bennett confirmed. "And she gave me explicit permission to tell you so. In fact, she suspected we might reach this point in your treatment."

That revlation stopped Selena in her tracks. "She knew you'd ask me to do this?"

"She knew it might be necessary, yes." Dr. Bennett stood once more and walked to a discrete cabinet, returning with a plush throw blanket in a neutral taupe color.

Selena's fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her sweater. But this isn't..." Selena gestured vaguely, struggling to articulate her objection. "This isn't normal therapy."

"No," Dr. Bennett agreed, her voice soft but firm. "It's not conventional. But neither is your situation." She leaned forward, her eyes meeting Selena's directly. "You're a globally recognized woman whose sexuality has been commodified since adolescence. Your sexual development occurred in the spotlight, under the crushing weight of purity culture and the predatory gaze of an industry that sexualized you while simultaneously demanding you remain virginal."


Selena's shoulders slumped slightly. The therapist's assessment hit uncomfortably close to home.

"You've performed sexuality for years,” Dr. Bennett continued, “In music videos, photoshoots, performances. Always for others, always within carefully controlled parameters. When was the last time you experienced sexual pleasure that was truly, solely for yourself?"

Selena paced nervously, her fingers twisting together. "But I can't just... get off in front of you. That's fucking weird."

"Let me explain exactly what I'm proposing," Dr. Bennett said, her voice taking on that soothing, authoritative tone that had earned Selena's trust over the past two months. "I'll remain seated here, at a respectful distance. You'll lie on the couch, under the blanket if you prefer. I'll guide you through a mindfulness exercise while you touch yourself. Think about it. You've simulated sexual acts in music videos watched by millions. You've performed choreography designed to mimic sexual movements on stage. You've posed in lingerie for magazine covers." She paused, letting the words sink in. "The difference is that those performances were for others—for executives, for fans, for the public. The goal today isn't performance or even orgasm—it's reconnecting with your body without shame."

Selena looked away, unable to meet Dr. Bennett's gaze as the truth of her words penetrated the carefully constructed walls she'd built around herself. The therapist was right—her entire career had been built on the commodification of her sexuality, always for others, never truly for herself.

"And you won't... touch me or anything?" Selena asked, needing absolute clarity on the boundaries.

"Absolutely not," Dr. Bennett assured her. "I remain here, in this chair. My role is purely as a guide and witness."

Selena's eyes darted around the room, landing on the locked door, the closed blinds, the soft throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch. Her body still hummed with the residual arousal from recounting her teenage fantasy. "Oh God… Okay, fuck it," she finally said, throwing her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’ve done weirder shit than this and for way less healthy reasons.”

Dr. Bennett didn't smile or show relief at Selena's decision. She simply nodded, professional and composed. "I'll guide you through the process. You can stop at any time, no questions asked."


Selena moved to the couch, perching awkwardly on its edge. "So do I just... take off my pants or what?"

"Whatever feels comfortable," Dr. Bennett replied. "Some patients prefer to stay fully clothed and simply reach beneath garments. Others prefer partial undressing for better access."

Selena's fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans. "This is so fucking weird," she muttered, though there was less resistance in her voice now. She slid her jeans down her legs, revealing simple black cotton thong.

"I'll keep these on," she said, gesturing to her underwear and oversized sweater. "If that's okay."

"Of course," Dr. Bennett agreed. "Lie back when you're ready."

Selena took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders like she was about to walk onstage. "Okay. Fine. Let's do this before I lose my nerve." She settled onto the couch, pulling the soft throw blanket over her lower half. The leather was cool against her bare legs, making her shiver slightly. "Now what?" she asked, her voice small in the dimly lit room.

"Take a deep breath, Selena," Dr. Bennett instructed, her voice shifting to that hypnotic, soothing cadence she used during guided meditations. "I want you to close your eyes and focus on the sensation of air filling your lungs. Feel your chest rise and fall."

Selena complied, her eyelids fluttering shut. The office faded into darkness, leaving only Dr. Bennett's voice to anchor her.

"Good. Now I want you to bring awareness to your body. Start at your toes and slowly move upward. Notice any tension, any areas of heat or cold."

Selena's breath caught slightly as she became acutely aware of the pulsing heat between her legs—the arousal that hadn't fully subsided.

"That's right," Dr. Bennett murmured, as if reading her thoughts. "Don't judge any sensations. Simply observe them."

Selena shifted slightly beneath the blanket, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.

"Now I want you to place your hand on your stomach," Dr. Bennett continued. "Just above your navel. Feel the warmth of your palm through the fabric of your sweater."

Selena complied, her fingers trembling slightly as they splayed across her abdomen.

"Now, I want you to bring that fantasy back into your mind. Don't fight it, don't judge it. Just let it surface naturally."

Selena's breathing quickened perceptibly. "I don't know if I can," she whispered.

"You can," Dr. Bennett assured her. "Your body remembers. Let yourself return to that night—the excitement of the Disney role, the celebration dinner, your uncle's gaze, the quiet of your bedroom afterward."

Selena's fingers curled against her abdomen, her nails lightly scraping the fabric of her sweater. Behind closed eyelids, fragments of the memory began to crystallize—the blue dress, her uncle's eyes following her across the dining room, the hard press of his body during that ambiguous hug.

"Move your hand lower," Dr. Bennett instructed, her voice maintaining that steady, hypnotic quality. "Just to the waistband of your underwear. Pause there."

Selena's hand drifted downward, her fingers tracing a hesitant path over her stomach until they rested at the elastic edge of her cotton underwear. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal flooding her system.

"The fantasy is just a fantasy, Selena," Dr. Bennett reminded her. "It doesn't define you. It doesn't reflect what you truly want. It's simply your young mind processing complex emotions through the lens of emerging sexuality."

Selena nodded almost imperceptibly, her fingers playing with the elastic band, not quite dipping beneath it.

"Remember that first time," Dr. Bennett suggested, her voice barely above a whisper now. "Not with shame, but with curiosity. Return to that moment of discovery."

Selena's fingers dipped lower, brushing against the soft thatch of hair between her legs. She gasped softly at the contact.

"That's it," Dr. Bennett encouraged. "Stay with the sensation. Tell me what you're seeing," Dr. Bennett said softly. "What images are coming to you?"

"I'm back in my bedroom," Selena whispered, her fingers moving with more confidence now. "The walls are pink. There's a poster of Britney above my bed."

"Good," Dr. Bennett encouraged from somewhere far away. "Stay with the memory. What happens next?"

Selena's middle finger slid between her folds, her breath catching at how wet she already was. "I'm in bed. The house is quiet. I can hear the ceiling fan clicking above me."

Her hips shifted slightly on the leather couch, pressing upward into her touch. The shame that had accompanied this fantasy for years began to dissolve.

"I'm thinking about the way he looked at me during dinner," she continued, her voice taking on a dreamy, distant quality. "How his eyes followed me when I got up to help serve dessert. How they lingered on my legs, my ass, my breasts." Selena's breath hitched as her middle finger found her clit, circling it tentatively. "I'm back in that kitchen," she whispered, her voice thick with embarrassment and growing desire. "After everyone left. Just me and him." Her finger moved in lazy circles, gathering wetness, spreading it over her sensitive flesh. The fantasy unfolded behind her closed eyelids with startling clarity, as vivid as if it were happening now rather than being remembered. "He's looking at me differently than he did during dinner," Selena continued, her words punctuated by shallow breaths. "More... hungry. Like he doesn't care anymore if anyone notices." Her hips shifted restlessly beneath the blanket, seeking more pressure against her fingers. The leather couch creaked softly beneath her. "I'm still wearing that blue dress," she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. He tells me… how beautiful I look. How he's watched me grow up. How he's always known I'd be ready for him one day."

Dr. Bennett remained silent, giving Selena space to immerse herself in the fantasy without interruption. The only sound in the office was Selena's increasingly labored breathing and the whisper of her fingers moving beneath the blanket.

“He's backing me against the counter," Selena continued, her words coming faster now. "His hands are on my waist, then sliding lower. He's telling me how he's thought about this, about me, for months." Her fingers moved more deliberately now, two of them sliding inside herself while her thumb continued circling her clit. "I should be disgusted, I should push him away, but instead I'm pressing against him, feeling how hard he is through his pants."

A small moan escaped her lips before she could catch it. Her eyes flew open momentarily, meeting Dr. Bennett's calm, clinical gaze before squeezing shut again, sinking deeper into the fantasy.

"He turns me around," Selena whispered, her hips now moving in rhythm with her fingers, her free hand moving to her breast, kneading it through her sweater. "Bends me over the counter. The marble is cold against my cheek, but his body is so hot behind me. He pushes my dress up, bunching it around my waist. His fingers hook into my underwear, pulling it aside."

Selena's breathing grew more ragged as she lost herself in the fantasy, her fingers moving with increasing urgency beneath the blanket. The soft wool slipped down her legs as her hips bucked involuntarily, exposing her black cotton underwear and the rhythmic movement of her hand beneath the thin fabric.

"He's pressing against me from behind," she gasped, no longer caring about the vulnerability of her position. "I can feel how hard he is, straining against his pants. His breath is hot against my neck, and his hands—" She broke off with a shuddering moan. "His hands are everywhere."

As Selena's movements became more pronounced, her free hand moved to the hem of her oversized sweater, pushing it up to expose a strip of olive skin at her midriff. Her fingers danced across her stomach, tracing invisible patterns that made her shiver. "One hand is in my hair," Selena whispered, her voice thick with arousal. "Pulling it just hard enough to make me arch my back. The other is between my legs, his fingers pushing inside me." Her own fingers mimicked the fantasy, sliding deeper inside herself as her thumb continued its relentless circles against her clit. "I'm so fucking wet for him. So ready."

The blanket fell completely to the floor now, forgotten as Selena's legs spread wider on the leather couch. Her black underwear was visibly soaked, her fingers moving with increasing urgency beneath the cotton.

"Tell me more about the things he says to you," Dr. Bennett prompted, her voice maintaining that professional distance despite the increasingly explicit scene unfolding before her.

Selena's body arched as her fingers worked with increasing urgency beneath the thin cotton of her underwear. "He's whispering in my ear," she gasped, the fantasy crystallizing with shocking clarity. "Telling me what a dirty little slut I am. How he knew all along I wanted this."

"Is he using those exact words?" Dr. Bennett asked, her clinical tone somehow grounding Selena rather than pulling her from the moment.

"Yes," Selena replied, her voice huskier, almost unrecognizable as the words tumbled out. "He's saying, 'You like that, don't you? You like taking your uncle's cock like the whore you are.'" A deep flush spread across her chest as she repeated the words, the same filthy dialogue she'd heard years ago in Demi's brother's videos now pouring from her uncle's mouth in her fantasy. "He's calling me his little slut," Selena gasped, her fingers working faster now. "Telling me how tight my pussy is, how wet I am for him. He's saying I've been teasing him all night, that I wanted this to happen."

The sweater inched higher as Selena's hand moved upward, revealing the lace edge of a simple black bra. Her chest heaved with each labored breath, nipples visibly hard beneath the thin fabric.

"He's whispering in my ear," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Telling me he's going to fuck me so good, that he's been dreaming about this for years." Her fingers found her breast, squeezing it roughly through her bra. "He's saying I was made for this, made to be fucked by him. "I can feel him pressing against me," she gasped, her hips lifting off the couch. "The head of his cock pushing inside, stretching me, filling me." Her back arched as she pinched her nipple through her bra, a small cry escaping her lips. "It hurts, but in this perfect way that makes me want more."

Dr. Bennett remained seated, maintaining her professional demeanor despite the explicit scene unfolding before her. "Stay with that sensation," she encouraged. "Don't judge it, just experience it fully."

Selena's inhibitions seemed to melt away with each passing moment. Her thighs were spread wider now, her underwear pushed aside to allow her fingers better access. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her olive skin, her big tits rising and falling rapidly beneath the oversized sweater.

"Too many clothes," she muttered, momentarily breaking from the fantasy. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Dr. Bennett's steady gaze. "Is it okay if I...?"

Dr. Bennett nodded. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Selena. This is your space."

With trembling fingers, Selena pulled her sweater over her head, revealing a simple black bral that matched her practical underwear. The cool air of the office pebbled her skin, her nipples hardening visibly beneath the thin fabric.

"Better," she sighed, sinking back into the couch, her eyes closing once more. Her hand returned between her legs, finding her clit with ease. "He's fucking me harder now," she continued, her voice thick with arousal. "One hand is in my hair, pulling my head back so I have to arch my spine. The other is gripping my hip so hard I know it'll leave bruises."

Her free hand moved to her breast, kneading it through the bra before slipping beneath the fabric to pinch her nipple. "God, I'm so wet," she moaned, her inhibitions dissolving with each passing second. "I can hear how wet I am, the sound of him sliding in and out." Her fingers moved faster, mimicking the rhythm of her fantasy. "He's telling me how perfect I am, how tight I am, how he knew I'd feel this good."

Her hips bucked off the couch as she slid a second finger inside herself, her thumb still circling her clit with increasing urgency. The bra felt constricting now, an unwelcome barrier between her fingers and her aching nipples. "Fuck it," she muttered, reaching behind her back to unhook the clasp with practiced ease. The black fabric fell away, exposing her heavy breasts to the cool air of the office. Huge but perfectly formed, they heaved with each labored breath, pink nipples pebbled into hard peaks.

Dr. Bennett's expression remained unchanged, her professional demeanor unwavering despite Selena's increasing nudity. "Stay with the fantasy," she encouraged. "What's happening now?"

Selena's hand cupped her breast, fingers pinching and rolling her nipple as her other hand worked between her legs. All pretense of modesty had vanished, her underwear now pushed completely to the side, exposing her glistening sex to the dim light of the office.

"He's fucking me so hard the counter is digging into my hips," she gasped, her voice raw with need. "He's telling me I was made for this, that my tight little pussy belongs to him now." Her back arched off the couch as her fingers curled inside herself. "And I'm begging for more, telling him how much I love his big cock, how I've never felt anything so good," Selena moaned, her voice transforming into something unrecognizable—higher, breathier, mimicking the pornographic actress from years ago. "Yes, yes, fuck me harder! I'm your dirty little slut!" she cried out, the words flowing from her lips without conscious thought. ”'Fuck me harder, Uncle Mike,'" Selena gasped, the words pouring out now, unstoppable. “'Your cock feels so good inside me’”.

The fantasy was consuming her now, reality fading until there was nothing but sensation—the slick heat between her legs, the aching fullness of her breasts, the tightening coil of pleasure building at her core.

"I don't care that he's my uncle anymore," she moaned, her inhibitions completely shed. "I don't care that it's wrong. It feels too fucking good to stop." Her fingers moved faster, her thumb pressing harder against her clit. "He's telling me I'm his good girl, his perfect little niece, taking his cock so well."

With a sudden, desperate movement, Selena hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear and shoved them down her thighs, kicking them off completely. She lay fully exposed now on Dr. Bennett's leather couch, legs spread wide, one hand working frantically between them while the other alternated between her breasts.

"That's it," Dr. Bennett encouraged, her voice maintaining that perfect balance of clinical detachment and genuine support. "Your body is yours to enjoy, Selena. There's no shame in that."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered, but there was wonder in her voice rather than shame. Her fingers returned to her pussy, spreading her lips apart to better access her swollen clit. "Oh god, that feels so good."

"He's fucking me like he owns me, like I'm just a thing to be used." Her free hand moved between her breasts, trailing down her stomach before joining the other between her legs. "He's spreading me open, telling me I’m his little whore, his dirty fucking niece."

"What else does he say?" Dr. Bennett prompted. "Don't censor yourself."

Selena's eyes squeezed shut tighter, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "He's saying, 'Your tight little cunt was made for your uncle's cock.'" She moaned deeply, her fingers moving in frantic circles as her back arched off the couch, a low moan escaping her parted lips.

"He's saying I asked for it when I put on that little blue dress," Selena gasped, her fingers working frantically between her spread thighs. "He's telling me how my tight little cunt was made to be fucked by him, how he's going to ruin me for any other man," she whimpered, adding a second finger, then a third. The stretch burned deliciously, her pussy clenching around the intrusion. "He's so big, stretching me so much it hurts, but I don't want him to stop."

Dr. Bennett shifted slightly in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Stay with that feeling," she instructed, her voice steady despite the explicit scene unfolding before her. "Don't judge it, just experience it fully."

Selena’s head thrashed against the leather couch, dark hair splayed wildly around her flushed face. The fantasy was consuming her now, each filthy word from her imagined uncle's mouth driving her closer to the edge. "'You've been teasing me for years with these fat tits and tight ass,'" Selena moaned, giving voice to her uncle's words in the fantasy. "'Now take this cock like the dirty little whore you are. Your pussy belongs to me now.'"

"That's it," Dr. Bennett encouraged, her voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence. "Let yourself feel everything. Don't hold back."

Selena's entire body was a live wire now, every nerve ending firing with electric pleasure. Her fingers worked frantically between her spread legs, three of them pumping in and out while her other hand rubbed desperate circles around her swollen clit. The obscene wet sounds of her movements filled the office, punctuated by her increasingly desperate moans.

"He's going to come," she gasped, lost completely in the fantasy now. "He's telling me he's going to fill me up, mark me as his." Her hips lifted entirely off the couch, thighs trembling with exertion. "And I want it. I want him to come inside me, to claim me."

Dr. Bennett leaned forward slightly, her professional demeanor intact but her eyes reflecting intense clinical interest. "Stay with that feeling, Selena.”

“FUUUUUCK!” Selena moaned, her voluptuous body writhing on the leather couch, her curves glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her massive breasts—the ones that had launched a thousand fantasies for fans worldwide—bounced freely now, unrestrained and hypnotic in their movement, heaving with each ragged breath, jiggling with every desperate thrust of her hips.

"OH GOD I’M GETTING CLOSE," she panted, her voice barely recognizable—raw, primal, stripped of all the careful polish of her public persona. This wasn't Selena Gomez the pop star or Selena Gomez the actress. This was just Selena the woman—stripped to her most authentic self.

Every roll and curve of her fuller figure now moved in hypnotic rhythm as she approached climax. Her stomach, softer and rounder than in her earlier years, tensed and relaxed with each thrust of her fingers that curled inside herself, finding that perfect spot that made her vision blur at the edges. "I’m gonna come," she gasped, her back arching off the couch. "Oh God…."

Dr. Bennett's voice cut through the haze of pleasure, grounding her even as she spiraled higher. "That's it, Selena. Your pleasure belongs to you. Claim it."

Something about those words—the permission, the validation—pushed Selena to a new level of abandonment. Her inhibitions completely shattered, she spread her legs wider, one knee bent and foot planted on the couch to give herself better access.

"In your fantasy," Dr. Bennett prompted, leaning forward slightly in her chair, "what is your uncle saying to you now? As he's about to climax?"

"That I'm his," Selena gasped, the words tumbling out before she could censor them. "That I've always been his. That he's marking me, claiming me." Her back arched sharply, her toes curling against the edge of the couch. "He's saying no one else will ever fuck me this good, that I'll think of him every time—every time—"

She broke off with a strangled cry as the first wave of orgasm crashed through her. Her body convulsed, thighs clamping around her hand as her pussy pulsed violently around her fingers. The fantasy crystallized behind her closed eyelids—her uncle's weight pressing her against the kitchen counter, his breath hot against her neck, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his come.

"Oh god, oh god, oh fuck," she sobbed, riding the wave as it built rather than crested, pleasure spiraling higher instead of diminishing. Her free hand clutched desperately at her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to bruise as her hips bucked wildly against her fingers.

"That's it," Dr. Bennett encouraged, her voice a steady anchor in the storm of sensation. "Let it wash over you. Enjoy every second of it."

Selena's body went slack against the leather couch, her muscles giving out as the intense waves of pleasure gradually subsided. Her chest heaved with each labored breath, sweat glistening on her flushed skin. For several moments, she floated in the aftermath, eyes still closed, fingers still buried inside herself as the last aftershocks rippled through her body. As the powerful waves of pleasure receded, reality came crashing back with brutal force. Her eyes flew open, suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness, her splayed legs, the slick wetness coating her inner thighs.

"I didn't mean to... I got carried away," she stammered, unable to meet Dr. Bennett's eyes. She lunged for the throw blanket that had fallen to the floor, yanking it over her naked body with frantic, jerky movements. The soft fabric settled over her like a shield as she curled inward, her knees drawing up to her chest beneath the protective layer. "Fuck," she muttered, one hand emerging from the blanket cocoon to push sweat-dampened hair from her face. "I'm so sorry. That was... Jesus Christ, I completely lost control."

Dr. Bennett's expression remained professionally neutral, though her eyes held genuine compassion. "There's nothing to apologize for, Selena. This was the purpose of the exercise—to allow yourself complete freedom of expression."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect to..." Selena gestured vaguely at her disheveled state, her voice dropping to a mortified whisper, “to completely strip and get off like that. In front of someone else. In fucking therapy."

Dr. Bennett leaned forward, setting her notepad aside completely. Her eyes held no judgment, only a quiet pride that caught Selena off guard. "What you just experienced, was a significant breakthrough," she said, her voice warm with genuine approval.

Selena pulled her sweater over her head. "Well, it definitely felt… different," she admitted quietly. "Not just physically, but... emotionally."

"Different how?" Dr. Bennett prompted.

Selena struggled to find the words, her fingers absently tracing patterns on her thigh. "Less... shameful?" She looked up, meeting Dr. Bennett's eyes directly for the first time since her orgasm. "Is that the breakthrough?"

"Precisely," Dr. Bennett nodded. "You allowed yourself to fully inhabit a fantasy that has haunted you for years—one you've buried under layers of shame and self-recrimination. You allowed yourself to experience that fantasy without judgment and claimed ownership of your pleasure without shame." She then glanced at the elegant watch on her wrist and straightened her posture. "I think we've made excellent progress today, but our time is running short. Why don't you get fully dressed, and we can discuss next steps before you leave?"

Selena blinked, suddenly aware of her state of dishevelment—sweater hastily pulled on, underwear still somewhere on the floor, hair a tangled mess. "Right. Of course." She said, scrambling to locate her discarded clothing. As she pulled her underwear back on, the cotton fabric uncomfortably clinging to her still-damp skin, Selena felt a strange mix of embarrassment and liberation.

Dr. Bennett retrieved a small packet of cleansing wipes from her desk drawer and offered them to Selena. "Many patients find this part—the return to conventional social boundaries—somewhat jarring after such an intimate experience. It's perfectly normal." She then turned her back to Selena, offering a semblance of privacy. "Take your time. There's a bathroom through that door if you'd like to freshen up."

Selena accepted the wipes gratefully, cleaning her fingers and attempting to fix her smudged makeup. "Does it get less weird? If we do this again, I mean."

Dr. Bennett's expression softened, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. "Less weird? Perhaps. But I wouldn't expect it to ever feel entirely conventional." She returned to her chair, crossing her legs professionally. "What you need to understand, Selena, is that we're just getting started."

Selena paused mid-motion, her hand frozen in the act of smoothing her hair. "Just... started?"

"Today was merely the first step in reclaiming your sexuality," Dr. Bennett explained, making a brief note in her leather-bound journal. "We've addressed one formative fantasy, but there are years of sexual experiences—both consensual and coerced—that we need to process."

"You mean we'll be doing... this... again?" Selena gestured vaguely at the couch, her cheeks flushing anew.

"In various forms, yes. Next session, I'd like to begin exploring your first actual sexual encounter—not fantasy, but reality." Dr. Bennett's tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing something as mundane as dietary habits. "The exercise will be different, but the goal remains the same: integration rather than compartmentalization."

Selena sank back onto the edge of the couch, suddenly light-headed. "Jesus Christ."

"I know it seems overwhelming," Dr. Bennett acknowledged, glancing at her watch. "But I'd like you to reflect on how you feel right now, physically and emotionally.”

“Honestly, it feels like… I don’t know, like I’m lighter now somehow? And not just because of the, uh, orgasm.”

“We’ll discuss that next week.” Dr. Bennett extended her hand in a formal handshake, the gesture so incongruously professional after what they'd just shared that Selena almost laughed.

She took Dr. Bennett's outstretched hand, the formal handshake feeling absurdly clinical after what they'd just shared.

"Same time next week?" Dr. Bennett asked, already turning to her computer to make the appointment.

"Yeah," Selena said, gathering her purse and phone. "Same time."

—

To Be Continued...