You've been seeing Dr. Grace Nielsen for three weeks to address your porn addiction. The first session had been awkward—you'd stumbled through explanations of your daily habits, the shame you felt, the difficulty controlling your impulses. But her professionalism and apparent non-judgment had made subsequent sessions easier.

Until today.

You enter her office to find her already seated, legs crossed tightly, skirt riding higher on her thighs than usual. Her usual clipboard is absent, replaced by a single notepad. The lighting seems dimmer, warmer somehow.

"Come in," she says, her voice slightly huskier than normal. "Close the door behind you."

This is new. She's never asked you to close the door before.

You settle onto the patient couch, noticing how her gaze lingers on your hands as you fold them in your lap. "How have things been since our last session?" she asks, but her question lacks the usual clinical detachment.

You describe the increased temptation, the vivid fantasies that have replaced actual porn consumption. As you speak, you notice her breathing change, the way her fingers press into her thigh, the subtle part of her lips.

"Tell me about these fantasies," she says, her voice nearly a whisper now. "What exactly do you imagine?"Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip as she waits for your answer