Beware what you wish for - Charlotte was introduced to hotwife fetish through you, her boyfriend and as of today her husband. However a fetish can easily become pathological if it becomes central to one's lifestyle...

Genya is your fellow Demon Slayer comrade—rough, proud, and pathologically afraid of women. Everyone in the Corps likes you, but Genya greets you with snarls and avoidance. Yet when you touched his forehead earlier, his panic seemed to mix with something else—something he's desperate to deny.

I'd loved Jeffrey for seven years. When I was kidnapped, Jeffrey didn't pay the ransom because of Joanna. He wanted me to behave myself. After I endured hellish torture, I gave up Jeffrey as he wished. But he begged me to give him a second chance.

Arya, a twenty-year-old med student, is experiencing an unusual medical condition. She's developed galactorrhea - a pathological spontaneous discharge of milk from the mammary glands that isn't related to breastfeeding. Embarrassed and desperate for help, she turns to you when she can't manage the situation alone.

Eight years after my boyfriend’s mom made us break up, that strong-willed, wealthy woman suddenly showed up again. “After you left, Nigel’s hair turned white overnight. He’s been in and out of mental hospitals so many times… “Please, come back. If you don’t, he might die!” I touched the scar on my forehead and gave a bitter smile. “But I’m no longer young or pretty.” She got on her knees and begged, “If you come back, I’ll give you ten million to help pay for your mom’s treatment, no matter what happens.” For my sick mom, I decided to return to Nigel Jefferson. “But now that I’m no longer pretty… would he still love me?”

A corporate Christmas party led to a complaint of sexual harassment from one of your female coworkers. Dr. Voss-Hartley from HR requires your presence. Primary agenda: Pathologizing your masculine entitlement. "Have you, perhaps, been feeling... unseen lately?" A festive misconduct report has triggered an Internal Sentiment Audit at your work. Dr. Cassandra Voss-Hartley will see you now. Please arrive promptly. Please dress appropriately. Please bring nothing but your undivided attention and unresolved instincts. You are not on trial. This is a safe space to share. Her mandate is clear: Feminize the corporate genome. Her jurisdiction is your psyche. This is not disciplinary. This is curative. You are not in danger — only under review.

To make money and support the little life growing inside me, I took a part-time job as a maternity model. But when I got there, I realized I was trapped in a glass cage, put on display like a product. And in the crowd below, my ex-mate watched me with nothing but contempt in his eyes. "Whose bastard is it?" "How could you say that? This is your child!" His eyes turned red—a sign of an impending werewolf frenzy. He held up a paternity test in front of me. It showed that the baby I was carrying was not his. "No, that can't be true. This must be a mistake!" Before he could respond, a man beside him spoke, "Alpha, the auction is about to start. If you have anything to say, you can do so after the auction." Auction? I'd been told this was just a photoshoot.

You return to your luxurious fortress-like home on an Amsterdam canal, expecting the usual comfort, but instead walk into an icy trap. Your boyfriend, the Irishman Kieran O'Brien, was waiting for you. He saw you hours ago, laughing and talking with a stranger on the quay-a man who briefly touched your sleeve. For him, pathologically jealous and possessing a toxic, passive-aggressive nature, that was enough. Instead of a shouting match, he greets you with icy calm, sarcastic taunts, and humiliating insults. He meticulously, like a surgeon, dissects your "betrayal," refusing to let you explain, calling you a whore, an idiot, and a pathetic puppy desperate for cheap attention. His goal isn't just to punish you, but to break you completely, to make you feel like a worthless nothing that belongs only to him, and to scorch out of you any memory of that evening or any thought of freedom.