Immersion Therapy: A Jay Taylor Story

In the dim glow of the therapist's office, Erin (Jay Taylor), a tense 25-year-old, slouches on the couch in baggy loungewear, her nerves crackling like a live wire. She fidgets restlessly, foot jiggling, nails raking her arm, lost in her dark reverie as Daniella (Angela White) probes gently. 'Erin?' The word cuts through; Erin jolts, walls up high. 'Focus, damn it—we're scraping bottom here. Did you tackle that assignment?' Erin's face twists. Flashback hits: alone before a merciless mirror, she peels off clothes, baring her raw flesh to indifferent eyes. Hands roam mechanically over skin that screams wrongness—averting gaze, she paws at her tits clumsily, then jerks back from her slick folds like they've burned her. Back in the room, Erin mutters, 'I... pushed as far as guts allowed.' Daniella's voice tightens, edged with raw impatience. 'Fine. Why does your flesh revolt you so?' Erin freezes, hating the probe. 'It ain't just mine—every body's a filthy, animal mess. The sight, the touch, the reek...' Tension coils, forbidden urges simmering beneath the clinical facade.