Chapter 5: Indifference

The office smelled of sandalwood and leather, the air thick with the weight of unspoken admissions. Dr. Renworth’s pen hovered above her notepad, her gaze flicking between Sean and Diane like a pendulum. “How,” she asked softly, “are you handling the tension at home?”

Silence. Diane’s fingers twitched in her lap, her wedding band catching the light as she twisted it absently. Sean’s jaw worked, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the armrest.

Renworth exhaled, deliberate. “Again—how are you?”

Diane’s laugh was brittle, laced with exhaustion. “Fine,” she muttered. “No thanks to him.”

The doctor’s eyes gleamed—precisely the opening. She turned to Sean, her voice syrup-smooth. “And you? Have you found... satisfaction with your employees?”

A muscle twitched in Sean’s temple. The clock ticked—once, twice—before he ground out, “Yeah.”

Diane’s face crumpled, but her eyes stayed dry. No tears left, Renworth noted with satisfaction.

Sean’s throat flexed. “Started fucking them.” The words came out ragged, like he’d torn them from his chest. “The models. At the agency.”

Renworth leaned forward, her blouse gaping just enough to draw his eye. “Brought any home?”

“No.” Sean’s denial was sharp, his gaze darting to Diane—guilty, defiant. “Just ... at work.”

Diane’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists. The air between them crackled—with betrayal, with relief—until Renworth’s atomizer clicked, unheard, mist curling toward Diane’s parted lips.

“Good,” the doctor murmured. “Now we can really begin.”

Dr. Renworth twisted the atomizer’s dial with surgical precision—clicking it to just over half of its maximum potency—as the fine mist curled toward Sean and Diane’s slackened faces. Their pupils dilated instantly, lips parting on shallow breaths. For a moment, they simply blinked—strangely serene—before the doctor’s voice sliced through the chemical haze: “Are you satisfied with how things are progressing?”

“Yes.” Sean’s reply came mechanically, his shoulders unnaturally relaxed against the leather couch.

Diane hesitated, her fingers plucking at her skirt. “I ... the touching helps. But there’s still tension.”

Renworth’s pen hovered. “Describe your current methods.”

“Foreheads. Cheeks.” Diane’s throat worked. “Hugging—Devin holds me until I stop shaking.”

The doctor nodded sagely. “Escalate to lips.”

Diane stiffened. “Lip contact? With—with my children?”

“Therapeutic kissing,” Renworth corrected smoothly, tilting her head toward Sean. “You’ve tried this with your models?”

Sean’s drugged chuckle was eerily vacant. “Oh yeah.”

“And?” The doctor pressed.

“Tension’s gone.” His thumb brushed his own bottom lip absently. “Completely.”

Renworth spread her hands—case closed. “See? Biological relief.” She leaned toward Diane, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Start with Brianna. She’s already comfortable with ... closeness.”

Diane’s breath hitched, her drugged mind struggling to parse the implications. Somewhere beneath the chemical fog, a warning bell clanged—but the mist thickened, and her protest died as a warm, liquid calm seeped into her bones.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Renworth’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Moving to Phase Eight: Mouths Open.

Dr. Renworth’s pen tapped once against her notepad before she leveled her gaze at Sean. “Why haven’t you brought the models home?” The question hung, sharp as a scalpel.

Sean’s shoulders tensed, the chemical mist in his system warring with ingrained propriety. “Didn’t want to rub Diane’s face in it,” he muttered, thumb digging into his palm.

The doctor swiveled to Diane, her voice deceptively light. “Would it bother you? If he fucked them here?”

Diane exhaled through her nose, the mist softening her syllables but not her resolve. “Anywhere. Anytime.” Her fingers flexed against her thighs. “House. Motel. Pool deck. I don’t care.” The last words came out razor-edged. “Just not in my bed—or the kids’. And don’t let them know.”

Renworth’s chuckle was low, a predator savoring the chase. “That ship has sailed.”

“No.” Diane’s head snapped up, her pupils blown but stubborn. “It’s about respect.”

Sean leaned forward, elbows on knees, his voice rough with something between curiosity and desperation. “What if ... you joined?”

Silence. Diane’s throat moved as she swallowed—once, twice—her gaze drifting to the window before snapping back. “Not with you.”

The words landed like a guillotine.

Sean recoiled, his breath audibly punched out. Renworth’s pen scratched across paper—wound cataloged, leverage secured—before she glanced up, her smile benign. “Progress,” she murmured.

Phase Nine: Twin Incest Initiation Pending.

But first, phase 8. I must be careful.

Sean’s fists clenched. Diane’s pulse fluttered at her throat. And beneath the office door, unseen, a shadow shifted—Devin’s silhouette pausing, listening, before melting back into the hall.

The leather couch creaked as Brianna perched on its edge, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt. Devin sprawled beside her, all coiled tension beneath his casual slouch. Dr. Renworth’s pen hovered over her notebook, eyes flicking between them. “Have you been practicing?”

Devin nodded first. “Hugs. Cheeks.” His thumb brushed his own bottom lip absently. “Foreheads.”

“Lips,” Brianna added, voice barely above a whisper.

Renworth circled Phase Eight in her notes, ink bleeding slightly into the paper. “Has it helped? Released tension?”

Before Devin could answer, Brianna blurted, “Yes—but also ... no.” She swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering visibly at her throat. “Kissing him makes everything calm at first, but then—” Her fingers flexed against her thighs. “It comes back worse.”

The doctor leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Define worse.”

Silence. Brianna’s breath hitched—once, twice—before she murmured, “It makes me want more.”

Renworth’s fingers twitched toward her atomizer, then stilled. Not yet. Instead, she let the quiet stretch, watching Brianna’s flush deepen. “There is another step,” she finally admitted, feigning reluctance.

Brianna’s head snapped up. “What?”

“French kissing.”

Devin stiffened. Brianna’s lips parted—shocked, intrigued. “But ... isn’t that wrong?”