Before Every Woman

Outside, a damp, biting late afternoon pressed against the tall, old-fashioned windows of the Berlin apartment. My schedule had long ceased to be an ordinary routine; it was a seamless corset. Every day forged from the exact same chain: absorbing the demands at the kiosk in the morning, polishing Emma’s presentations during free periods, scrubbing down the back wing until it gleamed in the afternoon, sweating through the circuit training prescribed by Loona, and enduring the relentless clamp of the cage through the night.

The muffled rumble of combat audio blasted through my headset. On the other end of the Discord call, Timo let out an exasperated growl as his character collapsed on the monitor.

"Man, taken out again!" he cursed, slamming his open palm against his desk. He took a sharp breath: "Whatever, I'm only slogging through this until the early access unlocks tomorrow morning anyway. Did you check out the new gameplay trailer for *Apex Core*? The Deluxe Edition is eighty euros, but the pre-order skins are absolutely insane. Are you grabbing it right at midnight, John? We could pull all-nighters all weekend like we used to."

A dull pang shot straight through my ribs. Two months ago, I wouldn't have hesitated for a single second.

"Not sure yet, man," I managed to squeeze out. My thighs burned from the workout, and every micro-shift on the desk chair set the resin scraping against inflamed skin. "Gotta see first."

"What do you mean, 'gotta see'?" Timo pressed, disbelief heavy in his voice. "You've talked about nothing else since the summer. You’re always the first one to jump on the pre-order bonuses. What's going on with you?"

"Just a lot of stress with exams and family stuff right now," I lied quietly.

The raw truth choked off my airway. Beside my keyboard lay Emma's handwritten bullet points for the next biology lab report, waiting to be neatly transcribed before morning. But that wasn't all. My smartphone screen was still glowing with my banking app.

*Account balance: €3.48.*

Three euros and forty-eight cents. Right in the middle of the month. My father wired a generous allowance like clockwork—and yet over the past eight weeks, it had evaporated down to nothing. Ten euros here for Emma’s bistro cravings, fifteen euros for frappuccinos, fuel money for Leon’s car, high-end printing fees for her presentation folders. I wasn't funding this madness because I wanted to. I paid every cent solely because Loona had ordered it, ensuring Emma remained pacified and kept her mouth shut.

"Hey, Timo… I gotta jump off," I muttered into the mic.

"Already? Man, you're impossible to get ahold of lately."

"Got things to take care of. Catch you later."

I shut down the PC, pulled off the headset, and stared at the dark monitor. Pure panic knotted in my gut. I had reached a dead end. Tomorrow morning, Emma would stand right in front of me, hand outstretched or barking orders to head to the café. Refusing her meant defying Loona’s absolute command. I needed her guidance before I made a misstep that destroyed what little standing I had left.

I walked down the long hardwood hallway toward Loona’s room.

She was seated at her desk. Her dark hair fell straight over her shoulders, the warm light of a designer lamp accentuating her composed features. University lecture slides were spread out before her, fingers gliding smoothly across the keyboard. Pure, untouchable perfection.

I knocked softly on the doorframe. "Loona?"

The typing didn't skip a single stroke. "You know how much I hate being interrupted, John. What is it?"

Taking two steps into the room, I held out the unlocked screen. My fingers trembled faintly.

"My account is empty. Three euros forty-eight."

Her hands stilled instantly. Loona spun slowly around in her leather chair. Her dark eyes swept over the figure, then rose to meet mine. No trace of sympathy, only a cool, calculating appraisal.

"I did everything you told me to do," I said quietly, my voice hollowed out from strain. "I spent every cent on Emma. Her breakfasts, her coffee, the gas for Leon’s car over the weekend, her printed notes. But there’s nothing left. I… I don't know what to do, Loona. I don't want to break your rule, but without money, I can't buy her anything tomorrow. What am I supposed to do?"

Loona leaned back deliberately, resting her hands casually on the armrests, drinking in my distress. The thin, condescending smile playing on her lips confirmed she was relishing every drop of my helplessness.

"At least you had the sense to come to me first instead of taking it upon yourself to disobey," she purred in a velvety voice. Standing up, she crossed the space between us and hooked two cool fingers beneath my chin. "Don't think for a second I’m going to hand you an allowance or settle your tabs. You are responsible for keeping Emma pleased. And when your funds run dry, you simply find another way to replenish them."

"How?" I whispered. "I keep the back wing spotless, I run the miles, I type all her papers… I don't have time for a real job."

"You don't need a real job, sweetheart. You just need to make yourself useful around this house. Vanessa got back from her studio twenty minutes ago. Ninety minutes of hot yoga; she's completely exhausted, sprawled out on the living room sofa with heavy legs and tight muscles."

I blinked, thoroughly confused. "Vanessa…?"

"She adores me, John," Loona murmured, a proud, sharp glimmer dancing in her gaze. "And she notices how harmonious and orderly everything runs back here. Go into the living room. Prepare a basin of warm water with lavender blossoms. Bring her herbal tea. Massage her calves and her feet until she’s completely relaxed. Be polite, attentive, and make sure she feels how much you love serving her. If she’s pleased, she will reward you. She is swimming in our father’s money. If you need cash for Emma, you earn it from my mother. On your knees. Go."

Ten minutes later, I was on my knees on the thick wool rug in the living room. The scent of eucalyptus candles—lit by Vanessa on the glass coffee table—hung heavy in the warm air. Dimmed floor lamps bathed the space in a soft, amber glow.

Vanessa lay stretched out along the vast velvet sectional. She wore a champagne-colored, skin-tight yoga two-piece that traced every line of her toned, athletic figure. Her long blonde hair spilled across the cushions, her eyes half-closed in lingering fatigue. Beside her sat the steaming mug of herbal tea I had set down moments earlier.

"The water feels wonderful, John," she murmured, slowly sliding her feet out of the shallow basin resting on a towel beside the sofa. She stretched her legs out long across the cushions and turned her head toward me, a relaxed, warm smile curving her lips. "Come closer. Don't be shy."

"Yes, Vanessa," I managed.

Shuffling on my knees to the foot of the couch, the resin shell pressed sharply into my groin with the posture. I poured a measure of almond oil into my palms, warmed it between my hands, and closed my fingers around her ankles. Her skin was silky, radiating post-workout heat. With firm, measured strokes, I began working my way up her calves.

A long, contented sigh slipped past her lips. She didn't close her eyes completely, keeping a dreamy, attentive gaze leveled down at me.

"You've been so wonderfully attentive lately," she noted softly. Her tone was melodic, gentle, yet carrying an undeniable, layered undertone. "It hasn't escaped me how much you look up to Loona. She has really taken charge of the back wing, hasn't she?"

A cold jolt ran through my limbs, but my hands kept up their steady kneading. "We… we mostly split things up."

Vanessa let out a low, knowing chuckle. "Oh, John. Your father might believe the two of you share the chores equally. But I have eyes. I see that you clean the entire rear suite completely by yourself. Every speck of dust, every bathroom tile. And the dietary changes, the afternoon cardio… that didn't come from you. That is Loona’s influence."

My cheeks flushed crimson on the spot. The searing humiliation of kneeling before her while she casually laid bare my submission tightened around my throat like a noose.

She picked up on my distress immediately. One hand lifted from the cushions and smoothed over the hair at the back of my head with surprising gentleness.

"There's no reason to feel embarrassed, John," she whispered with soothing warmth. "Truly. Loona simply possesses that rare ability to completely captivate people. She holds such an incredible influence over those around her… especially men. It's fascinating to watch how she brings you to grow past yourself and embrace responsibility. I think it's marvelous."

I kept my eyes pinned to her legs, entirely incapable of forming words.

"Don't worry about your father," she continued softly, her fingers trailing down the nape of my neck. "He holds very traditional, rather outdated ideas about what makes a man. All that dusty macho posturing… he wouldn't begin to understand such a delicate instinct for devotion and attentiveness. It would only make him restless. So let's just keep this our little secret. I won't breathe a word to him, I promise. You're doing splendidly."

She drew her knees up slightly, angling her bare, delicate soles directly in front of my chest.

"Don't neglect the arches, John. After hours on my feet, the balls of the feet need the deepest pressure."

Dabbing more oil onto my thumbs, I braced her heels and worked deep, circular strokes into the hollow of her arches. She tilted her head back, letting her shoulders sink into the cushions, surrendering entirely to the rhythm of my hands. Every soft breath of relief from her lips sent a throb of ache through my caged body. She didn't use harsh words or speak of training—her tone remained sweet, appreciative, and suffocatingly definitive: she knew exactly who held dominion in this house, and she relished seeing me yield to it.

After nearly half an hour, she drew her legs back smoothly and sat up. Reaching into the designer handbag resting against the sofa, she pulled out two crisp fifty-euro notes and extended them with a radiant smile.

"For your trouble, John. One hundred euros. You saved my evening. If you have the time, we can make this a regular ritual after my heavier classes."

I accepted the bills with trembling, oil-slicked fingers. "Thank you very much, Vanessa."

I cleared away the basin and damp towels, scrubbed the oil from my hands, and walked back down the hallway on legs that felt like lead. My heart was pounding against my ribs.

Loona was leaning against her doorway. Arms crossed, hair sweeping over one shoulder, her gaze locked onto me the second I stepped into view.

"Well?" she asked in a low murmur, an amused smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Did you get what you came for?"

Stopping in front of her, I clutched the two bills tight and swallowed hard. "Yes. She was very pleased. One hundred euros."

A low, throaty laugh escaped her lips. Taking me in from head to toe, she stepped forward and tilted her head.

"A hundred euros… look at that," she purred, eyes glittering with sheer malice. "Do you realize what just struck me, sweetheart? Think about it very carefully. You have now dropped to your knees before literally every single woman in this household."

I froze. My eyes went wide as the realization settled like lead in my stomach.

Before Loona on the floor of her bedroom. Before her mother just now on the living room rug. And before the housekeeper last week, scrubbing the tiles on all fours while she walked past shaking her head.

My breath locked in my throat. A wave of helpless, overwhelming arousal hit my pelvis like an electric shock. Under the thin fabric of my sweatpants, my cock surged with such sudden, violent force against the unyielding resin cage that the mingled spike of pain and lust pulled a ragged gasp from my lips. Rock-hard, trapped, powerless, and completely exposed beneath her stare.

Loona registered the sharp breath, saw the involuntary jerk in my posture, and smiled coldly.

"Precisely, John," she whispered with total satisfaction, giving my cheek a brief, condescending stroke before stepping back. "Right where you belong. Now go to bed. You need to be well-rested for Emma tomorrow morning."

The door clicked shut in my face. With shaking knees and burning groin, I dragged myself into my room. I placed the cash on the desk, stripped off my clothes, and slipped beneath the duvet. The shell held me in an iron grip, pulse roaring at my temples—and with the thought of the women who owned every corner of my life, I drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.