Do you want to fuck me?

The clatter of crockery and the sharp aroma of freshly brewed filter coffee filled the pre-war kitchen on Sunday morning. I stood at the stove, easing scrambled eggs onto warmed plates and arranging the bread basket. Outwardly, I functioned flawlessly as the attentive host in comfortable sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, yet beneath the grey cotton, the burgundy lace cut in relentlessly. With every movement, the stainless-steel housing dragged against my shrunken shaft with a dull chill.

Timo was already seated at the table in boxer shorts, hair disheveled, radiating that boundless vitality that had always set him apart. Reaching for his mug, he took a deep draught and laughed aloud.

"Man, John, this coffee is saving my life," he boomed, shoveling a massive portion of eggs onto his plate. "After the last two nights, I genuinely thought my legs were going to give out. Your stepsister is a force of nature! I swear to you, bro, I've never experienced anything like it. Thanks again for being so damn relaxed about it. Any other guy would have kicked up a fuss, but you… you're simply the best wingman of all time!"

"Don't worry about it, Timo," I forced out, willing my face into a companionable grin while a tempest of jealousy and burning helplessness raged inside my chest. "The main thing is that the weekend was worth your while."

"And then some, man!" he celebrated without the slightest reservation.

When Loona entered the kitchen a little later in her flowing silk robe, her jet-black hair pulled back sleek and tight, her piercing green eyes flicked briefly toward me. It was no look of shame, but a mute, imperious directive: *Maintain your composure*. She sat down, traded playful kisses with Timo, and had me pour her tea.

Shortly before eleven, Timo was finally standing in the hallway, his heavy duffel slung over his shoulder, leather jacket pulled on.

"Take care, bro!" he called out, catching me by the shoulder and pulling me into a hard bro-handshake that drove the cylinder painfully into my groin. "Keep your head up at the Charité! We'll catch up soon!"

He planted a loud, wet kiss on Loona’s cheek, slapped her hip familiarly, and clattered down the staircase. The heavy front door swung shut. The latch clicked home.

The moment the flat fell silent, Loona turned to me. Her expression was now utterly stripped of the playful ease with which she had wrapped Timo around her finger.

"You know what to do now, servant," she said coolly, tilting her head toward her bedroom. "Put my room back in order. I don't want a single crumb or scent remaining to recall this weekend. Thoroughly."

I nodded silently, bowed my head, and crept down the hallway.

The room was a scene of devastation. The solid bed stood askew, the blankets trailed half onto the floorboards, and the heavy, intimate haze of sweat, perfume, and male release hung thick in the air. On all fours, I crawled around the mattress. I stripped the sweat-soaked, stained linen, balled the fabric together, and stuffed it into the wicker basket before ripping off the pillowcases. Every mark on the sheet seemed to scream at me. I aired out the room, wiped down the nightstands, and remade the bed entirely in fresh, cool percale of spotless white. I fluffed the pillows and smoothed the duvet with trembling hands.

When I was finally done, I stepped into the doorway, knees raw from kneeling on the hardwood.

Loona was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, appraising my work. She took in the tautly made bed, then let her gaze travel slowly down my battered frame.

My breath came in ragged bursts. The weeks of pressure, the sleepless nights spent listening to her moans through the plaster, and the constant promise of imminent relief had worn me down completely. I could take no more. My pride was long broken, every barrier shattered.

I sank to my knees before her, reached out my hands, and looked up into her green eyes pleadingly.

"Loona… please," I breathed, my voice fracturing. A tear of sheer exhaustion tracked down my cheek. "I did everything. I played his buddy, I smiled, I made the bed. Please… grant me release. You promised me. Please take care of me. I can't bear this pressure any longer."

Loona didn't flinch, yet a triumphant, bottomless amusement flared in her eyes. Taking two paces forward, she placed her delicate fingers beneath my chin and gently lifted my face.

"Because you begged so nicely, my John," she whispered in a velvety, comforting tone. "Come."

Taking me by the hand, she pulled me to my feet and led me over to the freshly made bed. With an elegant motion, she slipped out of her robe and lay back on the white linen, naked and flawless, motioning for me to lie beside her. I stripped off my sweatpants and T-shirt and lay on my side, bare save for the steel housing and damp lace, my eyes fixed upon her body.

From beneath her pillow, Loona drew a heavy, matte-black vibrator. She switched the device on; a low, steady drone filled the room.

With slow, luxurious movements, she parted her thighs and pressed the buzzing tip against her own center. Her eyes half-closed, she let out a soft moan and turned her head toward me.

"Do you have any idea how he took me, John?" she breathed, while her hand guided the wand in circles and her cheeks flushed pink. Her voice was a heated, venomous whisper. "He didn't hesitate. He grabbed my thighs, pulled me toward him by my hair, and took what belonged to him. He was so incredibly hard. Deep inside me… again and again, until I was screaming at the walls. He's a real man, John. He doesn't need a cage, or rules, or permission. He simply takes."

She moaned louder, rolling her hips against the humming silicone.

Every single word sliced through my brain like a scalpel. Lying beside her, seeing her open lap, and hearing her intoxicate herself on the memories of my best friend whipped my imprisoned flesh into an unbearable, agonizing arousal. The metal of the housing strained and pinched, entirely incapable of accommodating the engorging tissue.

I stared at her, lips parted, unable to speak, pure misery in my gaze.

"Look at you," Loona whispered, seeing my trembling face, smiling with cruel sweetness. "You're practically perishing with hunger, aren't you? You want to come. You want to spill so badly."

I nodded desperately, a choked sob tearing from my throat.

"Then you shall have your reward," she murmured, gliding toward the foot of the bed with a fluid motion.

With a flick of her manicured fingertips, she motioned for me to drop to my knees before the edge of the mattress. I obeyed mindlessly, sinking onto the hard floorboards, bracing my trembling hands on the edge of the fresh sheet. Loona sat above me, knees parted slightly, appraising me from her piercing green eyes with cool, tender superiority.

She drew the vibrator away from her wet center. Instead of reaching for the key box, she leaned forward, took hold of the cold stainless-steel housing between my thighs with her free hand, and pressed the buzzing, vibrating tip with full force directly against the front slots of the steel—right against the hypersensitized nerves of my locked glans.

The vibrations slammed through the solid metal like an electric shock. Weeks of denial tore the floodgates wide open in an instant. Without foreplay, without mercy, the point of no return raced forward.

"Look at me, John," she whispered with velvety cruelty as the drone resonated through my entire pelvis. "Do you know how deep Timo was inside me last night? He filled me to the absolute limit. Every thrust stole the breath from my lungs. He was so completely hard, so utterly insatiable. Something you couldn't achieve in your whole miserable life. You weren't made to take a woman. You're only here to leak for me."

Her words burned into my mind like white-hot venom. At the exact split-second the contractions took hold, Loona clamped her thumb down with all her strength against the base of the cage, cutting off the cords brutally while holding the humming metal unyielding in place.

My pelvic floor seized in violent, agonizing spasms. The release burst forth uncontrollably—spilling in thick, desperate spurts through the slots of the steel, dripping across the cold alloy and soiling the floorboards before the bed, soaking the burgundy lace through. Yet any mental ecstasy was snuffed out at the root; only a hollow, torturous phantom ache remained. It was a purely mechanical, ruined ejaculation. Panting, thighs twitching, tears burning in my eyes, I clawed at the edge of the bed.

Loona let out a low, derisive laugh. Drawing the device away from my cage, she surveyed the sticky mess between my knees and leaned back comfortably on her elbows.

Paying me no further mind, she slipped the buzzing silicone tip back between her own slick folds. Parting her thighs wider, moaning deeply and without restraint into the room, she began rocking her pelvis in circular thrusts against the vibrator. Her cheeks flushed a deep rose, her eyes falling half-shut.

"God… yes…," she panted, her free hand trailing across her stomach. "Just like yesterday… Timo’s hands… so firm… take me…"

She worked the toy with a hunger that tore me apart completely. Kneeling before her, dripping with fresh seed, testicles aching from the severed spasm, I was forced to watch as she intoxicated herself on the memory of my best friend. Within moments, her entire body went taut. With a drawn-out, strangled cry, her back arched off the mattress; her thighs shivered violently as her climax rippled through her with full force.

Breathing heavily, she let her head fall back into the pillows. The vibrator fell silent with a soft click.

She pushed herself upright slowly, perching on the edge of the bed. Her long, jet-black hair fell loose over her shoulders, framing her face like a dark veil. Her bare, glistening thighs remained parted wide, defenseless and captivating.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she retrieved the clear case, drew out the small key, and leaned down toward me.

A metallic *click* echoed through the room.

The shackle sprang open. Loona slid the pin free, and the steel housing slipped to the floor alongside the damp red lace. My shrunken shaft lay exposed, pale and tacky before her eyes.

She wrapped her soft, cool fingers around my sensitive flesh. After weeks in that steel dungeon, the touch of her bare skin was an overwhelming sensory shock. With slow, almost tender strokes, she moved up and down, tracing her thumb along the shaft, teasing the delicate frenulum until blood surged back and my member stiffened once more, rising and twitching despite the preceding humiliation.

She paused, appraising the firm erection with a subtle, calculating smile, tilting her head slightly. Her piercing green eyes bored into my face.

"Tell me, John…," she whispered in a honeyed, seductive tone. "Do you want to fuck me? Truly fuck me?"

My heart slammed hard against my ribs. The mere thought, the raw choice of words on her lips, the scent of her open center—all of it clouded my senses entirely. The hunger to finally possess her burned through my veins like fire.

"Yes…," I panted hoarsely, unable to hesitate. My gaze remained glued to her lips. "Yes, Loona… please. I want to fuck you. Truly."

A soft, mocking giggle parted her lips. An ice-cold, cruel amusement danced in her eyes, snuffing out every shred of hope before it could breathe.

"How sweet you are when you dream," she murmured.

Leaning back, she drew her legs up on the sheet, lifting her feet from the floor. With a fluid grace, she extended both bare, immaculate soles toward me, pressing her heels and the balls of her feet together, leaving only a narrow, warm crease between them.

"Then fuck my feet, loser," she commanded with velvety hardness. "That is the only thing you will ever fuck on me. Put it in. Right between my soles. Show me how desperately you crave it."

Swallowing the bitter shame, I shuffled forward on my knees until my hips met her feet. With trembling hands, I guided my bare, hypersensitive shaft between her smooth, cool soles. She locked her ankles firmly around my flesh.

Panting, I began driving my hips forward. My sensitized skin slid along her soft heels and arches; the friction brought beads of sweat to my brow in seconds. Yet no sooner had I found my rhythm than Loona leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking down upon my desperate thrusts with condescending mockery.

"Just look at yourself, John," she teased derisively, a cruel smile curling her lips. "Timo took me properly all weekend long. A real man who fucked me deep and hard until the bed shook. And you? You're kneeling in the dust, mounting the soles of my feet like a pathetic dog begging for scraps. Look at how miserably you pant!"

Her words whipped my blood to an agonizing fever pitch. The shame and the illicit lust fused into a raging blaze. The pent-up heat crashed over me with brute momentum. My pelvis jerked frantically, muscles locking to the tearing point, the point of no return hurtling closer—

At the exact instant the ejaculation was about to break, Loona yanked her feet away with a sharp, mocking laugh.

All at once, I thrust into empty air.

"No…!" a strangled, hoarse cry tore from my chest.

My shaft stood rigid and throbbing in the cold air. The sudden void, the abrupt severance of all friction, shattered the cresting wave in its tracks. My whole body seized, flailing desperately before the edge of the mattress, unable to discharge the built-up surge without purchase. The pressure in my pelvis burned like glowing coals.

"Hold on, John," she breathed in amusement. "Don't think it's that easy. Back in."

Whimpering, I dragged myself forward again, sliding between her re-joined soles. Desperation drove my thrusts—harder, hungrier, more frantic. It took barely five breaths before the heat engulfed me once more, the pounding in my veins growing unbearable, the climax seizing me inevitably—

Once more, she yanked her feet back with ruthless detachment.

Once more, I slammed into the void. An agonizing gasp broke from my chest. My torso convulsed wildly, thrashing on my knees before the bed as the tendons in my loins seized and the flesh pulsed with sheer phantom agony.

"Don't touch it!" she barked with icy venom as my hands instinctively darted forward. "Hands flat on the floor, John! Don't you dare touch yourself!"

I pressed my palms obediently against the hardwood floor, powerless to defy the order. My head fell back, the veins at my temples standing out stark.

At that moment, Loona lifted her leg. Extending her bare foot, she planted her soft, cool sole squarely across my face with unyielding weight.

Her toes spread across my nose and cheek; the ball of her foot sealed my mouth shut, driving my head back hard against my spine. I took in her intimate heat, mingled with the scent of sweat and clean linen, while the gaze from her green eyes looked down like polished steel.

"Look at me while you perish," she murmured from above. "You're so overstimulated you don't even need contact. Spill for me, loser. Right into the air. Let it go."

The indignity of her foot pinning my face, the absolute helplessness, and the weeks of denied, scalding pressure shattered the final dam.

Without a hand on my flesh, without her soles touching me, the release erupted in complete, uncontrolled chaos.

My pelvic floor seized in massive, painful spasms. The seed arced helplessly through the air, splattering limp across my own thighs and splashing onto the floorboards before her knees. Yet beneath the pain of overstimulation, the two brutal interruptions, and the weight of her foot across my features, any sense of liberating euphoria was utterly absent. My mind remained trapped in a dull, numb vacuum. It was an empty, desperate discharge—the sheer disgrace of a body responding while the spirit suffocated in ruin.

A muffled groan died beneath the sole of her foot as my shaft twitched weakly, losing its final drops.

Loona withdrew her foot slowly from my face. Yet instead of resting it back upon the mattress, she lowered both bare, immaculate feet toward the floorboards. Her heels and arches dipped directly into the thick, milky pool that had gathered from both ruined releases after the endless weeks of denial. The sound of her toes sliding through my own seed sliced through the quiet of the room.

Leaning back, bracing both hands on the edge of the bed, she looked down at me with piercing emerald eyes. Her long, jet-black hair fell like silk over her bare shoulders; her lips were still faintly swollen from her own climax, and her entire frame radiated an untouchable, illicit allure that stole the breath from my lungs. In that moment, she was the most breathtaking, desirable, and unreachable presence my world had ever known.

"If you still want a real orgasm today, John…," she whispered with velvety, uncompromising cruelty, "then you will lick my moisture and your seed completely clean from my feet. Down to the very last drop. Spotless."

A shiver tore down my spine, scalding and freezing all at once. For the split-second of a heartbeat, my rational mind recoiled from the bottomless indignity: cowering in the mess before her, drinking my own wasted manhood from her soles. Yet buried deeper than any scrap of pride lay that toxic, all-consuming craving. I wanted to please her. I needed this compliance. In her absolute dominance, she was so intoxicatingly compelling that every trace of shame drowned in sheer lust. I needed this surrender like the air in my lungs—it was the only path that brought me close to her, the only tether binding me entirely to her will.

"Yes, Loona…," I breathed, my voice thick with tears.

I lowered my head to the floorboards. Parting my lips, extending my tongue, I set to work cleaning her bare feet. I ran the tip of my tongue across her heels, licked through the tacky furrows of her arches, tasting the warm, salty weight of my own seed mingled with the scent of her skin. I circled every single toe, sliding between them, drinking down every drop my body had cast out into ruin moments before.

Loona watched me without moving. A faint, almost fond smile grazed the corners of her mouth. Her toes curled gently against my lips, allowing themselves to be caressed and buffed until her skin gleamed spotless in the light.

"Good boy," she whispered softly. Drawing her feet back, she patted the fresh white sheet with an open palm. "Come up here with me."

I climbed onto the bed on all fours, trembling with exhaustion and feverish tension.

The moment I lay on my back, Loona draped herself over me. She brought her body flush against mine; her warm, bare breasts pressed gently against my chest, her thighs framing my hips. The imperious distance had vanished—replaced by an intoxicating, intimate closeness that cost me my sanity. Lowering her face, she kissed me. Her soft lips parted, her tongue sliding into my mouth, hot and demanding, tasting the blend of my contrition and her skin.

At the same time, her hand glided down to my flesh. Her fingers, still damp from my kisses, closed around my shaft. With calm, measured, endlessly practiced strokes, she began to work me.

Beneath her touch and tender kisses, it took less than twenty seconds: blood surged back with pounding force, and my member stood once again, fully rigid and twitching between her fingers.

"Look at me, my John," she breathed against my lips between kisses, her green eyes locking onto mine with brilliant intensity. "Now it belongs entirely to you. No pulling away. No ruining it. Take your release."

Her hand moved faster, rhythmic, devastatingly skilled. The pressure in my pelvis erupted without warning. This time, no thumb cut off the nerve; this time, no feet pulled back.

The dam broke completely. A hoarse, overwhelming cry tore from my throat as pure, staggering ecstasy shot through my nervous system. My entire body arched against hers as the climax washed over me like a tidal wave. Seed pulsed out in thick, unstoppable surges, spilling over her hand and across my stomach, while every trace of pain and tension from the past weeks dissolved in blinding, redemptive bliss.

Yet as the trembling passed its zenith and my body sought to slacken, Loona did not stop.

Her fingers kept their firm grip on the twitching, hypersensitive flesh. She continued stroking relentlessly, firm and demanding over the slick, exposed glans.

Past the peak, every single pass burned like molten fire. The sensation flipped instantly from ecstasy into raw, unbearable electrical current. My pelvis seized in helpless tremors, my fingernails digging desperately into the white sheet.

"Loona… please!" I panted through tears, writhing helplessly beneath her frame, trying in vain to pull my hips back. "Please stop! It burns… I can't take it anymore! Please, stop… I'm begging you!"

She smiled down at me like an angel, pressing herself closer against my shuddering chest, trailing the fingertips of her free hand across my cheek while her other hand maintained the agonizing, overstimulating rhythm for several merciless seconds longer. Only when my pleading dissolved into breathless, helpless sobs did she slowly slacken her hold.

Loona appraised my gasping, trembling face with an amused sparkle in her emerald-green eyes. A playful, mocking smirk settled on her swollen lips.

"Well now, John… there really is no pleasing you, is there?" she purred in a velvety tone, teasingly tapping the tip of my nose with a finger. "First you beg like a starving man, then it's too brief, and the moment I finally grant you the full measure, it's too long again. You truly are high-maintenance, sweetheart."

She lifted her right hand, her fingers still streaked with thick, milky traces of fresh fluid. With a slow, indisputable movement, she brought her index and middle fingers to my lips.

"Mouth open," she ordered softly, yet with that undertone that brooked no argument. "Nothing goes to waste. You take every drop back."

I parted my lips obediently. Loona slid both fingers deep between my teeth, spreading the warm, viscous residue over my tongue, letting me suck her skin clean. I tasted the heavy salt of my own spent drive mingled with the delicate fragrance of her lotion, and swallowed it all down. Drawing her fingers out slowly, she smiled at my absolute compliance and patted my cheek affectionately.

"Good boy. And now, no more special treatment."

Sliding from the bed, she bent down and retrieved the cold, heavy stainless-steel housing along with the damp burgundy lace from the floor. With practiced, uncompromising motions, she guided my thoroughly spent, numbed flesh back into the narrow cylinder. The alloy felt freezing against sensitized skin. She slotted the pin through the eyelets, set the padlock in place, and clicked the shackle shut with a solid, metallic snap.

The bolt was thrown once more. The steel exile had reclaimed me.

Loona straightened, smoothed her robe down, and looked down at me coolly.

"Into the shower with you, John," she instructed with businesslike firmness. "Wash the sweat and the residue from your skin. I want you clean."

I nodded submissively, braced myself shakily on the edge of the mattress, and set my feet upon the floorboards. Yet before I reached the bedroom door, her voice caught me once more.

"Savor your final hours in that contraption while you can," Loona whispered, pure anticipation gleaming in her eyes. "Tomorrow morning, we're driving to Neukölln. That's when we collect your new cage—and that one won't leave you nearly as much breathing room as this old temporary piece."