your body has priority today

The dull ache in my pelvis woke me long before the alarm.

In the early morning hours, my sleeping body had tried once again to channel its habitual surge of blood into the erectile tissue, only to collide with unyielding force against the front plate of the surgical steel. The thirty-five millimeters allowed for zero margin. The glans was mashed flat against the cap, the spermatic cords straining against the asymmetrical base ring under sharp tensile load. When I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and set my bare feet on the cold floorboards, the pressure radiated deep into my periosteum—a leaden, continuous reminder of the vow I had surrendered to Loona the night before.

I pulled a fresh pair of loose trousers over the seamless metal. My smartphone sat on the nightstand. I still possessed it physically, carried it in my pocket, yet it had long ceased to be an instrument of my own volition.

Through an MDM profile, Loona had configured the *Kidslox* app on my device—with unrestricted administrator privileges, locked behind a six-digit PIN known exclusively to her. My phone was held in perpetual "Lockdown" mode. Safari and all alternative browsers were scrubbed from the interface; the App Store was hidden entirely. My access was restricted strictly to the Charité campus portal, the lecture notes directory, and WhatsApp—and even those operated under rigorous time gates and structural controls. From her own handset, Loona could freeze my device with a single tap, monitor notifications, or mute incoming threads at will. My mobile banking app remained on my home screen, yet it was crippled by an additional parental-control barrier: I could review my account ledger, but executing a transfer, setting up a standing order, or authorizing a payment instantly routed an approval prompt to Loona’s phone.

When I stepped into the kitchen, the rich aroma of fresh espresso was already hanging in the air.

Loona was seated at the kitchen table in an off-white cashmere sweater, legs elegantly crossed. In her hand she held her phone, displaying the active administrator dashboard of *Kidslox*. A cup stood before her, flanked by her designer handbag. Noting my quiet entrance, she looked up, a subtle, dominant smile touching her lips.

"Good morning, my tool," she said in a velvety cadence. "Take your phone out and unlock it. Come to the table."

I approached, retrieved the phone from my pocket, and pressed my thumb to the sensor, my fingers trembling slightly. The cold density between my thighs served as an unceasing reminder of my total subjugation with every shift in weight.

"Open your banking app," she instructed calmly.

I tapped the tile. The interface refreshed the ledger, and in bold, green digits, the credit cleared:

**+ €3,500.00**

Reference: Merit bonus intermediate examination / Supplemental study supplies Med. Charité. Keep up the momentum, my boy. Your father.

Even as I stood staring at the figure, Loona tapped her own screen. A prompt flashed across my display via *Kidslox*: *Authorization for transaction granted.*

"Now transfer exactly three thousand five hundred euros to my account, John," she ordered with quiet, unmistakable sharpness. "Instant transfer. Now."

My thumb hovered above the glass. Three and a half thousand euros. The capital my father had entrusted to me for my medical training. I was forced to key in the amount myself, validating my own name as the sender and hers as the beneficiary. It burned like acid against my pride to execute the instrument of my own expropriation with my own hands—policed by a parental-control suite that handled me like an incompetent ten-year-old.

I keyed in the digits. Confirm. Face ID.

A green checkmark flared briefly. My balance collapsed to a meager forty-four euros and twenty cents. On Loona’s screen, the chime of a push notification confirmed the deposit.

In the very same second, my display locked down automatically. The red banner of *Kidslox* took over: *Device locked by Parental Mode until 18:00.*

"Good boy," Loona purred softly, setting her device aside to appraise me with glittering emerald eyes. "Richard is remarkably generous when he's convinced his son is finally demonstrating discipline and composure. That this composure is physically enforced by thirty-five millimeters of surgical steel is something he has no need to know."

Draining the last sip of her espresso, she rose and smoothed her sweater. Stepping close, she surveyed my posture, resting a palm against my cheek while her thumb stroked lightly over my jawline.

"We have no time to squander, John," she whispered with cold, almost tender certainty. "Vanessa and I have mapped the morning out to the minute. The first two thousand euros of Richard’s funds have already been deposited for your treatment package in Charlottenburg. The clinic near Kurfürstendamm expects us at ten sharp for your initial laser session. Put that locked phone in your pocket. You won't have any use for it today anyway."

Catching up her wool coat, she gestured toward the door.

"Coat on, tie your shoes, and down to the car. We are not arriving late for the start of your transformation."

"Loona… please, wait a second," I began, reaching for my jacket with unsteady hands, the surgical steel throbbing dully against my pubic bone. "The mandatory lecture in clinical pharmacology starts at ten over at Campus Mitte. If I miss it, I lose the entire module on CNS therapeutics. Mira is waiting in the hall; she saved a seat for me—"

Loona paused at the coat rack, turned slowly, and pulled her leather gloves over her fingers with measured calm. Her emerald-green eyes fixed upon me with that unbothered chill that snuffed out any objection at the root.

"You can review pharmacology at your desk tonight, John," she countered dryly. "The lecture material isn't going anywhere. But the clinic on Kurfürstendamm will not wait for us. I have booked the permanent laser hair removal slot, and it is paid for with Richard’s money. You will be on that treatment table today, regardless of who is waiting for you at the Charité. Your body is the priority this morning—under my parameters."

Turning away, she pushed the apartment door open and started down the stone steps. I had no choice but to follow in silence. With every pace down the stairwell, the asymmetrical base ring ground into the raw perineal seam, while the thirty-five-millimeter sleeve blocked the slightest physiological expansion.

Outside, the damp morning air of Berlin hit my face. We climbed into her car. No sooner had Loona fired the engine and merged into the crawling traffic along Sonnenallee than my phone vibrated in my coat pocket.

I drew it out. The panel woke, but the application grid remained inaccessible. Instead, the red lock screen of *Kidslox* blazed: *Device locked until 18:00*. Only a single WhatsApp notification previewed through, permitted by Loona as a designated exception so she could monitor my academic contacts:

Mira (09:42):

"John, where are you? The hall is packing out, Prof. Engelhardt is already setting up. I've got your seat saved with my bag. Drop a quick text when you're walking in!"

My thumb slid across the glass to open the thread and formulate a hasty excuse, but the input field remained greyed out, blocked by the administrative profile. I could only stare at the text, completely unable to reply.

In the center console, Loona’s phone illuminated in its magnetic cradle, mirroring the notification in real time. She cast a brief, amused glance at the screen, keeping her left hand steady on the wheel.

"How attentive of dear Mira," Loona remarked with velvety mockery. "She really fusses over her diligent study partner, doesn't she?"

"At least let me send a quick line saying I'm sick or the train broke down," I pleaded, my voice strained. "If I go completely dark, she's going to worry and end up calling."

Loona shifted smoothly into fourth gear. "She will simply have to grow accustomed to the fact that you are no longer at her beck and call. You need to understand which priorities govern your life now, John. Your medical studies matter—which is precisely why we demand top marks from you. But your obedience to me comes before anything else. If I decide your morning belongs on an examination table in Charlottenburg, then the Charité ceases to exist for you."

With a manicured fingernail, she tapped her display. Through the *Kidslox* console, she muted Mira’s thread entirely for the next three hours. The red padlock icon on my screen settled into place.

"There. No more distractions," she said coolly, accelerating toward Kurfürstendamm. "Focus on what lies ahead. The dermatologist has been briefed. You will not raise a single objection when she powers up the laser. You will hold still, you will be polite, and you will endure every pass. Do you understand me?"

I looked down at the dead, locked panel in my grip, felt the cold, unyielding weight between my thighs, and swallowed hard.

"Yes, Loona," I whispered.