Booth 2

The delicate brass bell above the heavy glass entrance of *Maison Beauté* rang out with a sharp, piercing chime.

On that Monday afternoon, the Charlottenburg institute was filled to the last seat. Muted lounge beats drifted through the ornate, high-ceilinged rooms, mingling with the heavy, ever-present scent of lily water, coconut, and high-end cosmetics. In the expansive reception lounge, four well-heeled women in tailored silk blouses occupied the powder-pink velvet armchairs, browsing glossy magazines or sipping from crystal flutes of champagne.

Behind the long, backlit reception counter stood not only Chiara and Selin. Sophie, Jana, and two other technicians in fitted tunics were busy sorting product tubes, scheduling appointments on iPads, or offering fresh white terry towels to arriving clients.

When Loona entered—tall, arrogant, wearing that untouchable smile on her painted lips—a few heads turned casually in her direction. But the moment I stepped through the door two paces behind her, the bustling backdrop froze in an instant.

I felt their eyes lock onto me immediately. Jana nudged Sophie with an elbow. Selin, who had been filing away a treatment record, paused mid-motion as a broad, brazen smirk spread across her face. Chiara leaned both hands against the marble counter, appraising me openly from head to toe—from my high-buttoned collar, beneath which the black velvet choker visibly strained, down to my legs.

A hushed, conspiratorial ripple of laughter broke out behind the desk. Sophie pressed a splayed hand to her mouth, her eyes darting with sharp amusement between me and the clients in the lounge. The patrons in the armchairs took note of the sudden shift; an older woman draped in pearls lowered her reading glasses, studying me with a cool, inquisitive stare.

I wanted to cease existing. My stomach seized with such violence that the room seemed to tilt into shadow. I would have given anything for the polished parquet to give way and swallow me whole. I kept my eyes fixed stubbornly on the tips of my leather shoes, heat surging like boiling water to my temples while my hands remained clenched deep inside my jacket pockets. Every single one of these women knew. Every one of them knew precisely what I was.

"Good afternoon, ladies!" Chiara called out, her voice easily carrying to every corner of the room. "Look at that, Sophie, the prodigal son returns. Right on the minute!"

"Good afternoon, Chiara," Loona returned coolly, stepping up to the desk with unhurried poise. Her hand reached back, closing over the nape of my neck to guide me half a meter forward into full view of the room with quiet, unyielding force. "We are ready for the second session. The hair is beginning to return, and I do not tolerate negligence regarding my property."

The woman in the velvet armchair blinked in mild bewilderment, while behind the desk Jana dropped a document with a startled snort.

"Of course," Selin purred, picking up a clipboard and gesturing down the long hallway toward the rear. "Booth 2 is prepped. Head right on through before we cause a traffic jam out here."

I walked down the corridor behind Selin in a complete daze, Loona’s heels clicking closely behind me. Every gaze from the staff lingering in the hall burned into my back like acid.

Inside Booth 2, Selin swung the door shut, cutting off the background hum of the salon. The chamber was bathed in stark, clinical white light. In the center stood the adjustable treatment table draped in fresh medical paper; beside it, the heavy console of the diode laser emitted a low, continuous hum. Without a word, Loona settled into the leather armchair in the corner, crossing her legs and folding her arms.

Chiara slipped into the room a second later, latching the door completely behind her before pulling on a pair of black nitrile gloves with a sharp, echoing snap.

"Right then, sweetheart," Chiara said, turning to me with glittering eyes. "Trousers and undergarments off. Completely. Up onto the table."

With trembling fingers, I worked through the buttons of my shirt. As the fabric fell open, the wide, jet-black velvet band with the tiny chrome padlock dangling at my throat was laid bare under the bright overhead fixtures. Chiara halted mid-motion, letting out a low, amused gasp.

"Well, look at what we have here!" Chiara declared with a grin, stepping closer. Reaching out with a gloved hand, she tapped a fingernail against the polished padlock over my larynx, the metal clicking sharply against my skin. "What a charming little addition. Selin, look at this: an actual little dog collar! Complete with its own miniature lock. How adorable is that?"

Selin stepped in as well, tilting her head with an unabashed smirk. "Good Lord, it really is. Suits him terribly well, though. All that's missing is the lead to take him out for a walk." She glanced across at Loona with arched eyebrows: "Tell me, Loona, does that have to come off for the session? It might get in the way when we laser the chest—or do you have to unlock him with the key first?"

I swallowed against the velvet strip, which pulled taut around my windpipe with every breath.

"Under no circumstances," Loona answered from the armchair with velvety, unyielding calm, her lips curling into a cold smile. "The collar sits high enough on his neck. It remains locked day and night—precisely like the cylinder. My little loser shouldn't forget who holds the leash for a single second, even when lying naked before you."

Chiara giggled, giving the padlock a light tug with two fingers until the velvet pressed hard against my throat, before releasing it with a mocking click of her tongue. "Good boy. A bespoke pet. Come along then, off with the trousers, Fido. We have work to do."

Heat surged to the roots of my hair. Before their amused eyes, I shucked my trousers, pushed my boxers down, and climbed onto the crinkling paper of the treatment table with burning cheeks. As I shifted my legs, the thirty-five millimeters of surgical steel caught the cold glare of the ceiling lights. The asymmetrical base ring, the compact cylinder, and the finely etched script *Loona’s Property* lay completely exposed to the two technicians.

Selin positioned herself on my left, Chiara on my right. Both leaned in simultaneously, appraising my locked groin with a mixture of professional detachment and open amusement.

Chiara extended a hand. Her gloved fingers took hold of the forward end of the cap, turning the cold cylinder slightly to evaluate the transition to the perineal raphe. In doing so, her eyes caught the clean, centered opening in the faceplate.

She paused, tracing the tip of her finger over the internal grooves.

"Say, Loona…," Chiara began, frowning across the table toward my stepsister. "I have to ask a rather silly question. What is this on the front? Right here at the tip?"

"What do you mean?" Loona asked with faint amusement, remaining perfectly still in her seat.

"This," Chiara said, tapping a fingernail lightly against the alloy. The crisp metallic ping resonated straight up my spermatic cords like a needle. "That's a thread. A proper metric fine thread, like something from a hardware store. What on earth is that for? What do you screw onto the front of a contraption like this? An extension? Or a plug?"

Selin leaned down further, pressing two fingers against my pubic bone to gauge the fit, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Now that you mention it, she's right. A thread on a chastity cage? I've never seen that before. What are you building with this? Does a lock go in there, or a chain?"

I clamped my eyelids shut until red bursts danced across the dark. The shame threatened to consume me whole. If they knew what had been inside that heavy cardboard box Timo had carried—the dense, dark silicone prosthetic with the solid steel stud, waiting to be threaded into this exact socket to transform me into Vanessa’s mindless instrument over in Schöneberg…

Loona let out a low, throaty laugh, dripping with cool, absolute malice.

"Don't pry so much, girls," she purred, casting a patronizing glance over my flinching pelvis. "Let's simply say: my little one occasionally has other functions to perform. And sometimes, that requires… suitable attachments."

Chiara and Selin traded a knowing, amused glance. Chiara shook her head with a wry smirk.

"Well, as long as we're not on the receiving end," Chiara joked, reaching for the large dispenser of ultrasound gel and slapping a heavy, freezing dollop directly over my pubic bone and the rim of the steel ring. "Right, enough chatting. We shouldn't keep the gentleman waiting. Selin, arm the laser. Today we burn away everything sprouting around that pretty little bolt."

Chiara took hold of my right thigh with a firm grip, drawing it outward to expose the hair roots encircling the surgical steel ring completely. Selin picked up the humming applicator, adjusted her protective goggles, and pressed the chilled sapphire head directly against sensitized skin.

*Beep—FLASH.*

A blinding red flash pierced my closed eyelids, and the familiar agony of fire and needles seared a path around the perimeter of my metal casing.

The hiss of the laser's contact chiller was still humming through the room as Selin finished the final passes along my shins.

Two sharp knocks sounded at the sliding door. Before Chiara could respond, the panel glided open. In stepped two younger salon assistants—Alessa and Miriam—neither of whom had been present for my previous session. Both wore powder-pink tunics, carrying clipboards with an air of practiced efficiency, though their eyes drifted instantly and unreservedly to the treatment table.

"Pardon the intrusion," Miriam began with feigned casualness, her gaze tracking over my bare, freshly treated legs. "We're looking for the replacement sanitized tips for the facial stations. Are they stored in here?"

"Back cabinet on the far left, bottom shelf," Selin answered routinely, without lifting the applicator.

Alessa walked with deliberate slowness past the head of the bed, pretending to pull open a drawer while staring unabashedly at the steel assembly between my thighs. The thirty-five millimeters of seamless surgical steel, capped by the fine-threaded bore, lay bare under the harsh ceiling lights.

"Nothing here," Alessa noted after a few seconds, trading a loaded glance with Miriam before stifling a giggle behind her hand. "We'll check the other bay."

The two slipped back into the corridor with whispered remarks and muffled laughter, the sliding door closing behind them.

The moment the latch caught, Chiara turned back to my hips with an amused smirk.

"Now for the part you've undoubtedly been looking forward to the entire time, my dear," Chiara teased, slapping a fresh, freezing portion of viscous gel directly onto my scrotum.

My body jerked reflexively. I squeezed my eyes shut, but Chiara permitted no withdrawal. With a firm, gloved hand, she seized the steel barrel of my cylinder. Her fingers closed around the freezing metal, levering the entire cage upward and sharply to the left in a single, rough motion.

The asymmetric base ring cut like a scalpel into the already inflamed perineal skin. A sharp, stinging strain tore through my inguinal canals deep into my lower abdomen, dragging a choked gasp from my throat.

"Don't squirm, John," Selin scolded with condescending sharpness. She leaned down so close I caught the sweet scent of her bubblegum breath as she looked squarely into my eyes with cold, clinical curiosity. "If we're going to clear your balls, the cylinder has to be pushed aside. It stays locked on, after all; your stepsister was very clear about that."

Chiara capitalized on the moment without hesitation. Rather than merely holding the metal steady, her free hand kneaded and manipulated the delicate scrotal tissue, rolling the testes between her thumb and forefinger, drawing the wrinkled skin taut with uncompromising firmness. It was far more handling than was strictly required for the treatment—a deliberate, agonizing inspection that left me feeling completely stripped and helpless. She kept her eyes on my face with an amused, mocking tilt, savoring the flush spreading across my cheeks and every involuntary twitch of my jaw.

"Look how soft everything is here," Chiara chuckled toward the armchair. "Almost like silk. Quite the sensitive gentleman, isn't he?"

From her leather seat, Loona observed the scene with royal detachment. Her emerald eyes gleamed with dark, cruel satisfaction. Resting her chin on her hand, legs crossed, she drank in every shred of my humiliation. She relished watching me writhe beneath the gloved touch of two other women, grinding my teeth, powerless against the intimate inspection.

"He shouldn't make such a fuss," Loona remarked smoothly, taking a sip from her glass of water. "If he wants to be smooth, he has to hold still. He belongs to me, and I will not tolerate a single coarse hair down there. Clean him up thoroughly, girls."

Selin positioned the wide head of the diode laser against the taut, sensitized skin of my right testicle.

*Beep—FLASH.*

Pain of searing intensity erupted across my pelvis. It felt as though a red-hot wire had been laid directly against the thinnest tissue of my body. My lower back arched violently off the paper runner, a whimpering gasp tearing from my lungs.

"Hold still, I said!" Chiara hissed, applying even more leverage to the steel cylinder while pinning my thigh down with her forearm. "Otherwise we hit the metal, and then it really begins to burn!"

*Beep—FLASH. Beep—FLASH.*

Tears leaked from beneath my protective goggles, tracking hot down my temples. Pulse by pulse, the heat burned through the follicles of the scrotum and the sensitive transition to the perineum. The acrid stench of scorched hair filled the air, mingling unpleasantly with the salon’s lily fragrance. Chiara refused to let go of the cylinder; she shifted her grip around the base, checked the clearance of the ring, pulling the tissue left, then right, ensuring Selin had access to every crevice. Both women visibly enjoyed having total physical control over the most private part of my body, applying unnecessary pressure here, smoothing excess gel across the inflamed skin there, trading amused glances over my frame.

I wanted the floor to open beneath me. My entire body had become a trembling, burning monument to my complete dispossession.

After long, grueling minutes, Selin finally drew the laser head away, powering down the cooling unit with a low, descending whine. Chiara released the cylinder, which snapped back against my bruised pubic bone with a dull, painful jolt. My entire scrotum felt like a single, throbbing burn.

Gathering a fistful of paper towels, Chiara began wiping away the heavy layers of spent gel. As she did, she turned to Loona with a broad, knowing grin.

"The girls out front have been talking about it non-stop, of course," Chiara bantered, shooting me a final, mocking look. "It's been four weeks since the first appointment. Tell me, Loona… has he truly not been allowed anything in all that time? Not a single moment of relief?"

Selin leaned against the table, eyeing my reddened hips with open curiosity. "Honestly? Four weeks completely locked down? Does he finally get a reward after this session today? He held out rather bravely, despite all the squirming."

I lay panting against the crinkling paper, my pulse hammering in my throat where the velvet choker held fast. Every nerve in my body was begging for release, for a single moment of surrender after weeks of continuous strain.

Loona rose unhurriedly from the leather armchair, smoothed down her skirt, and stepped to the head of the bed. A cool, calculating smile played on her lips, paired with that familiar, patronizing tenderness that rendered me entirely defenseless. Leaning over me, she ran her red-lacquered nails gently across my sweat-slicked forehead.

"Most likely, yes," Loona replied to the technicians in a calm, velvety voice, her emerald eyes resting heavily on mine. "Though that depends entirely on what happens later today—and more importantly, how well he performs. If he obeys every command and completes all his tasks without incident, there might be a small release for him tonight. But only if his behavior is entirely immaculate."

Chiara let out a soft, amused chuckle, tapping a finger lightly against the warm steel cap. "Hear that, John? It's entirely in your hands. Figuratively speaking, of course."

"Get dressed, little one," Loona breathed into my ear, her tone carrying the equal promise of torment and deliverance. "This was merely the preparation. Now Schöneberg is waiting for us."