function test at Maison Beauté

The U-Bahn ride to Charlottenburg passed in heavy silence. Beneath the denim of my trousers, the stay-up stockings chafed relentlessly against the raw welts from the weekend, and with every sway of the carriage, the steel ring bit deeper into my pelvis. I fully anticipated the usual, humiliating routine at *Maison Beauté*: some laser touch-ups in the intimate area, the mocking banter from Chiara and Selin, and Loona’s cool surveillance from the armchair.

When I pushed open the glass door of the salon at 14:28, the heavy fragrance of orchids and warm wax welcomed me. Chiara looked up from the reception desk, tapped her manicured nails on the keyboard, and smirked knowingly.

"Right on time, John. Booth three. Loona is already waiting. You know the drill: shoes and trousers off, up onto the table."

I nodded silently, walked down the hallway, and entered the treatment room. Loona sat relaxed in the leather armchair in the corner, sipping from a glass of water and scrolling on her smartphone.

"Strip," she said casually, without looking up. "Selin will be right in with the cooling pads for the laser."

I unbuckled my belt, shoved my jeans and the sheer stockings down over my knees, and turned toward the table to lie down. Yet before I could sit, Selin and Chiara stepped in together—Selin carrying a tray loaded with disinfectants, Chiara following curiously behind.

Both froze in their tracks the moment their eyes landed on my rear.

"Holy shit…," Chiara let out with an incredulous giggle, crossing her arms and stepping closer. "Selin, look at that! Someone did quite a thorough job."

The welts, darkened to shades of purple and deep crimson, ran diagonally across my buttocks, the base of my back, and my upper thighs. Selin set the tray down, stepped directly behind me, and gently ran two cool, gloved fingertips over a swollen ridge on my left cheek. An involuntary shiver coursed through my muscles.

"Braided leather, without a doubt," Selin observed with professional fascination, her fingers gliding slowly over the edge of the swelling. "Precise placement, solid force behind it. The skin must burn like fire."

*Crack!*

The blow caught me completely off guard. Chiara had struck with a full, swinging open hand—dead center on the most sensitive spot of my rear. A searing agony exploded across the raw skin; I gasped sharply, flinched violently, and gripped the frame of the table for support.

Chiara giggled unrestrainedly at my pained gasp, while Selin grinned with amusement.

"Sounds good, has a rich tone to it," Chiara quipped, her eyes gleaming as she looked over at Loona and tilted her head. "Tell me, Loona… did you manage that all by yourself, or did you bring in reinforcements? Do Selin and I get a turn the next time he shows up here? A little warm-up before the laser would do wonders to loosen up those muscles."

Loona looked up from her smartphone. A faint, supremely satisfied smile curled the corners of her mouth. "A friend from Friedrichshain helped out over the weekend. But who knows… if he acts up today, you're more than welcome to step in."

I stood there with a burning rear and blazing ears, unable to lift my gaze, while the three women appraised me like a prepared specimen.

"Alright, up onto the table, John," Selin directed with a smirk. "On your back, legs apart."

I climbed onto the white vinyl. The welts now pressed with a dull ache against the padding, while the surgical steel cage and the M10 thread projected mutely forward.

At that exact moment, the door swung open again.

A trace of sandalwood and cool elegance flooded the room as Vanessa entered. She wore her beige cashmere coat over a simple silk dress, her hair styled to perfection, carrying a discreet, matte-black paper gift bag in her hand.

"Hello, Chiara. Good afternoon, Selin," Vanessa greeted the two cosmeticians with that cosmopolitan courtesy that distinguished her as a longtime, valued regular.

"Frau Richter, how lovely!" Selin returned with a radiant smile. "Aren't we seeing you on Thursday for your facial anyway?"

"Precisely, I'm quite looking forward to it," Vanessa nodded smoothly, before her gaze drifted casually down to the table, where I lay exposed and trembling beneath the bright spotlights.

Her ice-blue eyes took in my flushed face and the steel cylinder between my thighs with a detached, almost amused chill. One eyebrow raised a fraction.

"Well now, John," she remarked with velvety sharpness. "Still so skittish during routine appointments? You should be growing accustomed to the fact that this body no longer functions according to your whims. I trust you won't cause the ladies any trouble today."

She turned away, stepped toward the armchair, and placed a padded presentation case onto the small side table beside Loona.

"I must be on my way, Loona; my next appointment on Kurfürstendamm begins shortly," she said, smoothing down her gloves in passing. "The delivery from the machine shop was dropped off at my place earlier. I simply wanted to hand it over to you personally so you can keep it in your custody."

With a brief nod to the room, Vanessa took her leave, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The door clicked shut behind her.

No sooner was my stepmother gone than Selin stepped up to the side table with a smirk. "What lovely thing did Frau Richter leave behind?"

Setting her phone aside, Loona rose and opened the lid of the case. Resting on the dark velvet was a molded, charcoal-colored silicone prosthetic, its base fitted with a gleaming internal M10 thread of polished stainless steel. Embedded in the base was a small, flush button beside a discreet LED bezel.

"An upgrade for the thread," Loona observed, lifting the piece to inspect it.

Chiara immediately leaned forward, eyes wide. "Wait a second… is there an actual motor inside that? Seriously, a built-in vibrator?"

"Appears so," Loona replied with a cool smile.

"Oh my god, screw it on!" Chiara urged enthusiastically, clapping her open hands against the edge of the table. "Come on, Loona, we have to see what that looks like! You can't just laser him when you have hardware like that sitting right here!"

"Absolutely," Selin agreed with a laugh, crossing her arms. "Try it out on him. We want to see the functional test!"

A wave of scalding, paralyzing shame washed over me. I lay spread-eagled before three young women, defenseless on the examination table, while they debated over me like a mannequin.

"Please… not here…," I managed through a hoarse, choked throat.

Loona turned her gaze slowly toward me. She took in my crimson face, the beads of sweat on my brow, and the frantic trembling of my hands clutching the table cushions for dear life.

Something ignited in her eyes. A dark, unmistakable glint settled into her pupils, her cheeks flushed faintly, and her lips parted into a delicate, almost intoxicated smile. My naked terror and absolute mortification acted on her like a potent narcotic. She visibly savored it—it plainly aroused her to watch me waste away in total helplessness before the two technicians.

"Keep your mouth shut, John," Loona whispered in a low, velvety voice, walking to the foot of the table and slowly tracing the tip of her tongue over her lip. "The ladies want a demonstration. And you are going to show us how obediently you function."

Selin reached for a tube of lubricant with a smirk and coated the M10 thread at the tip of my cage. Loona leaned forward, aligned the heavy prosthetic, and turned it.

The metal engaged with a quiet, scraping sound. With every full rotation to the right, the thread drew tighter, levering the base ring at my perineum with merciless force against the edge of my pubic bone. After four turns, the dense silicone form sat rock-solid against my groin, an alien, imposing silhouette.

Chiara giggled with excitement. "Now turn it on!"

Loona’s finger trailed slowly down to the base of the prosthetic. Looking deep into my eyes, thoroughly intoxicated by my torment, she pressed the button.

A tiny blue LED flared to life—and the motor kicked in with a deep, resonant hum.

In that very breath, the air was ripped clean from my lungs.

The vibrations remained by no means confined to the silicone. Because the prosthetic was rigidly threaded into the closure of my cage, the high-frequency oscillations of the motor transferred unbuffered through the bolt straight into the steel casing—and from there with full force into the massive ring around my root.

It was a cruel, double-edged torment: the mechanical impulses hammered directly against the sensitive nerve bundles along the perineum. They triggered a desperate, burning arousal that drove my imprisoned flesh fruitlessly against the longitudinal bars—yet every microscopic swell was crushed by the vibrating steel and converted into cutting pain. I flinched involuntarily, my hips bucking slightly, and bit down so hard on my lower lip that I tasted copper. My entire groin had been transformed into a captive resonance chamber.

"God, look at him twitch!" Chiara exclaimed in fascination, clapping her hands together. "He feels it completely through the metal!"

Loona leaned in even closer over me. Her breath came faster, warm and fragrant with vanilla, her eyes blazing with ruthless, dark lust as she watched me unravel beneath the vibrations and the degradation.

"Do you like it, John?" she whispered against my ear, her voice trembling. "Do you feel how little control you have left? You belong to me. Every single nerve in your body belongs to me."

She did not switch the vibration off. She let the hum continue to tear through my pelvis while Selin cheerfully prepped the cooling gel for the laser.

The deep, mechanical drone of the motor bored into my groin like an endless cascade of electric needles. The vibrations worked through the M10 thread, rattled the rigid longitudinal bars, and struck the base ring at my perineum with relentless, sustained force. Every pulse sent a wave of desperate arousal through my pelvis, which shattered instantly against the iron boundaries and echoed as a scalding spasm.

"Alright, darling, turn the thing off for a moment, or he's going to jump clean off the table," Selin said with an amused chuckle, smoothing down her disposable gloves and reaching for the tube of clear contact gel.

Loona pressed the button at the base of the prosthetic. The hum died abruptly. The sudden silence in the room felt like a physical blow. My breath came in ragged gasps while the cylinder throbbed hot and heavy against my lower abdomen.

"Unscrew it?" Loona asked, casting a loaded look at my twitching hips.

"No, leave it on," Chiara dismissed with a laugh, wheeling the diode laser cart closer to the table. "First of all, it gives Selin better leverage to get to the folds, and second, he simply looks far more decorative this way. A real centerpiece for our client records."

Selin applied the ice-cold gel with practiced, firm strokes across my bare thighs, smoothing over the purple welts from the weekend without neglecting the perineal area around the steel ring. The contrast between the burning heat in the metal and the chill of the gel made me flinch reflexively.

"Spread your legs wider, John," Selin instructed with clinical detachment. "Feet all the way out on the rests. And keep your head down."

She positioned the heavy handpiece of the laser directly against the inside of my right thigh.

*Beep—Click.*

A stinging flash of heat pierced through my pores. The smell of singed keratin and ozone drifted instantly into the climate-controlled air.

*Beep—Click. Beep—Click.*

Selin worked her way forward in rapid, rhythmic pulses. Every flash of light hit the skin—still tender from Nadja’s crop—like a needle. Clamping my jaw tight, I pressed my hands into the white vinyl of the table and stared blankly at the ceiling, while the heavy silicone prosthetic swayed like a silent monument between my legs with every breath I drew.

Loona had settled back into the leather armchair. She sipped from her water glass, legs crossed elegantly, watching every single flash of light with the calm, possessive satisfaction of a breeder inspecting prize stock.

"Not a single hair left on those thighs," she remarked casually to Selin. "Everything must remain entirely immaculate, after all."

"Don't worry, Loona," Selin replied, not breaking her stride. "The follicles are practically obliterated. By the next session, the skin will be soft as a peach."

She now placed the handpiece directly at the transition zone between the perineum and the base ring. To draw the skin taut, Selin took hold of the mounted prosthetic with her gloved hand without the slightest hesitation and hauled it firmly to the side. The leverage transferred instantly through the M10 thread: the steel ring dug razor-sharp into the ridge of my pubic bone.

*Beep—Click.*

A cry caught in my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes.

"Hold perfectly still, sweetie," Chiara teased from the head of the table. She had pulled a magnifying lamp over and was leaning down over my face. "We're almost done downstairs. But your eyebrows… honestly, John, your face could certainly use a bit more feminine contour."

She reached for a pair of silver tweezers. While Selin fired the next laser pulse at my perineum, Chiara began plucking the stray hairs between my brows and along the arches with ruthless precision. Every sharp pull tugged at the nerves of my face, while below the laser light burned and the prosthetic dragged like a lead weight against my captive flesh.

"See how well-behaved he stays?" Loona noted softly, rising and stepping up beside Chiara at the edge of the table.

She placed her hand on my forehead, brushing a few damp strands of hair from my eyes with comforting care, looking down at me with that cruel, gentle smile.

"Almost through it, little one," she whispered, as Chiara dabbed the newly defined lines with a cool alcohol wipe. "Selin will take the heavy piece off in a moment so you can run your errands this afternoon. Just hold on for two more minutes."

Chiara took a step back, tilting her head to inspect her handiwork under the harsh ceiling light with a critical eye.

"Flawless," she declared, tapping my cheek lightly with the flat of her hand. "Far more defined. No longer so overgrown and scruffy. Now all that's missing is the chest."

She reached for a bowl containing a silvery gel mask and a wide fan brush. While Selin smoothed cooling lotion across my lasered thighs at the foot of the table, Chiara brushed the chilled, damp paste in even strokes across my collarbone and bare chest. The crisp, sweet scent of white peach and hyaluronic acid settled heavily over the clinical air of the treatment room. Every sweep of the brush felt like a smoothing layer of wax, painting over any lingering masculine edge with absolute precision.

"Deep breath, sweetie," Chiara said, pressing gently with her fingertips. "This firms the tissue and leaves the skin silky soft. Just the thing for delicate silk blouses."

At the foot of the table, Selin stepped up to the metal frame. Her gloved hands took hold of the heavy, charcoal silicone prosthetic.

"Right then, let's relieve you of this payload," she said with a mocking smile.

She turned the prosthetic counterclockwise. The M10 thread yielded with a soft, metallic scrape. With every turn, the prying tension on the base ring against my perineum eased a fraction. When the dense piece finally disengaged completely and Selin pulled it free from the threaded stud at the tip of the cage, a deep, staggering wave of relief washed through my pelvis.

Yet the relief was an illusion: the sudden absence at the tip only made the coldness of the cylinder all the more apparent. The surgical steel cage remained locked immovably in place, the miniature padlock shackle keeping the tissue sealed within the longitudinal bars, the bare thread once again protruding stark and silent.

Loona stepped forward, accepted the prosthetic with a towel, and nestled it carefully into the dark velvet of the presentation case. She shut the lid with a solid click.

"Pack it up and stow it away," Loona said evenly, sliding the box into her bag. Then she turned to me as Chiara wiped the remaining mask from my chest with a damp cloth. "Up you get, John. You've dawdled; it's nearly half past three."

I hauled myself up from the table with effort. Every muscle in my lower back protested the movement. My legs trembled, my skin burned as though scorched by the sun, and the sharp twinges from my freshly plucked brows pulsed at my temples.

"Get dressed," Loona instructed, handing me the rolled-up stay-ups. "I've sent the shopping list to your phone. Head straight to KaDeWe, the gourmet floor. Fresh truffle butter, San Daniele, and two bottles of that Sancerre Vanessa is so fond of. If you aren't back at the flat by five, *Kidslox* triggers the alarm."

"Yes, Loona," I replied quietly.

With stinging thighs, I pulled the sheer nylon up over my battered skin. The silicone grip strips bit into raw patches, the lace of my panties rubbed against the metal, and as the dark denim slid into place, I once again presented the outward appearance of an ordinary Charité student. Yet when I caught a fleeting glimpse of my face in the mirror above the sink, a stranger stared back: my eyebrows were thinned into curved, delicate arches, my facial skin flushed, and beneath the high collar of my sweater, the velvet choker pressed like a mute collar against my throat.

Chiara and Selin waved after me with open smirks as I stepped to the counter to settle the bill using the card Loona had handed me.

"Until next time, John!" Chiara called out with undisguised mockery. "Next time we'll add a little color to the mix!"

Outside, the crisp Berlin autumn air hit my face. Every step along Uhlandstraße toward the Ku'damm was an exercise in mechanical torment: the bare M10 thread rubbed against the inner fabric of my trousers with every pace, while the steel housing dictated the rhythm of my stride. On the way to the U-Bahn, I kept my head down, gripped by the panicked fear that a passerby might notice the unnatural precision of my plucked brows or the scent of peach and treatment cream trailing around me like an invisible cloud.

The basement floor of KaDeWe was bustling with activity. Well-dressed patrons crowded around vitrines of cheese, caviar, and wine. I moved stiffly between the aisles, clutching the small shopping basket, working through the list. Waiting at the charcuterie counter, I noticed the puzzled glances of an older woman beside me, her eyes lingering briefly on my collar and glossy fingernails. My pulse raced; the humiliation of standing among respectable strangers in this condition sent blood rushing hot to my ears.

At 16:52 sharp—eight minutes before the *Kidslox* countdown expired—I unlocked the front door of the Steglitz pre-war apartment.

The flat was quiet. In the kitchen, I set down the heavy paper bags, neatly stocked the delicacies in the fridge, and arranged the wine on the sideboard. Only when I stepped into the living room did I notice the duffel bag resting beside the desk.

Loona emerged from her room. She had traded her tailored dress for comfortable loungewear, carrying a mug of tea, looking me over with cool detachment.

"Right on time. Very good, John," she said, glancing toward the kitchen. Then she gestured with her mug toward the duffel bag. "Pack your things for the weekend. Richard has invited us."

I paused. "Father?"

"Before his major conference in Geneva, he booked a long weekend at a boutique wellness hotel in the Havelland region. A small family getaway. Vanessa and I decided you are coming along."

An icy chill crept up my spine.

"Richard is looking forward to having his disciplined son around for a few days," Loona continued with a delicate, cruel smile, stepping close enough for me to breathe in her vanilla scent. She raised her hand, traced a fingernail along my shaped eyebrow, and let her fingers glide slowly down to my groin, where she firmly gripped the threaded stud through the denim.

"And the two of us are looking forward to presenting you in the hotel dining room and the spa," she whispered against my ear.