after the tattoo

The drive back to Steglitz went briskly. The cold wind swept along the windows, while on my right flank every heartbeat echoed as a dull throb. The transparent film pulled taut over the swollen tissue, and with every turn, the seam of my jeans pressed against the fresh wound.

The car stopped outside the old apartment building. We stepped out and climbed the creaking stairs up to the flat. Barely had the door closed behind us when Loona turned around in the dim hallway.

"Shoes off, jacket on the rack," Loona directed me quietly. "Then into the bathroom. I want to see how Ben did and whether the film is holding tight."

I slipped off my shoes and walked with stiff steps ahead into the tiled bathroom. The harsh neon light above the mirror stung my eyes. I unbuckled my belt, pushed my jeans and underwear down to the middle of my thighs, and stepped in front of the sink.

Loona stepped up behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. Her dark matte-leather dress and austere styling lent her a cool elegance that stood in stark contrast to my nakedness. Beside her, Nadja leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her velvet corset, her tall platform boots resting casually, watching the scene with an amused smile.

Loona leaned down, her cool fingertips carefully checking the edges of the Suprasorb film. She traced gently along the unbroken skin right beside the delicate, purple-tinged lines.

"No weeping from the wound, the edges are sticking firmly," Loona stated matter-of-factly. She straightened up, placed her hands on my shoulders, and met my gaze firmly in the mirror. "You know what that means, John. This is not a toy to put on and take off at will. It is a wound. For three days, this film remains untouched. No soap directly on the area, no hot water, no rubbing. And above all: absolute care."

"I will be careful," I managed hoarsely.

Nadja laughed softly, pushed off from the doorframe, and stepped closer to me. Her gaze glided over the dark ink, which now stood out immutably beneath the film, and then wandered down to the steel cylinder between my legs.

While Nadja spoke, Loona's hand slid slowly down my hip. Her fingers found the base ring, clasped it with steady pressure, and gave it a gentle twist, just enough for the steel to work against the irritated skin. She did not let go as she continued studying me in the mirror.

"Now tell me honestly, John," Nadja began with a bright glint in her eyes, tilting her head. "How does it feel? You now have a permanent symbol of female authority set deep in your skin. No key in the world can unlock that again. What goes through your mind when you look down at it?"

I stared at my reflection, unable to evade her searching gaze. My heart hammered noticeably against my ribs. Loona's fingers tugged the ring downward by a fraction of an inch once more and then let it spring back against the pubic bone.

"It is… overwhelming," I confessed quietly as the flush rose in my cheeks. "It feels as though from today on, there are no more excuses. The cage was something I could still rationalize as a phase or an arrangement. But this… this is me now. Marked forever."

"Precisely," Loona replied softly, and her fingers slipped from my shoulders to my throat, where she briefly brushed the edge of the velvet choker. Her other hand remained on the steel, her thumb stroking slowly over the cap while she continued speaking. "It relieves you of the burden of having to pretend you are the same man out there as you used to be. But tell us: how was it over at Ben's place for you? You were white as a sheet on that table."

The memory of the studio instantly tightened my throat. Loona's fingers tightened around the cylinder and held it still, as if she wanted to feel the answer through the metal itself.

"It was hell," I forced out, lowering my head for a moment. "In front of the two of you… I have gotten used to that in a strange way. But in front of Ben… in front of another man, who is the exact same age as me, who is completely free, broadly built, tattooed… lying naked before him while he inspects my cage and taps his fingers against it… I have never felt so worthless and ridiculous."

Nadja giggled with amusement and exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with Loona.

"And yet you held still without flinching," Nadja teased playfully. "And admit it: when he started openly flirting with me while pinning you to the floor with one hand… that really did you in, didn't it? You lay there, unable to get a word out, having to watch him call the shots with absolute ease."

I bit my lip. The humiliation flared up hot inside me once more. Loona rolled the cylinder slowly between her fingers, without taking her eyes off my face in the mirror.

"Yes," I replied tonelessly. "Seeing how casually he spoke with you while I was merely the object on his table… that hurt. But it also made it brutally clear where my place is. That I no longer have any say."

Loona's lips parted into that velvety, deeply satisfied smile that always appeared whenever I fulfilled her expectations completely. She traced the pad of her index finger over my chin, lifted my face slightly, and looked deep into my eyes, while her other hand held the steel for one final, firm moment before releasing it.

"You recognized that well, John," she said quietly. "You faced that pain and that shame without running away. Ben did outstanding work. He considers you a tame plaything, and you gave him no reason to doubt your compliance. You learned your lesson for today."

Nadja appraised me once more with visible amusement before glancing at her watch.

"He looks almost a little disappointed, Loona," Nadja turned back to her friend and laughed brightly. "Did you actually think we would take you along to KitKat tonight in this state, John? With a fresh tattoo that would chafe with every step?"

"Certainly not," Loona made unmistakably clear. A faint, superior smile touched her lips. "A medical student should know the basics of wound healing himself. You are staying right here tonight."

She took a step back, reached for her small bag, and looked me up and down one more time.

"Put on some loose cotton trousers, clean the kitchen, and go to bed. You will wait here for us until we return. When we come home tomorrow morning, the flat will be spotless and the coffee ready. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Loona," I answered, bowing my head.

Before turning away, she pointed with a brief glance toward her shoes. Understanding, I sank to my knees and leaned forward. First, my lips brushed the matte tip of her heel, then that of Nadja's platform boots. Both held still while I kissed both pairs of footwear, my breathing shallow, the steel still locked between my thighs.

"Very good boy," she said, brushed my cheek once in passing, and turned away. A faint, mocking smile lingered on her lips as she added: "Perhaps we'll bring you back something from the club. A little dessert. My pussy, freshly filled by someone else. You can earn the creampie once the flat is clean tomorrow morning."

"Have fun waiting, doc," Nadja said goodbye with a teasing wink.

The women's heels clicked across the floorboards of the hallway. Shortly after, I heard the heavy front door open, muffled laughter in the stairwell, and finally the metallic click of the latch falling into place.

Then came silence.

A heavy, complete stillness settled over the old apartment.

I remained standing alone before the large bathroom mirror. The harsh light illuminated every detail: the pale skin of my flank, the redness around the triangle, the black fineline tip with the integrated Venus symbol standing out sharply and unmistakably just above the pelvic crest. Right beside it lay the dull, cold surgical steel—locked tight, immovable, mute.

I carefully lifted my hand and let my fingertips glide over the smooth plastic layer of the film. Beneath it, the flesh burned like fire.

For the first time, I grasped the full gravity of this evening: the two women were out in the Berlin night, free, carefree, and untouched by what had transpired, while I remained behind in the empty flat—permanently marked, locked in steel, and bound to an order from which, as of today, there was no turning back.