Reflections

The late-afternoon click of the front door latch felt like another trap snapping shut behind me. In my backpack were Emma’s scribbled notes, in my groin the familiar, dull ache of resin, and on my banking app a fresh charge of nearly eighteen euros. It did not push my account into the red—my father provided reliably and generously—yet every cent dealt a direct blow to my pride. I resented pouring my hard-earned allowance into drinks for Emma and her boyfriend. And yet… as I had climbed the stairs, that exact realization had stoked a dark, humiliating warmth low in my gut. The knowledge that I had funded her, that my money had paid for her frappuccino, left a prickle of twisted excitement beneath my skin.

Loona was seated at the dining table, her laptop open alongside a glass of cold water with a slice of lemon. Dressed in tailored black trousers and a fitted white top, her hair swept up in an immaculate bun, she projected calm, structured authority.

"Shoes off, bag down, over here," she said without glancing away from the display. Her voice was even, carried on that quiet certainty that suffocated resistance before it could begin.

I kicked off my sneakers, set the pack against the wall, and walked over with my head lowered.

"Unlock your phone and put it down," she instructed idly.

I obeyed. With practiced swipes, she navigated the screen, opening my banking app to verify the charge from the corner bistro. A faint, amused smirk crossed her lips.

"Seventeen euros and eighty cents," she murmured approvingly. "Emma already texted. She was very taken with how accommodating you were. Said you didn't even blink." She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto mine with deliberate focus. "You are capable of learning after all, John."

"She gave me her geography notes," I managed to say. "Four pages. I need to type them up and format them."

"Good. Make sure there aren't any mistakes," she replied, reaching over to encircle my wrist and check the heart rate reading on my Apple Watch. A thin smile surfaced. "A little elevated, hm? Take a seat."

I lowered myself carefully onto the chair beside her. The hard resin pressed firmly into my flesh, forcing my thighs tight together on instinct.

Loona angled the laptop slightly toward me. The dashboard of her X account was active—the channel through which she had been directing submissive paypigs for months. The inbox was crowded with incoming requests.

"Time for the evening routine," she said, leaning back so her shoulder lightly brushed mine. "Three pending inquiries. Answer them. You know the tone."

"Cold. Detached. Demanding," I recited mechanically.

"Exactly. No gratitude, no explanations." She pointed a fingertip toward the top thread. A user named Marcus_sub was begging for permission to send fifty euros for her next coffee.

My fingers rested over the keyboard. Feeling her eyes burning into the side of my neck, I keyed in the reply: *50 isn't worth my time. Send 100 or get lost.*

Loona let out a low, throaty chuckle of satisfaction. "Perfect."

Then her hand drifted slowly onto my thigh. Her fingertips traveled over the denim, edging upward centimeter by centimeter until her nails traced the rigid curve where the shell was locked in place. A sharp shiver ran through me; the fabric was already pulling taut, betrayed by the thoughts running through my head.

"Do you see the irony in this, John?" she murmured close to my ear.

I held my breath, fingers freezing above the keys.

"Here you are, turning down grown men who plead for the privilege of throwing their money at me. In secret, you look down on them, don't you? Think of them as spineless losers buying crumbs of attention."

Her fingers curled around the base of the plastic, applying controlled, deliberate pressure that drew a choked breath from my chest. The mixture of dull ache and rising arousal was suffocating.

"Yet this morning on the schoolyard, you surrendered your own allowance. You fought it internally, you didn't want to hand it over… and yet it got to you anyway, didn't it? The knowledge that Emma is drinking coffee you paid for. That you're her useful little wallet."

The words landed with clinical precision. My pulse pounded in my ears, heat flooding all the way to my temples. She saw through every single layer.

"You're no different than the men in my inbox, sweetheart," she whispered with silky malice, her grip tightening over the casing. "Except you aren't hiding behind a screen. You stand right in front of her. And you keep paying."

"Loona…," I forced out through a tight throat.

"Admit it," she demanded softly. "You like paying her way."

"Yes…," I breathed, keeping my eyes fixed on the keys in shame. The truth sat heavy and undeniable.

"Good boy," she purred, easing her grip to brush a hand gently along my jawline. "Finish the messages. Then get to Emma's notes. I want them completely spotless by tomorrow morning."

She stood up, poured another measure of water into her glass, and looked down at me with cool detachment.

"And later… before bed… we'll do an inspection. I want to see just how much your little field trip today took out of you."

My hands shook as I resumed typing, the web of coercion, money, and dark fascination pulling tighter around me with every line.