The Treatment 2

Tracing her fingertips down my shin, Selin spread a fresh trail of chilled gel and looked up at me with unmasked derision.

"Tell me, John…," she drawled in a sugary, teasing lilt as she adjusted the handpiece settings. "How exactly does that function day to day? I mean, when you wake up in the morning thinking you're just an ordinary bloke… do you bump right against that steel ceiling down there every single time?"

Chiara let out a throaty chuckle, already positioning her handpiece on my other leg. "Look at him, Selin. He doesn't even remember what morning freedom feels like. I bet he has to knock politely first and ask if he's permitted to breathe at all." She shot Loona a sly sideways glance. "Admit it, Loona. Does he get any say whatsoever, or is he just as domesticated at home as he is here on our table?"

Loona took a slow, leisurely sip of her cappuccino, leaning back to let her emerald eyes wander over my flinching frame with cool amusement.

"Any say?" she echoed with velvety condescension. "Whatever for? He's at his most content when someone else does all the thinking for him. We reached an explicit arrangement yesterday evening: four solid weeks of absolute compliance. No grumbling, no theatrics. And if he carries out every task flawlessly, I might grant him a tender little caress as a reward. Until then, every square inch of his body belongs to me."

"Four weeks?" Chiara gasped, shaking her head in sheer disbelief, her eyes dancing with mischievous delight. She leaned so close over me that her perfume caught in my throat. "You poor thing. A full four weeks crammed into thirty-five millimeters of steel. And how do you use the loo like that? Do you have to sit down like a polite little girl?"

I pressed my lips together, unable to answer, a hot flush rising all the way to my temples.

"Naturally he sits down," Loona replied on my behalf with smooth matter-of-factness. "I do not tolerate standing to pee in my flat. And with that sleeve on, any alternative posture is rendered entirely moot anyway."

Selin nearly burst out laughing. "Good lord, that is too priceless! A grown man, permanently pinned to the seat!" She set the sapphire prism of the laser against my kneecap.

*Beep. Flash.*

A searing lance of heat shot up my leg. My thigh jerked violently, but Chiara held my calf pinned against the runner with a firm, vice-like grip.

"Hold still, John," Chiara reprimanded me tartly. "Beauty requires sacrifice. You wouldn't want to disappoint Loona, would you? Just imagine how splendid your legs will look once we're done. As delicate and bare as a debutante's. Perhaps Loona will even lend you her silk stockings soon."

"Not a bad notion at all, Chiara," Loona mused with a dangerous little smile, tracing her index finger around the rim of her porcelain cup. "Perhaps I will surprise him with that in the near future."

*Beep. Flash. Beep. Flash.*

The two women worked their way up my legs in seamless synchrony, making unabashed jokes at my helplessness, debating every freckle and involuntary muscle flutter as though I were an inert specimen undergoing clinical preparation rather than a sentient human being. At every searing needle-prick of the beam, my fingers clawed into the paper sheet. The acrid stench of singed keratin stung my nostrils. Yet right in the thick of that relentless crossfire—the physical pain, the mocking banter, the harsh glare of the lamps—that dark, intoxicating poison stirred deep in my gut once again. Total capitulation before these women, the knowledge that my coarse masculinity was being steadily vaporized and padlocked under their hands, carried a ruinous, addictive sweetness.

When my legs were finally stripped bare, mottled red, and wiped down with chilled cloths after what felt like an eternity, Selin stepped to the head of the bed.

"Right then, chest and abdomen," she announced briskly, though the amused gleam had not faded from her eyes in the slightest. She pumped a generous dollop of freezing contact gel squarely onto my sternum. "Let's see how much coarse brush we need to clear before you meet Loona's standards."

Chiara moved in, spreading the cold viscous gel across my ribcage with both palms, casually grazing my sensitized nipples with deliberate indifference. The sudden chill made my chest muscles seize tight.

"Oho," Chiara giggled, flashing a broad grin toward Loona. "Quite the sensitive gentleman, isn't he? Can you feel that, John? Don't worry, the laser will burn far more delightfully in a second."

Selin dialed the console to its highest frequency setting. The machine's low drone swelled into a thin, menacing whine.

*Beep. Flash.*

The pain across my breastbone was sharp, scorching, and unrelenting. A hoarse gasp tore from my throat. My head snapped back, teeth clenched to the breaking point.

"Easy now, good boy," Selin purred with mock sympathy, dragging the handpiece along the next track directly over my ribs. *Beep. Flash.* "Don't squirm so much. Keep your reward in four weeks in mind. A dutiful tool ought to be able to handle a little light, surely."

Rising from the armchair, Loona strode over to the table with slow, swaying grace, coming to a halt directly beside me. She leaned in, resting one hand against the padded vinyl, and stared deep into my pain-clouded eyes. For a heartbeat, her fragrance of jasmine eclipsed the stench of singed hair. Her cool fingertips stroked gently across my sweat-slicked temple—a touch so soothing yet so possessive that it brought tears to my eyes.

"You are doing splendidly, John," she murmured softly, her voice pitched so only I and the two technicians could catch it. "Look how smooth you are becoming. Once they are finished with you, you will be pristine. Soft, radiant, tailored for my touch. Endure it for me."

Beneath her words and gentle strokes, my remaining resistance crumbled to ash. I offered a faint nod, drinking in her scent, letting the searing pulses scour my flesh. I surrendered to the burn, to Chiara and Selin's mockery, and to the absolute certainty that there was no turning back from this total devotion.

The procedure stretched on through agonizing minutes. When Selin finally clicked the handpiece back into the console's cradle, the shrill whine of the chiller died away. The room was left with only the deep hum of the ventilation and my shallow, ragged breathing.

My entire body throbbed as though covered in a severe sunburn. Where dense, dark hair had once grown across my chest, belly, legs, and groin, there lay only bare, blotchy, reddened skin. Chiara stepped up with a thick stack of cold, damp compresses, wiping away the remnants of the sticky gel. Her gloved hands glided over my bare shins, along my inner thighs, carefully tracing the contours of the asymmetric base ring.

"That was heavy lifting," Chiara noted, brushing a blonde lock from her brow. She grinned across at Loona, who was finishing her cold cappuccino with complete detachment. "The results speak for themselves, though. Three or four more sessions over the coming months and not a single follicle will ever sprout again. He's as hairless as a newborn."

"Splendid," Loona replied with cool composure, rising to smooth her tailored skirt. Her emerald eyes inspected my reddened, hairless state with quiet approval. "The initial installment of Richard's wire was well spent. But we are far from finished. Next up are his hands."

Selin removed her protective eyewear and nodded promptly. "Sit upright on the edge of the bed, John. Sophie will bring the manicure basin in a moment."

I swung my legs over the side with trembling knees. The bare skin of my thighs stuck uncomfortably to the paper lining. With every shift of weight, my pubic bone knocked against the cold edges of the surgical steel, the laser-etched script *Loona's Property* catching the overhead light. I started to bring my hands down to cover myself, but Loona was already standing squarely in front of me, placing two fingers beneath my chin to tip my head up.

"Hands flat on your knees, John," she commanded with velvety firmness. "You have nothing left to hide. The girls just examined every square millimeter of you. Modesty now is a waste of everyone's time."

Right then, a light tap sounded at the door, and Sophie entered carrying a shallow porcelain bowl of warm rosewater, emery boards, buffing blocks, and an assortment of small vials. As she approached the table, her gaze was drawn to my bare, hairless abdomen and the steel cylinder nestled beneath it. Her lips twitched, a faint flush dusting her cheeks as she set the basin down on the side stand.

Leaning toward Chiara and half-shielding her mouth with one hand, she whispered in a tone clearly audible to me: "There is quite a lot of curiosity out at the front desk… Sophie and Frau Lindner were just asking what sort of elaborate specialty treatment we're running in here."

Chiara pressed her lips together to stifle a snicker, trading a smirk with Selin.

My stomach knotted tight. Knowing that even the clients out in the lounge suspected something completely perverse was taking place in booth 4 cut deeper than the laser ever could.

Rolling her stool directly in front of me, Chiara took my right hand and dipped my fingertips into the warm rosewater. "Don't fret, John," she purred with delicate mockery. "A handsome lad like you needs soft, well-groomed fingers—and Loona prefers things neat and smooth."

Retrieving an orange wood stick, she methodically eased back my cuticles with practiced efficiency. She shaped each nail into a neat, rounded contour, buffed the surface with a fine block, and massaged a rich almond oil into my knuckles.

Loona remained beside me the entire time, her hand resting possessively on my bare, hairless shoulder. Her fingertips trailed along my collarbone down to my freshly treated chest—a touch that sent a shiver through me despite the humiliation.

"Look at your hands, John," she murmured in my ear. "No more rough patches. No jagged edges. You will learn what true refinement feels like."

Chiara reached for a small glass bottle fitted with a fine brush, releasing the faint, sweet scent of polish. With steady, deliberate strokes, she applied a glossy coat of clear lacquer over every single nail. Under the fluorescent lights, my fingertips shone like polished glass—neat, delicate, and immaculate.

"Five minutes under the UV lamp to cure, and it will be completely scratch-resistant," Chiara said, guiding both my hands into the compact curing unit on the side table. The violet glow hummed to life.

Meanwhile, Selin handed Loona a heavy crystal atomizer. "This is the new formulation from Paris, Loona. Powdery, with hints of white lily and vanilla. Lingers on the skin all day."

Taking the flacon, Loona tested its weight before stepping directly in front of me. She depressed the pump twice. A fine, fragrant mist settled coolly over my bare throat and collarbones. The aroma enveloped me entirely—sweet, heady, and unmistakably feminine.

"From now on, you carry my scent, my tool," Loona whispered, her smile gleaming with dark pride.

Chiara patted my shoulder as the UV light clicked off. "All done. You may get dressed now, pretty boy. See you for your next session in four weeks."

Stiff-limbed, I slid from the bed and retreated behind the changing curtain. Pulling my trousers on, the coarse fabric rubbed painfully against the raw, bare skin of my legs. Every step stung. As I pulled my sweater over my head, the scent of lily and vanilla rose instantly to my nose. My nails caught the light with a high-gloss sheen.

When we emerged from the booth and made our way through the crowded reception area, the conversation among the patrons fell quiet. Several pairs of eyes followed me from head to toe; Sophie and Selin offered Loona complicit waves as we departed. I kept my head down, burying my hands deep inside my coat pockets to conceal the gloss on my nails.

Outside in the brisk air, I drew a deep breath, but Loona gave me no reprieve. Taking my arm with a firm grip, she steered me toward the car.

"Come along, don't dawdle," she said, checking her watch. "We're heading straight to Tauentzienstraße. KaDeWe is waiting. We still have plenty of Richard's money left, and there is a very particular department I have in mind."