Chapter 75 Sexual orientation confirmation panel (4)
Ethan Ward had told himself this was only a follow-up.
A “check-in,” he had messaged the encrypted number six weeks after his first appointment.
The reply had arrived in under thirty seconds: Thursday 22:30. Bring the original card. Wear nothing beneath the coat we left you in.
He stepped out of the elevator at 22:29, pulse already loud in his ears as he saw a lady walking inside the elevator.
The black trench they had draped over his shoulders the night they took him apart still lived in his closet like a guilty relic.
He wore it now, belt knotted tight, nothing underneath except skin and the faint yellow-green ghosts of bruises their mouths had left.
The walnut door stood ajar. Inside, the lights were lower than memory allowed.
Julian stood at the bar cart pouring three fingers of amber liquid into crystal.
Selene sat on the edge of the wide examination table, legs crossed, wearing only Julian’s white dress shirt, unbuttoned so far that the inner curves of her breasts threatened to spill free with every slow breath.
Julian did not turn. “Coat off. Hanger. You know the rules.”
Ethan’s fingers shook as he loosened the knot.
The trench slid away and he was naked again, exactly the way they liked him.
Cool air kissed his skin; his cock was already half-hard, rising to full attention under their silent regard.
Selene’s smile was slow, fond, and dangerous. “Look who relapsed.”
Julian turned then, drink in one hand, Ethan’s original black prescription card in the other, edges soft from being read too many times.
He set the glass down and flicked the card onto the table beside Selene.
“Six weeks,” he said, voice low. “Longer than most. I believe my wife owes me dinner.”
Selene rolled her eyes, affection bright in them.
“He would have come crawling sooner if I hadn’t blocked his number for four days.” She crooked a finger.
“Come here, darling. Let’s see how badly you missed us.”
Ethan crossed the room on unsteady legs. When he was close enough, Selene caught his wrist and pulled him between her thighs.
The dress shirt gaped; her nipples were tight, dark, begging.
She smelled like warm skin and sharp citrus, the scent that had haunted every shower fantasy for the last month and a half.
Julian moved in behind him, close enough that Ethan felt the heat of his body through fine cotton.
Large hands settled on Ethan’s hips, claiming, measuring.
“Hands on the table,” Julian ordered. “Bend forward. Feet apart.”
Ethan obeyed instantly. The vinyl was cool against his palms.
In the mirrored ceiling he watched himself: flushed, trembling, cock rigid and already leaking at the tip.
Selene’s fingers traced the head, gathering the bead of precome, bringing it to her mouth with deliberate slowness.
“Still so eager,” she murmured. “We barely had to train that out of you.”
Julian’s belt buckle opened behind him. The metallic sound dragged a helpless noise from Ethan’s throat.
Selene leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Tonight we test compliance durability. You will take everything we give you and you will not come until we say. Then, if you’re very good, we’ll let you choose who finishes inside you first.”
Julian’s hand settled between Ethan’s shoulder blades and pressed him down until his chest met the padded table.
Selene slid off the edge, shirt falling open completely, and moved to the instrument tray.
She selected the warmed lube and a thicker silicone wand than the one they had used last time, an obvious upgrade.
Julian spoke against the nape of Ethan’s neck. “You’ve been stretching yourself the way we instructed?”
Ethan nodded frantically. “Every night. The plug you sent, the one with the app. I wore it to work twice.”
Selene laughed, delighted. “He did. I have the data. Heart rate spiked during his three o’clock client call. Naughty boy.”
Julian’s fingers, slick with lube, circled Ethan’s entrance once, twice, then pushed inside without further warning.
Two thick digits scissored, testing. Ethan’s breath fractured; his cock jerked against the edge of the table.
“Good,” Julian said, almost to himself. “Still open for us.”
Selene handed her husband the wand. Julian coated it slowly, letting Ethan watch every inch disappear inside him in the mirror.
When it was seated, Julian twisted the base; low vibration hummed to life, a cruel tease.
Ethan’s moan was punched out of him.
Selene climbed back onto the table in front of him, knees wide, shirt slipping off one shoulder.
She threaded fingers through his hair and guided his mouth to her breast.
“While he fucks you with that,” she said breathlessly, “you’re going to make me come. Tongue only. Hands stay where they are.”
Julian began moving the wand in slow, punishing strokes.
Every drag set Ethan’s nerves on fire. Selene’s hips rolled, feeding him her nipple, then the soft underside of her breast, then guiding him lower, swollen, dripping for him.
The room narrowed to sensation: the stretch and buzz inside him, the taste of Selene on his tongue, Julian’s steady voice counting strokes like a metronome.
At some point the wand vanished and was replaced by something hotter, thicker, Julian himself, pushing in bare, the condom abandoned somewhere between breaths.
Ethan cried out against Selene’s clit; she clenched around nothing and praised him in broken French.
Julian set a brutal pace, one hand gripping Ethan’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke him in perfect counter-rhythm.
Selene came first, hard and sudden, thighs trembling around Ethan’s ears.
She pulled his hair until it hurt and kissed him through the aftershocks, swallowing her own taste from his tongue.
Julian’s control splintered. He slammed deep, held, and spilled inside Ethan with a low, guttural sound that felt like ownership branded into flesh.
Ethan was still aching, untouched now, cock dripping onto the vinyl.
Julian eased out slowly, pressed a kiss between Ethan’s shoulder blades that felt almost tender.
Selene slid off the table, legs unsteady, and circled behind him.
The harness was already fastened; she must have stepped into it while Ethan was too lost to notice.
“My turn,” she whispered, and entered him in one slick thrust.
The second wave broke him completely.
Julian knelt in front of him, cradling his face, feeding him slow, filthy kisses while his wife fucked him with the same precision her husband had used moments earlier.
When Ethan finally came, shatteringly, it was into Julian’s waiting hand, Selene’s and Julian’s name torn from his throat in equal, desperate measure.
Afterward they cleaned him the way they always did, warm clothes, gentle fingers and water pressed to his lips.
Julian wrote on a fresh black card while Selene traced idle patterns over the new bite marks on Ethan’s back.
Diagnosis unchanged.
Compliance: excellent.
Dosage increased to three sessions weekly.
Relapse clause invoked permanently.
Ethan signed with the pen between his teeth while Selene’s fingers were still inside him, checking that he remained soft, open, prepared.
When the elevator doors closed twenty minutes later, he was dressed again in the trench, the new card tucked into the inside pocket directly over his heart, ready for the next.