Chapter 7: Disciplinary Measures
The waiting room smelled like lavender and regret.
Ben shifted in the stiff leather chair, knee bouncing, eyes darting between the magazine rack and the clock. Fourteen minutes early. He’d left the house in such a hurry he nearly forgot his wallet.
The receptionist—same as last time, same tight bun, same coral nails—barely glanced up from her screen. “He’s finishing up with another patient.”
Ben nodded, thumbing his phone open. Three texts from Lisa. *Did you pay the water bill?* Followed by, *Never mind, I did it.* Then, *Ethan spit up on your jacket.*
He shoved the phone back in his pocket just as the door clicked open.
Stu stepped out, crisp white coat, hair slightly damp at the temples. A flushed woman in her forties scurried past, avoiding eye contact.
“Ben.” Stu’s smile was all teeth. “Right on time.”
The exam room was colder than usual. Or maybe it was just the way Stu’s gaze trailed him as he sat on the edge of the table.
“How’s the abstinence going?” Stu asked, snapping on gloves.
Ben cleared his throat. “Fine.”
“No slip-ups?”
A beat too long. “Nope.”
Stu paused. Looked up.
Ben’s neck burned.
“You’re a terrible liar.” Stu tossed the gloves in the trash. “How many times?”
“What, like—since Friday?”
“Since our last session.”
Ben exhaled through his nose. “Twice.”
Stu made a note. “Twice in three days.”
“Yeah, well.” Ben shrugged. “Old habits.”
Stu studied him. Then he turned, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a small black box.
Ben frowned. “What’s that?”
The click of the latch echoed. Inside, nestled in foam, was a sleek silicone cage—curved, with a tiny silver hinge and what looked like a miniature antenna.
Ben’s stomach dropped.
“Remote-controlled.” Stu plucked it from the case, turning it over in his palm. “Vibration settings range from… let’s call it *disciplinary* to *punitive*.”
Ben laughed, sharp. “No fucking way.”
Stu arched a brow.
“Look, doc,” Ben leaned back, palms up, “I’ve jerked off every day since I was thirteen. You’re not gonna—”
“I’m not *asking*.” Stu’s voice was calm, almost pleasant. “This isn’t optional.”
The words hung there.
Ben swallowed. “You’re serious.”
Stu stepped closer. The scent of his cologne—something expensive, cedar and spice—wrapped around Ben like a challenge.
“You want results?” Stu’s thumb brushed the inside of Ben’s knee. “Then you follow the protocol.”
Ben’s pulse kicked.
“It’s temporary,” Stu said, softer now. “Two weeks. Think of it as… resetting your system.”
Ben exhaled. “And if I say no?”
Stu’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we terminate the treatment.”
The unspoken *you fail* lingered between them.
Ben hesitated. Then, slowly, he unbuckled his belt.
Stu’s fingers were clinical at first—cool lube, precise adjustments—but when the device clicked into place, Ben gasped. The fit was snug. Unignorable.
Stu tapped his tablet. A low, insistent buzz vibrated through Ben’s core.
“Jesus—”
“Test run.” Stu watched him squirm, amused. “You’ll get used to it.”
Ben gritted his teeth as the sensation built, then abruptly cut off. His hands clenched the table.
Stu pocketed the remote. “I control the settings. You wear it. No touching.”
Ben opened his mouth—to argue, to joke, he wasn’t sure—but Stu was already walking away.
“See you Friday,” he said, hand on the doorknob. “And Ben?” He glanced back, smirk sharp. “Behave.”
The door shut.
Alone, Ben adjusted himself, wincing at the unfamiliar pressure. His phone buzzed—Lisa again. *Ethan’s crying. You got the good formula, right?*
He typed one-handed, *Yeah, in the fridge.*
Then, before he could second-guess it, he added: *Gonna be late tonight. Work thing.*
A lie.
The cage hummed to life again—brief, teasing—and Ben’s breath hitched.
Two weeks.
He already knew it’d feel like forever.