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Luka felt powerless in his own body and mind. Women in his life appeared to be conspiring effortlessly, as though this wasn’t the strangest and most depraved thing he ever experienced. The scenarios he was being thrust into had been the stuff of prolonged searches of tube sites and story archives, but now Luka wasn’t just trying to imagine himself as the protagonist, he transition from the ordinary world into his new reality occurred shockingly fast. No browser tab could be closed on this. This wasn’t a perverse dream he could wake up from, Luka had lost control of the narrative and the inertia was in an apparent circle of manicured hands. The thing that kept him upright was not hope for reprieve but an addiction to the experience itself.
Standing in the center of Kat’s office, Luka tried not to think about the taste. He really tried. He tried to focus on objects around the room, but there was no escaping the taste, or the soft, damp weight on his tongue. It was a direct, tactile reminder that his therapist’s panties—were now part of his daily caloric intake. Here he was, hands behind his head, legs apart, his entire life distilled to the sensation of expensive panties rubbing the roof of his mouth.
He had to admit, the fetish was no longer just a fascination. It was a parasite. Panties: the ones in his mouth, the ones on his hips, the ones in tidy rows in Anna’s drawer had burrowed into his subconsciousness. Luka stopped simply finding them arousing; they had become a craving, a need. He had tried desperately to reminded himself, forcefully, that he was still a man. But instead he just stood there taking every humiliation thrust upon him only to find himself thirsty for more. Instead of objecting and walking away from this insanity, his feet remained planted with the soiled fabric resting in his mouth. He just held them in, breathing through his nose, as Kat watched him with that ineffable blend of clinical detachment and unimpressed familiarity.
Luka felt unimaginably lucky meeting Anna at a bar of all places. She was too good for him. That was clear on day one and confirmed on every subsequent date, it was as if he slipped into an adjacent reality where a guy like him could ever land a first kiss with a woman like her, let alone get engaged. Luka sometimes wondered if Anna was conducting some kind of social experiment—an exploratory study of male mediocrity—but that didn’t track with her sincerity. In truth, she appeared to value his softness and commented on occasion that Luka was unlike any of the men she’d ever dated. In hindsight he realized Anna’s attraction might have been less about his unique wit and more about his utter absence of threat. He was safe, in the way of a declawed housecat, predictable and low-maintenance.
Every flashbulb moment of their courtship replayed in his mind, and none more than the night when, trembling with excitement and a hangdog sense of inferiority, he proposed his grand idea of sexual abstinence until marriage. It had been Luka’s own logic, after all, patched together from equal parts earnest anxiety and terror of being measured and found comically lacking. He stuttered while saying it—how he believed true intimacy required restraint, how all great romances were built on anticipation, how the best things in life were worth waiting for.
Luka was shocked that Anna agreed. Sometimes Luka wondered if Anna’s attraction was a trick of inertia, like jumping the tracks of her own love life to see what would happen if she dated a man incapable of hurting her. Someone who posed no danger, not even the risk of disappointing her. While Luke might have been incapable of disappointing her emotionally, physical disappointment would be inevitable.
Abstinence, as it turned out, did not curb Luka’s perversions but intensify them.
“…Luka?” Kat spoke using a slightly agitated tone. Kat stood directly in front of him, arms crossed, eyebrow arched. “Did you even hear my question?”
He snapped to, registering the laser focus of her stare. Luka nodded, feeling his ears blaze in embarrassment, then realized he didn’t have the faintest clue what she’d just asked. He made a noise—half contrition, half supplication—that sounded utterly pitiful through the lace gag.
“That’s what I thought,” Kat’s tone was more acidic. “Since you seem to be having trouble focusing, let me ask you again…”
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