Part II: The Anticipation in the Office

The metallic clink of the antique key turning inside the old brass lock rang out clearly in the apartment’s silent hallway. Elena crossed the threshold of her father’s renovated office, greeted by the usual, pungent, and familiar smell of alcohol-based medical disinfectant—an olfactory atmosphere to which she had by now become completely accustomed due to her regular clinical sessions with Clara.

It was a purely logistical stop, a quick visit in the late afternoon. Elena opened the medicine cabinet—a sleek unit made of frosted glass and polished metal trim—and began arranging several packs of sterile disposable syringes and other medical supplies she’d just picked up at the pharmacy on the shelves. She arranged the boxes with quick, geometric, and precise movements, leaving the syringes clearly visible.

As she closed the cabinet, her gaze slowly swept over the structural changes she had made to the room. Hanging on the completely white, smooth walls—devoid of any decoration or imperfection—were now several transparent enema bags, equipped with long, flexible medical-grade silicone tubes and colored plastic snap clips, displayed prominently on metal wall-mounted brackets. Immediately below, resting on a polished stainless-steel tray, lay speculums, retractors, and rigid urethral probes that she herself had meticulously added to enhance the office’s equipment. These were instruments of unquestionably clinical purpose, yet intentionally positioned to exert an intimidating visual impact on anyone who took a seat in the center of the room, breaking the sterile, modern whiteness of the white walls.

Her gaze finally settled on the steel gynecological exam table positioned in the center of the office. The dark leather straps hung limp and heavy from the side rails, alongside the black leg rests secured in the examination position.

For a moment, Elena froze, remaining completely still in the center of the room. In her mind, however, it was not the familiar figure of Clara that took shape. She clearly imagined Silvia lying on that steel examination table. She visualized her with her legs locked into the high leg restraints, her wrists tightly secured by the leather straps, her eyes wide open and forced to stare at those hydrotherapy bags hanging on the white wall directly in front of her, fully comprehending, in that instant, the true meaning of the words exchanged just a few hours earlier at Bar Noir. She imagined her colleague’s face flushing, overcome by the same violent blush she’d spied on the velvet sofa.

She thought briefly of Clara: she knew perfectly well that her longtime patient was morbidly jealous of her own exclusive therapeutic protocol and that she would not at all appreciate the idea of sharing that private sanctuary with another woman, much less with one of Elena’s colleagues.

But the latent idea of taking a longtime friend like Silvia—a professional who worked in the same field and who would instantly decode the intimidating significance of every single piece of equipment in that room—and bending her to the same, unyielding clinical submission was too powerful a thought to ignore. A subtle, icy smile, full of promise, blossomed on her lips. She snapped the medicine cabinet shut with a decisive click, opened her leather bag, and pulled out her smartphone.

She unlocked the screen, opened WhatsApp, and selected Silvia’s chat. She paused to look at the profile picture: an elegant, well-groomed woman, proud of her social standing. Elena stared at that image for a few seconds, weighing her next move, then hesitated. She exhaled slowly and set the phone back down on the dark wooden desk. Perhaps it was still too soon to send such an explicit order; a command so direct and sudden risked scaring Silvia away, causing her to flee before Elena had even led her onto that steel examination table.

The psychological tension that had built up during their conversation at the Noir, however, had remained entirely confined there, trapped inside her.

Elena settled into the swivel chair behind her father’s desk. She reached decisively for the top wooden drawer, opened it, and pulled out the clinical wand. She gripped it firmly, feeling the familiar weight of the rigid plastic and the silicone tip, and pressed the switch. The muffled, powerful, continuous, and vibrating hum of the motor instantly filled the suspended silence of the room.

Without ever taking her eyes off the empty steel examination table and the bags hanging on the white wall across from her, Elena slid back in her chair and spread her legs wide. With her left hand, she lifted the hem of her dark skirt and pulled her black panties aside, exposing her private parts to the cold air of the exam room. She pressed the vibrating tip of the wand directly against her clitoris, parting her completely shaved labia and letting out a deep, stifled moan as soon as the first wave of vibrations washed over her entirely.

She closed her eyelids for just an instant, picturing Silvia trembling, crying, and convulsing naked, restrained by straps under the fixed gaze of the instruments hanging on the wall, then immediately opened them again and stared intently at the empty leg rests in front of her. She pushed the wand deeper, pressing hard and increasing the motor’s speed, moving her hips in time with the rhythm of the mechanical vibration. She continued to stare at the steel table, savoring her solitary orgasm in the precise, vivid, and icy anticipation of the moment when she would force Silvia to total surrender as well.