Chapter 245: Discipline, Weakness, and the Past

“Good morning, Mr. Bennett!”

As Bennett stepped out of his car, the bank employees in the parking lot paused, greeting him with smiles warmer than the morning sun.

Bennett smiled back and greeted them. At first, he wasn’t used to it—at the bank’s state branch, someone like him barely registered, and people rarely greeted him so warmly.

But since coming here, everything had changed.

After locking his car, he returned the greetings, “Good morning, … sir.”

The man replaced by six dots instantly seemed satisfied, his steps lighter.

In this atmosphere, Bennett greeted everyone along the way until he reached his office.

After a while, he felt his mouth going numb from so much greeting, and recently he noticed an interesting phenomenon: he had memorized most of the bank staff’s names.

It was a surprisingly effective social trick—just greeting people enough made them remember their names. Sometimes Bennett marveled at how much more complex these lower-level offices were compared to the branch.

Less than a minute after sitting down, his secretary walked in with a tray holding a steaming pot of coffee and some pastries.

She was a young woman in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and a nice figure.

Perhaps due to the bank’s warm heating, her cheeks were slightly flushed. Wearing a wool sweater, she placed the tray on his desk.

“Mr. Bennett, your coffee. These are some pastries I made last night—I hope you’ll try them!” Nervous, she dropped a small cookie-like piece, quickly apologizing and bending to pick it up.

Watching her skirt tighten around her hips as she bent, Bennett’s breathing quickened slightly. Ignoring the coffee’s heat, he took a sip.

The scalding coffee didn’t quench his dryness but stirred his blood even more.

“Need help?” he asked kindly, placing his hand on her skirt as if genuinely offering assistance.

Feeling a slight tremble from her, he realized he had been careless and quickly withdrew his hand, apologizing, “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

Flushed, she hurriedly stood and left after apologizing.

He stared at the closed door, then at his coffee, as faint ripples stirred on its surface.

The warmth of her soft touch still lingered in his mind. He sighed softly—youth was a blessing.

Bennett was only forty but well-maintained, looking thirty-six or thirty-seven.

He had been married, but not by love—it was a transaction.

His wife’s father was a mid-level bank manager, and through those connections Bennett had entered the bank. Disappointingly, after the father’s sudden collapse at a social event—though saved in time, he lost the ability to work—he offered little support.

Since then, Bennett had fought alone in the bank. He didn’t crave money excessively; his wife’s family was wealthy, and after years at the bank, his income—both legitimate and otherwise—was considerable.

He knew that chasing small amounts now could ruin his future.

Once promoted, his income would rise. In the long run, strict self-discipline would take him further.

He had no bad habits and didn’t gamble.

Perhaps because his marriage was transactional, he treated his wife with a strange, almost submissive respect at home.

She often mocked him for their marriage’s purpose, making it hard for him to hold his head high—especially after her father’s paralysis, she became harsher.

This gave Bennett a peculiar little hobby: when he had personal time, he visited strip clubs to get close to the dancers.

Beyond that, he had no other vices. Even this hobby was legal.

Strip clubs didn’t offer sexual services; under federal law, only certain acts involving money counted as solicitation, and dancers’ performances weren’t regulated.

This was his only personal indulgence, and it was legal.

He never brought women into the office. Though aware of the bank system’s filth—especially at lower levels—he kept himself clean.

He refused to ruin his future over petty issues. He had grand ambitions.

After missing that small surprise, he warned himself not to let desire control his mind and refocused on work.

One file after another drew him in. He loved the feeling. Every document required his signature to proceed. Officially, he was George’s assistant, but everyone knew that once he gained approval authority, George had been sidelined.

He was the true master of the department, quietly waiting for George to retire midyear so he could take over. Just thinking about it excited him.

The workday flew by. After greeting colleagues, he left the bank. Sitting in his car, he thought again of his secretary and her rounded hips.

A flicker of desire rose; he needed to relax.

He turned his car toward a nearby upscale strip club. His family hadn’t moved here yet—his wife cared for her father and disliked the rural surroundings, despite no cows or manure in sight.

This gave Bennett plenty of freedom to do as he pleased. He parked, pulled his hat low, and stepped inside.

The club’s distinct scent brought a smile to his face.

He exchanged bills for coins at the counter—coins were essential props here.

He casually chose a stage seat and ordered his favorite drinks.

Most strip clubs shared a uniform style: multiple stages surrounded by bars where patrons drank and tossed coins to encourage the dancers.

What unsettled Bennett was the crowd—larger than before the big strike—full of drunk, smelly citizens shouting for the girls to strip more.

The noise annoyed him; he was a refined man who didn’t want to sit with them.

Watching handfuls of nickels and dimes thrown onto the stage, the scantily clad dancers moved with growing fervor, soon shedding more clothes to cool down.

After a while, Bennett gathered his cash box and moved to a quieter VIP area. Showing his card, he entered a lounge.

Here, the dancers wore various outfits—some dressed as nuns, others as police officers, and some…

Here, as long as customers could pay, the girls would fulfill all their requests.

Just as Bennett was about to choose a girl dressed as a nun, his attention was drawn to a girl who had just come from backstage.

She looked about twenty and wore a common high school uniform. What held Bennett’s gaze was her face—she resembled his first love.

After a brief daze, he snapped back to reality, chose her, and entered a vacant private room.

Soon, the girl in the school uniform entered, carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite her youthful face, there was a bittersweet maturity in her expression.

“Sir, before we start, there are some settings…” After Bennett agreed, she began the game. “Do you want me to be a good girl or a bad girl?”

“Who am I to you?”

“How would you like me to address you?”

Sitting on the sofa, Bennett suddenly felt a surge of anticipation.