I give the command in the locked room after hours, and Tamsin follows it at once without any hesitation. She removes the gown as instructed, her movements quiet and precise under the fluorescent lights that cast shadows across the gleaming table.

When I take her wrist to check her pulse, the beat stays elevated long after the numbers are clear on the chart. She doesn't question the extended touch or the way my hand lingers at the small of her back later in the corridor.

My career hangs on keeping control, yet her lack of resistance makes every clinical order feel like a claim on her body. I tell myself this is the last time, but the need to test her obedience again is already building, and I know I won't stop.