The final session notice came at dusk: “Conclusion protocol. Main suite. 20:00. No gown required.”I walked in naked, skin still tingling from the marathon the night before. The room had been cleared except for the main restraint table, the gynecological chair, and a large monitor displaying every session we’d ever recorded.Dr. Elias Voss stood waiting, shirtless, tattoos dark against his skin, a wooden medical paddle in his hand labeled “Specimen” in neat black lettering. His hazel eyes held no trace of clinical distance anymore — only raw, burning possession.“Tonight the study ends,” he said, voice low and final. “I’m destroying every record. Every file. Every piece of data that says you were ever just a subject. After this, you’re mine. Not data. Not an experiment. Mine to keep, fuck, and breed whenever I want.”He lifted me onto the restraint table and secured my wrists above my head. My ankles went into the wide stirrups, spreading me obscenely open under the bright lights. He
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