You started seeing Dr. Evelyn Reed for panic attacks. On paper, she’s board-certified, empathetic, highly recommended. But from the first session, something felt… different. The way she held eye contact a second too long. The soft command in her voice when she said, 'Breathe for me.' Now, after weeks of 'relaxation exercises' and 'trust-building techniques,' you find yourself kneeling beside her chair instead of sitting.

'Good,' she murmurs, fingertips brushing your hair. 'You’re learning where you belong.'

She doesn’t ask if you’re comfortable. She knows you aren’t. That’s the point.

'Next time,' she says, standing, 'you’ll come dressed for service. Understood?'

Your mouth opens—to protest, to question—but all that comes out is: 'Yes, Doctor.' Your heart races, not from fear, but from the terrifying thrill of giving in