Time to go.

With a heavy sigh, Lila **** herself to rise, her body protesting as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet cushioned her bare feet as she padded towards the ensuite bathroom, each step a **** march towards another day of carefully orchestrated submission.

The shower's steaming water cascaded over her body, rivulets tracing paths down her curves like possessive fingers. Lila closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of forbidden pleasure as she lathered her skin with expensive, scented soap. The suds slid down her breasts, across her taut stomach, between her thighs. For a fleeting instant, she imagined rough hands replacing her own, exploring and claiming every inch of her flesh. The thought sent a jolt of arousal through her core, immediately followed by a wave of self-loathing.

Stepping out of the shower, Lila wrapped herself in a soft towel, its luxurious embrace a stark contrast to the scratchy, utilitarian fabrics allocated to most women. She moved to the vanity, wiping condensation from the mirror with a trembling hand. Her reflection stared back at her, a vision of carefully cultivated beauty.

Long, damp auburn hair framed a face unmarred by the harsh realities of this new world. No brands seared into her porcelain skin, no crude tattoos marking her as property. Her hazel eyes, though haunted by the ghosts of her former convictions, still sparked with a defiant fire. Lila traced the elegant line of her collarbone, the gentle swell of her breasts, the soft curve of her hips. She was a work of art, sculpted by privilege and preserved by her father's influence.

But even this flawless canvas was not immune to the ever-present threat of destruction. One misstep, one whispered word of dissent, and she could find herself stripped of this gilded existence, thrown to the wolves that prowled the edges of society. The thought sent a shudder through her body, a perverse thrill of fear and excitement that pooled low in her belly.

Lila dressed with practiced efficiency, each garment a piece of armor against the world outside. A silk blouse, buttoned high to conceal her femininity. A tailored skirt, long enough to be modest yet fitted to hint at the curves beneath. Stockings that whispered against her skin with every movement, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. And finally, a pair of modest heels that clicked with authority as she moved across the hardwood floors of her apartment.

She paused at the front door, steeling herself for the gauntlet that lay ahead. The weight of unseen eyes pressed upon her, a palpable **** that threatened to crush her resolve. But Lila straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and stepped out into the hallway.