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Caught in a Bind
|This story contains adult content.|
Caught in a Bind
I awoke with a confused and slightly panicked gasp, struggling to sit upright.
There was something crushing me, something wrapped around my abdomen squeezing the life out of me. Something clutched firmly around my throat, too. I'd read of sleep paralysis and night terrors before, but had never experienced it and had no idea what was going on. Sitting up was hard; the wrapping was rigid around me and wouldn't let me curl up properly. But with strength driven by desperation I finally managed it. I staggered out of bed and stood gasping for breath while scrabbling at my torso with my fingertips to free myself.
My fingers met something very odd. Underneath the shirt I'd worn to bed was another garment, flexible but very stiff and very tight. I pulled up the bottom of my shirt and could only make astonished choking noises while I tried to figure out what it was. "C... corset?" I gasped out at last.
Every move was resisted by the corset's firm grip as I struggled the shirt off over my head to fully expose it. Once I'd managed that I then took a moment to try calming my breathing while examining it, since gasping for breath was only making things worse.
It was a black corset, shiny and smooth like satin on the surface, but with stiffening ribs inside that felt like strips of spring steel. I was sure I'd never seen it before in my life. "What... the... hell." Then I coughed slightly and swallowed, reminded again of the separate grip that was around my throat. My hands flew up and found a leather collar in place there. Not as tight as the corset, thank god, or I'd be dead right now. But still...
I had just woken up, I was still disoriented. This was hardly the best time to be confronted with either the physical puzzle of getting these things off or the mental puzzle of trying to figure out how they got on in the first place. It was insane to imagine that someone could have snuck in and slipped them on me while I slept - I'd have had to be really thoroughly drugged for that to happen. But I certainly hadn't done this to myself.
I shook my head and stumbled blearily toward the bathroom, already starting to pick at the corset's edges in an attempt to find the fasteners. Get out of this stuff first, figure out where it came from second. Being able to take a full breath would make it easier to clear my head.
But it turned out that this puzzle was going to be a hard one too. I spent perhaps a full five minutes stiffly twisting and turning in front of the mirror, searching for fasteners, but while I did find what appeared to be laces running up the back there didn't seem to be any way to undo them. The collar, too, proved to be an enigma - there was a buckle but it appeared to be purely decorative. The leather itself was an unbroken black band.
I was getting seriously weirded out now. Though the things looked expensive, I was in no mood to worry about that; I grabbed the heftiest pair of shears I could find in the toolkit and tried to cut the things off.
Not a scratch, no matter how I tried. It was hard enough just slipping the blades in under the edges, they were both so tight, but once there it was like I was trying to cut woven unobtainium.
After a full five minutes of that, my hands were getting sore and I was getting tired and light-headed from the exertion. Panting in short, shallow breaths, I carefully sat down and tried to think.
I definitely hadn't done this to myself. I wasn't a drinker, I didn't do drugs. And where would I have even got ahold of something like this? I lived alone, but my parents had helped me clean house just a month ago and they would have commented if I'd had anything like this. Not to mention that I would have remembered it myself. Not only didn't I remember even seeing something like this before, I certainly wasn't the kinky sort who'd have been into this sort of thing.
So why was my penis so hard?
I flushed in acute embarrassment even though there was nobody around to see me like this. Has to be the pressure from this fucking thing, squeezing my blood pressure or something... I gingerly slid my hand down the hard satin smoothness to reach into my underwear and make sure I was comfortably arranged in there.
I let out a shallow gasp, shocked and alarmed. My penis was erect and rock hard, just as I'd felt, but it was way too short. Only about half the length it should have been under those conditions. "Oh God," I whimpered, "what's happening to me?" I had to get this thing off, it was clearly turning into some kind of medical emergency, but I was totally blanking on what to do about it. I couldn't possibly bring myself to call 911, the embarrassment would be such that I couldn't even think about it right now. Thinking perhaps to massage myself back up to full size on my own somehow, I took hold of my shaft and gave a firm squeeze.
"Oh!" This gasp was shocked too, but not alarmed. "Oh..." I squeezed again, tilting my head up and arching my back against the confining stiffness that held me. The intensity of the sensation was incredible, like I'd never felt before. I trembled slightly, a small part of me glad I was already sitting down or I might have fallen over.
Squeeze... squeeze... SQUEEZE. I let out a high-pitched cry as I orgasmed without even ejaculating, then let my hand slide away limply and closed my eyes while I tried to recover some semblance of my shattered wits. Okay... okay... I thought, trying to control my shallow panting and racing heart. That felt amazing. But there's something wrong with me. With everything that's going on here.
After what must have been a few minutes I'd stopped sweating and my heart was back down to a nearly normal rate, and although my breath was still understandably quite shallow I no longer had to take them as fast as I possibly could. I opened my eyes and straightened back up in the chair with a quiet groan.
I cut the groan off partway through, frozen in astonishment. Somehow, the corset had actually tightened even further. It didn't feel any tighter, but what had previously been a relatively flat tube now curved inward in the middle and flared outward at the ends in a distinctly hourglass shape. Even more inexplicably, the thing had spread. The upper edge came up higher on my chest, right up over the bottom ribs, and the lower edge clung down around my hips. A quick examination by feel showed that the collar had become broader and had constricted more tightly as well.
This was beyond prank, beyond medical condition, right out into supernatural la-la land. How were these things doing this? Forget embarrassment, I had to call someone. Or even just run screaming out into the street. I got to my feet, successfully struggling against the increased stiffness of my torso, and promptly collapsed to the floor with a startled yell as my ankles twisted to the sides.
I was more surprised than hurt but it took me a while to catch my breath and climb back into enough of a sitting position to see what was wrong. I'd missed one new detail; I had shoes on now.
Shiny black women's shoes, with incredibly tall high heels. My hysterical laughter came in short gasps, only to be reinforced when I tried pulling one off and found that it was too tight to budge. There were no visible fasteners. I tried breaking the heels off, pounding them on the floor as hard as I could considering my restricted movement while seated down there, but they were just as invulnerable as the rest of this gear.
My gasping laughter turned into gasping sobs, then just gasping, and then eventually back to relatively normal breathing again. I had just woken up but I already felt exhausted by the day's events. It wasn't even seven yet...
"I can't just sit here," I murmured softly to myself with a sigh. "Have to get up." Between the corset and the shoes it was a bit of a struggle, I clung tightly to the wall as I clawed my way back up to a standing position and then wobbled for a few minutes on those ridiculous heels while I tried to get my balance back. It wasn't easy but I had no choice. I tried taking a few mincing steps and found they were throwing my gait off; I had to learn to walk all over again. It put a rather embarrassing swing in my stride when I finally got the hang of it, and the clicking of the shoes on the floor was distracting, but at least I'd recovered my mobility. Such as it was.
And just in time. The pressure the corset was putting on my guts had made my normal morning need to pee stronger than usual, and while until this point the other urgent needs had overridden all that my bladder was starting to win the competition now. I walked shakily over to the bathroom and avoided looking at myself in the mirror as I made my way to the toilet.
My penis was still rock hard, but if anything it was even shorter now. Although I had never been terribly vain I was starting to get a bit panicked about that. But I had to take care of urgent practical matters too; I really needed to relieve myself. I could call an ambulance after that.
Reaching down to aim, I suddenly hesitated. I remembered the overwhelming reaction the last time I'd touched my member... Grimacing and flushing bright red, I turned and sat down so that I wouldn't have to.
Finally, a slight lessening of the pressure inside me. I sighed in relief as I finished, leaning back slightly on the toilet seat and stretching my legs out to relieve the cramps that had built up in my calves even from just that small amount of walking I'd done in heels. "Okay, a bit better now," I whispered. Without thinking I reached down to shake the last drop off the tip.
The touch of my fingertips sent a wave of heat shooting through my pelvis and into my guts. I let out a gasp, and then a quiet groan. No, not again... But another wave hit me and I found that my hand had already taken hold of my stubby penis completely unbidden. Let go!
LET GO! I moaned in terrible ecstasy as my hand refused, as my will refused. Squeeze. Squeeze.
Part of me knew what was happening this time, and although that part was powerless to stop it at least I was able to pay some modicum of attention to it. Each pulse of pleasure shooting through my body was bringing changes to the impossible garments I wore, causing them to grow... and to shrink. The shoes flowed up my ankles, sculpting to my calves, rising to my knees. The corset snugged yet more tightly around my waist, of course, but this time the bigger effects were at the top and bottom edges; the top slid up over my chest, right up to the armpits, and the bottom extended downward until it was halfway down my thighs. The material in that portion was no longer stiff, it had turned stretchy and elastic; it hugged tightly without restricting the bending of my hips too much. And my collar... I couldn't quite tell what my collar was doing. It covered my neck completely now, like a leather sleeve, and was somehow reaching up the back of my head to pull on my hair.
Suddenly it occurred to me what I had to do to stop this latest humiliation, and that if anything my efforts so far had done nothing but prolong it. Squeeze, I thought, letting my self-control go and frantically hoping I was right to do so. SQUEEZE.
"Nyyyahhh! Ah! Oh God! Hh... Hh..." The scream of climax finally brought relief, my hand releasing the shrunken nub of my manhood and coming back under my control again. I was too dazed to do anything with it for a while, though. I was feeling extremely light-headed now, this session had gone on even longer than my previous one because of my very attempt to hold it back.
I couldn't stay in that comforting daze forever, though, and eventually I had to bring myself back to survey the damage. I pulled myself wearily to my feet, my ankles much more stable now with the black knee-high leather boots holding them straight, and supported myself on the edge of the sink as I stared into the mirror.
The corset had grown an attached miniskirt, and the collar had somehow reached up and bound my hair back into a pony tail. I didn't even bother trying to undo it. But worse than the changes to the clothing, I was now becoming strongly convinced that the proportions of my body itself were somehow being molded by it. As in really for real molded, not just squeezed down into the right shape.
My hips were definitely wider, my buttocks more rounded and shapely under that tight stretchy fabric. My neck couldn't have been squeezed down into that slender a profile conventionally, not without killing me. And my feet were smaller too. If I'd had my normal-sized toes crammed down into those things I wouldn't just be having difficulty walking, I'd be in sheer agony from the broken bones. Instead they felt tight but not really even uncomfortable.
"This can't be real," I murmured, then gave a little gasp and clapped a hand to my mouth. My voice had changed too. It was definitely softer and higher in pitch, more feminine.
I was turning into a woman. Some sort of hot bondage goth woman, to boot. How? And why?
The scissors hadn't cut it - literally - but I was pretty desperate by this point. I rummaged around the bathroom and found the old folding straightedge razor my dad had given me years ago, sharpened to a terrifyingly keen edge. I actually laughed at the irony; he'd given it to me out of some odd sense that using it was more 'manly' than using safety or electric razors and I hadn't been brave enough to consider using it for anything until now, when my manliness was rapidly fading away. I gingerly slipped it down my sternum, the spot with the biggest gap between skin and clothing, and started sawing at the top edge of the black corset in between two of its vertical ribs.
It cut. Ever so slightly, but there was a definite notch. I sawed harder, the fear of nicking my skin overcome by the trace of hope I'd finally stumbled across. If only I'd thought of this from the beginning... I set my jaw and kept sawing, refusing to let myself ponder might-have-beens. Plenty of time for that later. After several minutes I'd only managed a few centimeters and my arm was getting tired; this fabric is tough, whatever it is. I pulled out the razor and switched hands, taking a moment to stretch my sore muscles.
In that moment the cut sealed itself back up like a zipper. Not quite believing my eyes, I lightly ran a finger over the fabric. I couldn't feel a thing, it had healed itself perfectly.
Moving with slow deliberation and a sense of the inevitable, I took firm hold of my ponytail and sliced it off with a single stroke of the razor. There was a slight prickly sensation in my scalp - possibly psychosomatic - and within about ten seconds the hair had grown right back out to the same length it had been before. Perhaps a little longer, even...
I walked numbly out of the bathroom and sat down in the comfy armchair in the living room, trying to find a sitting posture that minimized the pressures exerted by the gear I was stuck in. This wasn't something 911 would have any way of dealing with. I wracked my brains. Had I offended any Gypsies or witches lately? Stumbled across anything resembling a genie bottle without knowing it at the time? Invoked the names of any demons?
It all drew a blank. I'd just woken up like this, it had just happened. I glanced at the clock and chuckled weakly; it had only been about an hour since then. Felt like longer.
So what could I do now? I couldn't go out like this...
I wasn't done yet. I knew it with certainty somehow. Sitting there in that chair, my mind free to wander, it kept coming back to the tiny throbbing button nestled in my crotch.
I laughed, part bitter and part hysterical, and gingerly rested my hand on my lap with the impenetrable black miniskirt fabric shielding me from any direct touch. Even if I'd wanted to there wasn't anything left to squeeze! This bizarre curse had gone and thwarted itself right before completion-
My laugh cut off with a gasp and a groan as I pressed down lightly on what remained of my manhood. Mm, pressure, I realized with a burst of pleasure. But for whatever reason - perhaps this time because of the layer of fabric, perhaps simply because I was gaining some small modicum of control from experience - I managed to pull my hand away before pressing any harder. It was like pulling steel away from a magnet, but I did it, and laced my fingers firmly behind my back to prevent them from straying on their own.
"Oh God..." the need was yawning before me like an inviting abyss now. I knew what I had to do to take the next step in this process, perhaps the final step. But I didn't want to, I knew that now with just as much certainty. This was all someone else's fantasy, someone else's fetish, I was being dragged along unwillingly by forces beyond my control. I wanted out of it.
Throbbing, throbbing, bulging, turgid need...
Clenching my hands together and whimpering, I curled up around the source of my ranging desire as best I could in this constraining clothing. I'd set myself off again. Maybe if I just squeezed my legs together, ground my crotch a little into the cushion... No! I jumped to my feet as if electrocuted, spreading my legs apart to let some cool air into my heated nethers. I knew where that thought was leading.
How else could I stop this? Come on, self control. You've already stopped this. Keep a firm grip on your hands. Just ride it out.
Ride it out. Ride it out. I echoed that mantra rhythmically in my mind. Where could I go to do that safely? I couldn't think that clearly, but I still felt like relocating might help, so I staggered unsteadily back into the bedroom where this had all started.
I'd rapidly gained confidence walking in these ridiculously high-heeled boots but it turned out that it wasn't fully warranted. Stepping through the door, one heel caught on the edge of the carpet and sent me stumbling forward. I tried to fling my hands out to catch myself but in that vital instant they refused to part, and with a yelp I fell face first onto my bed. The impact didn't hurt but it was quite jarring, almost breaking my concentration. I clung to my mantra. Ride it out, ride it out, grind it out, grind it out...
I moaned in dismay as I realized the source of the mantra's perversion; my hips had started rocking reflexively as I lay on my stomach, dry-humping against the firmness of my mattress. No! No, I... I blinked in confusion. I was trying to push myself up off the bed, but my hands were still stuck together behind my back. I wasn't lacing my fingers together any more to hold them there, something was now physically binding them together.
The realization came in mid-grind, sending another pleasurable shock through my body to addle my thoughts. The heady aroma of my own well-slept-in sheets pushed against my face were only feeding my insane arousal. "No," I moaned in abject denial. "Uh, oh God, no!"
Mm, yes, press! Harder! Deeper! My hips were almost working on their own now, and with my hands mysteriously out of commission I was helpless to stop them. My manhood must have retreated even farther, though, because the stimulation was becoming less...
I'd fallen on the lower end of my bed and my vigorous rhythmic motion had slid me farther down. My knees went over the edge now, pulling me all the way to the bed's lower corner. I almost slid right off, and for a brief moment I felt a burst of hope I might escape this source of stimulation. But then my crotch caught up against the knob of the bedpost.
It should have been painful, but the sensation that triggered my high-pitched cry was quite the opposite.
I was trapped. I couldn't go forward, my knees were hooked down around the corner of the mattress and kept pulling me back of their own volition, and I couldn't slide the rest of the way off because of the knob. I could only lie there on my chest, my arms mysteriously tied behind my back, while my hips pumped against the bed with a mind of their own. And really, my own mind was hardly in a condition to say otherwise at this point.
The feeling of pressure on my crotch was tremendous. It was no longer the familiar outward pressure of an erection, it was the inward pressure of penetration. It needed to be filled. The outward pressure had moved upward instead... My chest was swelling under me, the rubbing of the mattress sending new tingles of pleasure from the nipples of my growing breasts. I closed my eyes and whimpered out one last useless denial.
Then something slid home in my crotch, fulfilling the yawning sense of need with a wave of climactic pleasure. But unlike the previous waves, this one continued lapping over and over; I cried out with each one, and at some point the cries of "no" changed to cries of "yes." I didn't really mean it, I knew somewhere deep down inside, but, oh... It was sooo good.
Eventually even that slowly subsided. I lay still on the bed, eyes closed, panting, arms still clamped solidly together behind me, totally satiated and spent for the first time since I'd awakened. It was perhaps the 'warm afterglow' I'd always heard about. Or perhaps I was just exhausted from the fight, a fight that was now over. I had no idea how long I rested like that.
I couldn't rest forever, though. My mind was starting to clear and the thoughts that were rising up within it were making that impossible. Despite my reluctance, I needed to know what had happened to me. I needed to see the final results.
I opened my eyes. The first thing I noticed before I even moved was the cowl; the collar had apparently had one last spurt of growth in it, spreading up over my head to leave only my nose and mouth bare. Thank god there are eyeholes... A small blessing, perhaps, but not one I was going to overlook under the circumstances. The surprisingly long brown hair of my new pony tail was cascading down past my face so there presumably had to be another hole for that too.
Turning my head to look down at myself brought me face to face with my own cleavage. It was not entirely unexpected, but still jarring. The corset had grown into a full bustier, pushing the already quite large breasts up even more prominently, and the fact that I was lying slightly propped up on them gave them an undeniable solidity.
Then I tried moving the rest of my body, and a startled feminine "oh!" escaped my lips. Oh God, the bedpost... It was inside me, I could feel the tug. That couldn't possibly be good. With all the gingerness I could muster I straightened my legs and lifted my hips, pulling free with a faint audible pop from the tightness of the opening clutching it.
I rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, staring at the soaking wet wooden knob. All I could think of were the impossibility of the fit; it should have torn my vagina wide open. But I wasn't even sore.
Oh God, I have a vagina! With my arms still bound I couldn't pull up the hem of the glossy black miniskirt to check, but after all that I didn't really need to; I believed it. And I guess I believed that it was a vagina capable of fucking bedposts without harm, too, or any other size thing that needed accommodating. I let out a laugh. Then a sob.
I'd been turned into some kind of magical bondage slut. The hows and whys of it no longer even seemed all that important now, I just was. I sat on the edge of my bed and cried.
That, too, couldn't last forever - though it did last a good long time. When my tears finally dried the whirlwind of chaotic feelings had for the most part died with it. I wasn't sure what I should do next but I had to do something. So I got up.
The tightness of the clothing remained. All over my body now - the stiletto-heeled boots had risen all the way up past thigh-high, gripping the entire lengths of my oh-so-shapely legs, the bustier had my entire equally-shapely torso in its firm embrace, and my arms were encased in some kind of single sleeve that went all the way up to my shoulders and kept them bound tightly together behind me. The bitter irony was that if that last one had happened first I wouldn't have had such problems resisting the need to squeeze from the beginning. The other irony was that the one part of my body that wasn't confined at all was my crotch; the miniskirt concealed it but I could feel the free flow of air over it as I moved.
Fortunately I'd left all the doors open as I'd charged madly around the apartment trying to satiate myself, so I didn't need to worry about dealing with doorknobs just yet. I walked with slow foreboding over to the bathroom to face myself in the mirror.
Were it not for the clothing I'd probably consider myself extremely hot. My figure was exaggerated a bit too much, but probably only because of the extra gear squishing it into that shape. Maybe... maybe if I could just get out of this stuff, it wouldn't be so bad... I didn't want to be a woman, sure, but at least then I'd look like a normal woman. Not a bondage freak, anyway.
But I'd tried that right at the beginning and the fabric had refused to stay cut. I wasn't sure how, but I just knew this was permanent. I was stuck like this. Hell, despite all the sweating and rubbing and chafing I'd done, I didn't feel the least bit sore or dirty... at least, not in the outward sense. It was like the clothing was part of me somehow. This was magic and I didn't understand, but I knew.
I flexed my fingers, barely able to move them inside the tight sleeve, and then despite the certain futility I struggled to pull my arms free of their confinement until I was so exhausted I was left kneeling and panting on the bathroom floor. This couldn't be it, I told myself with all the hope I could muster. There had to be something more. There had to be. One more change that would set everything right.
Climbing back to my feet - to my stiletto-heeled boots - I walked sullenly back out into the living room, though even sullen and defeated I couldn't fully suppress the sexy sway those boots forced me into.
I wasn't hungry and I wasn't going to be preparing and eating food without my hands free anyway. I also wasn't going to go outside or call anyone. So I did the only thing I could think of that was left now; I picked up the TV remote in my teeth and after much delicate fumbling turned it on.
Oh, how I wish I'd done that sooner...
The news was on. A special bulletin, with all manner of experts and commentators explaining everything I'd needed to know - sort of. Aliens had come. Or angles, or demons... something with power beyond human ken, at any rate. They'd announced they would be giving a handful of randomly-selected people across the globe the 'realization of their dreams'. For just a few hours those people would be able to reshape their own reality, and then the world would be left to enjoy the results.
I stared at the TV for quite a while as it slowly sank in. I had done this to myself, somehow, after all. I couldn't believe it. It must have all started with just one random thought, passing as I slid up from dreams to wakefulness, and then it had all just snowballed uncontrollably - my own fears about what would happen next becoming what would happen next.
Hope blossomed and I spun to look at the clock, so quickly my ponytail flicked across my face. Eight fifteen. It had been six when I'd awakened, hadn't it? 'A few hours', they'd said on the TV, right? Maybe there was still time for one more change! I scrambled to my feet, closed my eyes, and concentrated as hard as I could. "Back to normal," I announced to whatever supernatural wish-granter might be listening. "No more of this bondage gear. A guy again. A fit, handsome, muscular guy," I amended quickly. Hm, yes, that sounds good. I'd like one of those. Maybe... My eyes snapped open with a frightened gasp and I looked around to make sure that last thought hadn't become reality.
Shit, I had to be careful. These runaway self-reinforcing desires had been what got me into this in the first place. I wondered how many other people had received similarly broken 'gifts' and shuddered - these benevolent aliens or whatever may have just brought a lot of people curses instead of blessings. They certainly had in my case.
"Just one more change!" I shouted desperately. "Please!"
There was no response. I suppose I hadn't really expected it. But I was feeling frantic now, the one ray of hope dangled in front of me and then seemingly yanked away again. I decided that now was the time to run outside. Perhaps I could find someone else whose reality-changing gift was still active and get him to fix me. I rushed to the front door and knelt down by the knob, intending to turn it with my teeth and pull the door open.
One last wild runaway impulse seized me. I felt it coming, felt a stab of panic even though I didn't really understand it, but I couldn't stop it. Instead of gripping the doorknob in my teeth I leaned forward and took the thing entirely into my mouth. "Mmmf," I grunted in surprise at even being able to do that. Then the knob popped effortlessly free from the door and I tried to spit it out. But it was too late. The brassy metal taste and texture changed, becoming rubbery, and a pair of straps shot out from the corners of my mouth to snap together behind my head.
"Nnnnnn!" I screamed, muted by the enormous ball gag jammed in my mouth. I couldn't open my jaw any wider, the seal was perfect. "Nnnn! Nn, nn, nn, nnnnn!" I couldn't claw at it with my arms bound as they were, so I resorted to slamming my face into the door in a vain attempt to dislodge the thing.
That was the last thing about my reality that changed. As I'd feared - perhaps because I'd feared - I was stuck like this.
I'd like to say I've become used to it, but I haven't. And I don't think I ever really will. Because I'm not like this, not really. I try to have as normal a life as I can, with my perfectly good hands bound away behind me and my perfectly good voice stopped by a gag, but it's hard - you can imagine how long it's taken me to type my story like this.
I suppose there are some minor benefits. My flesh is as tough and heals as quickly as my clothing, which I suppose means I'm probably immortal. Seems to be the case for all of those who were affected; there had been many suicide attempts and not a single success that anyone knew of. I don't even need to eat, a very good thing considering what's stuck in my mouth. Cutting the straps and pulling that gag out is a major chore and I've never managed to last more than ten minutes before winding up with some other object lodged in there turning into a rubber ball. This new reality of mine abhors a vacuum and acts quickly to fill it.
I can imagine perhaps getting used to the physical handicaps someday. It's the social ones that really get to me. People assume the aliens' gift made my outward self match the true inner me, and most people treat me accordingly - even friends, even when they should know better.
I admit it certainly doesn't help that I find it hard not to act appropriately when people treat me like a submissive slut. And sometimes my mouth isn't the only orifice that needs filling. But it's all just the work of alien magic and unwilling reflex, as artificially imposed by the warp of my new reality as the clothing I'm stuck in and the shape of my body. All the while I'm still convinced in the back of my mind that this is all someone else's fantasy. A fantasy that got way out of control.