Wildly you look around, seeing nothing familiar. Your surroundings looking terrifyingly alien. It takes a moment for your new body to register, and then the mortifyingly brief and too sexual clothes add to your nightmare.
The cackling crone springs back to mind, "Have fun, girly." she taunts inside your head.
It looks like some kind of fetish den. Worse, it looks like you belong there.
You imagine you must be some kind of domme. But, you've never felt less confident, or more exposed. Seeing the subs mewling into their gags, or with their hips bucking as they're brought to climax after climax at the tip of some vibrator. Others have tears streaming down their faces as they're tormented and tortured with denial.
You want to flee, but showing weakness doesn't seem wise here. Certainly, you don't want to swap being in control, for being controlled. You dread that and know you won't handle that any better than being the domme, and very possibly much, much worse!
The division looks absolute and uncrossable, so you plant an uncertain smile on your face, pray you're projecting confidence, and 'fuck off' vibes.
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