Damn it! I wake up.

You moan, the images of the sweaty, muscled men in their gym shorts burning into your brain, as you can practically feel their cocks violating your mouth and your ass.

Oh god, you think. This is really getting to me! How much longer can I hold out before I crack?

After your morning toilet usage and car-wash shower, you are dropped off in the makeup room.

With a sigh, you sit down in the makeup chair. At least it will be more pleasurable than the exercise room!

The chair slides up to the bench and you wait for something sexual and intrusive.

But nothing?

What, no warm rippling tube sucking on my penis? No thin, ribbed anal probe coming up from the chair?

"Harrumph," you think to yourself.

What, last time in this chair you were scared shitless, worrying what it would do to you. Now this second time, and already you're missing it's deviant manipulations of your private parts?

What pervert you are!

You apply makeup as instructed (wash, moisturize, foundation, concealer, bronzer and highlighter, powder, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, lip-liner, lipstick, fresh coat of nail polish, touch-up eyebrows, setting spray) and put on the wavy brunette, shoulder-length wig it provides.

You look good. From the neck up, you can barely recognize yourself. Instead, you see an intelligent, wide-eyed, eager, friendly girl-next door. The kind of girl you want to take home to meet Mom and then to fuck silly.

Okay, she's a bit square-jawed, perhaps, with a nose that's a bit too large, but the makeup softens those mannish features into something that could easily pass in public, you think.

But what's this? Are you proud of your appearance? Shouldn't you be fighting this more fiercely?

"Must be the ****," you think, "and the brainwashing. I'm getting more pliable and submissive."

The chair clicks and slides away from the bench. You see that a door open. But it's a different door.

So instead of the return hallway, you walk into another new room.