A buxom exotic dancer with a taste for domination

Images and videos flash on a screen in front of you. Women stripping, dancing, moving their bodies around a pole. Guys in various states of undress. Houses in a city you don’t know.

My name is Isabel.

“My name is Isabel,” you mumble, having been told to repeat what it tells you.

I love sex. A picture of a brunette with massive tits, bouncing up and down on some lucky bastard’s dick.

“I love sex.”

I love showing off my body.

“I love showing off my body.”

I love teasing men with my body.

“I love teasing men with my body.”

I love using men as toys, as personal dildos for my pleasure.

“I love using men as toys, as personal dildos for my pleasure.”

This goes on for hours. Then you wake up.

Your eyes flit open, taking a moment to adjust to the lights in the room. You sit up. Everything feels … different.

The woman staring back at you from the mirror is … you. A name comes to mind and sends a chill down your spine: Isabel. That’s you–isn’t it?

You’re still brunette. That’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed. Your breasts are now two big, natural mounds with perfectly-formed pink nipples. A large silver barbell goes through each nipple. They’re bigger than your mother’s were, and they shudder and heave with each breath you take. As you slip out of your hospital gown, the mirror lets you get a closer look at your hairless pussy and thick labia. Each lip is pierced with a set of three rings matching your nipple piercings in colour.

Your curvy body looks like a college guy’s Playboy- or porn-inspired fantasy of what a fucktoy would be: dumb and vapid, big boobs and butt, luscious naturally-pink lips made for wrapping around a nice, erect cock.

Made for fucking. Made to be used.

Except that you aren’t some man’s toy. No, the moment you got your diploma and satisfied daddy that way, you went into dancing. You toned and hones your body and your skills. And yes, you fuck guys–and girls–regularly–but on your own terms. You always come first, and often second. Literally.

An orderly comes into the room. “Oh, you’re not dressed yet.” He frowns, waves at the clothing in one corner. “You need to get dressed and then follow me.”

He turns to leave and give you some privacy.