No.... no. That would be crazy.

The leather feels nice under your fingers and you can't help but imagine just how beautifully **** you'd be if you just let go and slip into the restraints. The sound of your now-familiar feminine voice, gasping and groaning in the grips of some kind of animal pleasure makes it all the harder to resist the appeal of simple submission. But no. You don't know this man and have no reason to trust him, even if he did used to be in your body.

"Ah... no, I won't be doing that. And why do you keep calling me Linnea? Aren't you Linnea? I'm—"

The man covers your mouth with a hand. "Shhh. Don't you say another fucking word. This is your life now, Linnea Larsson. That's you; it's who you are. The bondage-fetish camgirl slut. I'm sure as fuck not going to contest this identity, so it's all yours. We both know there's no going back to your old life, so I don't care. Who or what you used to be. It's done. You're Linnea Larsson now, got it?"

His strength and authority make it hard to argue. That desire to submit burns in your chest again. You nod, wide eyes searching his face for approval.

"Good girl. Smart. I swear you will regret it if you spoil this for me. Understood?" His tone is frightening; you have no doubts that the man can and will make good on that vague promise. When you nod again, he releases you with a sigh. He removes his jacket and tosses it over a chair to carefully roll up his sleeves and exposing a very nice wristwatch and two well-toned forearms.

"So you're not completely hopeless, but you lack proper respect and discipline. I'm going to introduce you to both." You're not sure when he grabbed it, but suddenly he's snapping a steel collar closed around your throat. It clicks ominously and you instinctively know you'll have no way to remove it without his help. It fits perfectly, likely custom made for your specific neck.

He pulls on a leash, forcing you to lean forward and scramble to your feet as he pulls your shoulder straps down over your arms.

You fight him, clinging to the dress to keep him from stripping you. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Let me go!"

"Oh, clam down. It's not like I haven't seen it." He chides, fighting through your protesting hands until the dress is **** all the way to the floor. The leash pulled tight in his hand prevents you from trying to bend down to recover it.

Your heart races, pumping adrenaline and that strange, fear-tinged excitement through your body. "Let me go, you bastard! I'll call the police! I'll scream!"

He pushes you back onto the bed, face down and bent at the waist, and holds you down long enough to fit you with a pair of handcuffs. Then he hauls you back up to your feet, pinning your back to his chest with one hand on your throat, forcing your head back. "Oh, I've no doubt you'll scream, Linnea. Over and over again before I'm done with you. But the thing is..."

Holding you in place with the hand in your throat, he cupped your breast with his other hand, groping you shamelessly. "...this right here is a fantasy I've had my entire life. And it went away as soon as I shifted. So I'm willing to bet that fantasy lives in you now, whether you even realize it or not. So we're going to play a little game and see just how long you can keep lying to yourself about desperately wanting to be reduced to a human fucktoy. A pleasure ****."

The words light an indescribable fire in your belly. Fear, excitement, lust. You already know he's right, that some dark part of you really wants it. Part of you, but not all of you.

You open your mouth to scream, but he clearly anticipated it. As soon as your mouth opens wide he shoves the fat gag between your teeth and buckles it tightly in place. It cuts off your scream without so much as a pitiful cry.

"Now, my pretty Linnea. Time to learn respect."