Her body

Now, she felt shame. As she collected her belongings and hoped to hell her bike was somewhere to be found, she was assailed by violent flashbacks but also pangs of lust. She couldn't file the memories in separate cabinets, they were both invasive and fun. What kind of person does this make me, she wondered. Is that really how I get off?

It's not like she'd never had more than a passing interest in kink before, but that was negotiated, consensual. That detective was not only a stranger, but her enemy.

The drugs, she remembered. Of course. That was what this was. She hadn't unlocked something deep in her psyche; this was chemical. An external chemical, that is.

Her bra did not fit.

She held it up, puzzled, and read the tag. Cup size was right. Measurements were right. She definitely recognized this was one of her bras, but it just would not fit.

She tried once again to pull the straps around her back and clasp them, but they weren't long enough. Not to mention her tits, which were normally framed like ripe melons in a Cora's commercial, looked like malformed stress balls in these cups. Nothing here was right.

She cast the garment aside pulled her shirt on. They strained it, and lifted the hem above her waistline. Even without the bra, though, they were perky. It looked like she was wearing a push-up.

Her butt, too, felt rounder and more plump. She had a little trouble with the pants, but they fit. Her underwear had been lost in the frenzy.

She climbed out the ditch and looked up and down the M-17. They'd really went out of their way to drop her off far from the station.

Her bike was nowhere to be seen. She'd have to get back the hard way.