Try to Escape, Of Course!

You stand there in the sudden silence of the dungeon, and pant lightly. As you come down from the high of the moment, you find that in an odd sort of way you're relieved. You were afraid she was going to afflict you with eternal suffering, or rip your immortal soul from your body, like you'd seen in your vision, but instead this curse seems rather tame. For a moment you muse that perhaps you, or at least your body, still has some rapport with the demoness. Yes, she's a malevolent bitch, but she spoke to you as if you were a favorite pet... or toy. For a moment, you consider just riding out whatever this witch has for you, and finding a chance to escape later on, but shake the thought from your mind. You're not one to stand around and wait for the world to fix your problems.

"What do I do? Shit! what do I do?" You mutter lightly, as you shift in your bondage trying to get a better view of your surroundings. As you speak, however, you notice something peculiar about your voice... Even more peculiar than when you discovered your feminine voice in the first place. Your tongue clicks against your teeth as if it were as hard as your teeth, and your lips clink ever so softly, like two wine glasses lightly touching. It undoubtedly has to do with your curse, but curiously, it doesn't seem to be much of a curse at all, at least not yet. If anything, it's been mildly beneficial. The stinging of your ass has faded, and the ache of your thigh muscles is diminished. You're not even sweating, despite the intense heat that seemed to grow as you descended through the layers of the house. You were worried that this would be a terrible punishment, but get the distinct feeling that this was a more mild chastisement from the demoness, or perhaps something she was going to do after the soul sucking ritual anyway. You shake the thoughts from your mind. None of that matters now. You need to focus on escape.

First things first, you need to remove that bulb from your ass. Perhaps, once its free this curse will begin to undo itself? The thought is both naive, and optimistic, but it doesn't stop you from hoping, and a moment later, you're squeezing your guts, trying to poop the firm invader out... You squat and squeeze, but it refuses to move despite your best efforts. You growl in frustration, if it weren't for this damn spreader bar, maybe you could get a better angle. You tug at your ankle cuffs again, but only manage to twist your ankle, casting your weight onto your shoulders again. As you get your footing, a grim idea blooms in your mind.

You need to dislocate your shoulders. Your heart rate quickens, and your mouth goes dry as adrenaline spikes through your body at the thought. Curiously, however, you don't break out in a cold sweat. Can you even do such a thing though? Do you have the will to do something that could be so disastrous for your body? As you pant heavily, you resign yourself to your answer. "Yes..." You whisper breathily. "Yes, I can." Summoning up your will, you take a deep breath, and then lift your feet from the ground! And, you just sort of hang there. It seems like your body doesn't weigh enough to do the deed. While you feel pressure in your shoulders, it's not even that uncomfortable. With a frustrated grunt, you put your feet back on the ground and prepare yourself again, but this time you hop, then lift your feet from the ground, letting the effects of gravity build to a terrifying effect. Your your shoulders pop loose, your arms go numb, and a sound like a ceramic plate thrown against the ground echoes in the dungeon.

Surprisingly, there isn't any pain, but for some reason that doesn't bring you comfort. Your actions give you just enough freedom, and you begin to wiggle your shoulders down and out of the leather straps X-ing across your chest. You move quickly, almost fearfully. You want to be free as soon as possible to try to put your shoulders back in place, but you also don't want to move so fast as to cause further injury. The utter numbness of your arms further contributes to your concern. At last you squeeze your torso free. Immediately, you duck your head under the straps, catching a few strands of hair painfully in the buckles, but at last the armbinder swings free. You stand upright, free of the bondage.

A moment later, a clattering, like a dropped ceramic plate reaches your ears, and you look down in surprise. Empty, sleeves hang loosely at your side, and on the cobbled floor are two beautifully formed, glossy white porcelain arms. You gape at the sight, and try to reach down to pick one up. The futility of the act is lost on your shocked mind and of course all you manage to do is clumsily kneel down in the spreader bar. Your dress billows out around you as you stare at those wonderful arms. Those lovely glassy ivory arms. Again you try to pick one up, and again, nothing happens.

You appreciate your arms with a sort of disconnected abstraction. They really are wonderfully made. Shiny lacquered porcelain along their whole length, except for the ugly texture of rough broken porcelain at the shoulder, where they should be connected to your body. Slowly, the reality of your situation sinks in, and only one thought is preeminent in your mind.

This... Is... Bad.