You don't have a choice.

You try to calm yourself, telling yourself that this is just a dream or hallucination from whatever **** were in that can that you drank. You cannot resist the desire to free yourself, even though you believe your present restraint to be nothing but a fevered imagination. You move more deliberately, trying to bring your hands to each other. If you can just undo one of the cuffs buckled around your wrists, you could free yourself. It takes a lot of effort; the weight of your own body and the pulley system of the chains attached to the harness hold you in a spreadeagled position. With every ounce of your strength and the muscles in your arms burning with the effort, your fingertips for a moment brush the buckle on the opposite wrist. Then the **** of gravity and weight prove too much for you, and your wrists are dragged away from each other once more. You try again, gritting your teeth and grunting with exertion and pain in your muscles, and once more you can only manage the briefest of touches with a fingertip on the buckle before you sag back into the spreadeagled pose.

Perhaps if you could free an ankle or push a foot against the bed just below you, it would take the weight off the chains and allow you more movement. You move your legs in various ways. Your movements comically resemble swimming or cycling in mid-air with the harness suspending you. The man moves towards your feet.

You twist your head to look at the security guard and feel the swish and gentle caress of soft hair on your shoulders as your head cranes around. The guy is much bigger than you had imagined when you had seen him sitting in the security booth. He looks vaguely like a young Dolph Lundgren, with close-cropped blonde hair, pale blue eyes and built like a brick outhouse. He is grinning as he watches your legs pedal uselessly in the air. When he licks his lips, you realise it is not your legs that are the main focus of his attention, but what is between them.

You move your head to try and see your crotch, but attempting to look down your body, you first see the dangling breasts. Even hanging down, they appear to be fairly modest in size, tipped with pale pink nipples that are erect from the blood pumping faster from your efforts to move. You arch your back and try to **** your hips downward and catch a quick glimpse of your loins. You had noticed the lack of jiggle you are used to when naked and your dick and balls can swing around, but the brief glimpse of a sandy blonde furred pubic mound and the crease of blushing labia below against milky white thighs confirms the absence of your familiar male genitalia.

"Oh shit, oh shit," You screw your eyes tight shut as you mutter to yourself. "It's not real. Don't freak out."

It is while you desperately try to maintain the belief that everything is a messed-up trip or dream that you hear the sound of high-heeled steps approaching on a wooden floor, and the bedroom door opens.

"Frau Doktor," The Nordic security guard greets the new arrival.