You realize you must have drifted off as your eyes open to utter darkness.

Should you be more scared and nervous than you are?

You feel a bit more alert than before, though.

The door opens again, and footsteps come closer. "Oh, there's my cute little material." The same feminine voice as before. She sounds proud of you, even though you haven't done anything.

"Let's get that off you... close your eyes, doll."

There's something commanding in her voice, and maybe you're still a bit drugged, or maybe you're just that submissive, but you find yourself closing them.

Soft hand caress the side of your head, and you realize that those hands are undoing something soft that has been tied on your face... one of those sleeping masks?

There's warm light through your eyelids, it's a bit much, and you flinch back instinctively.

She strokes your forehead. "That's a good doll... keep those eyes closed until they adjust. It's important to keep that body in as best shape as you can and be gentle with it whenever your orders don't conflict with that, okay?"

She takes hold of your head and makes you nod slightly. "Good doll," she coos. "Open your eyes now."

The light shining down from around her makes her hard to see for a moment, but as your vision clears, you see her face in front of you-- a face without any lines whatsoever, but her eyes somehow don't give off the look of youth, with her black hair tied into a loose ponytail. She's wearing an open labcoat over a black dress.

"Do you remember why you're here?" She makes you nod your head. "That's right. You're here to be made into a doll."

She falls silent, and the silence hangs in the air.

It's hard not to feel like you should say something, anything-- agreeing with her, disagreeing with her, asking her a question, something, her slight smile and pitiless stare are hard to keep staring back at.

As you lips part, words just about to flow out, she puts a finger against your lips, pressing against them gently, and your words falter.

"Shhhhh. I'm sure you have thoughts and questions, but none of them actually matter, do they?" She pulls back, towering above you and tapping the same finger against her own lips. She smiles wider. "Although... we do have a little time. Why don't you come with me, and we can watch a little video I made? Maybe it can answer some of your questions without you doing anything unfortunate that requires correction."

Her eyes stare through you as her voice becomes softer, "Everything I remove from material means it takes that much longer to get back in working order... so let's not mess up your perfect record so far, shall we?"

She leans down and slides an arm under your shoulders, and helps pull you up into a sitting position on the padded table.

The walls of a room are a sterile white, you realize, now that she's not in your face.

You're a little unsteady on your feet, and her arm slides down to the small of your back as she helps you over to a couch -- a luxurious and stylish in ways that clash with the ambience of the rest of the room.

She sits you down on it, sitting with you, next to you, her hip just slightly pressed against yours.

Across from you on the wall is a widescreen TV, and she waves her fingers in the air a little, gesturing, and the screen flickers on.

She looks down and sees you looking at her fingers, and smiles. "Implants. I needed them to be perfect in my role."

Before you can think too much about all the implications of that statement, she makes a few more gestures, flicking past a few dozen files with still images showing a room much like this one from a camera installed near the door. "This one, I think." It doesn't look notably different from the rest. They're all in black and white, although it takes you a moment to tell with the room's color scheme.

She wraps an arm around you.

On the screen, a woman with a loose black braid in a white lab coat -- or that's all you can see from behind, beyond her black high heels --- is walking up to a table. "Good morning!" She says cheerfully to the person strapped down on the table-- another woman with black hair, naked, although the details are harder to make out with all the static and low resolution-- the camera clearly is not up to the quality of the couch, in nothing else.

The woman with the black braid strokes the forehead of her captive, the other hand stroking along her stomach.

"Shhh shhh. None of that. I've seen your social media. I know the local BDSM scene just isn't enough for you. This is exactly the sort of thing you dream about."

She leans down to whisper in the ear of the captive woman strapped to the table.

The woman in the room with you leans in to give your ear a little kiss. "No screaming, okay? Quiet sobbing is acceptable."

You can't help but look down to see her black high heels.

"Eyes on the screen," she says softly. "It's important that you don't make the same sort of mistakes that this material did."