You wake with a start, to find yourself in an unfamiliar bed. Jerking awake, you erupt from the bed. Only to find it's a cell, a literal cell! You naturally don't have the keys, and the bare concrete walls are covered with lewd pictures crudely cut from newspapers, or magazine, to decorate the spartan walls.
As you wring the bars between your fingers, another item rushes up your list of priorities! You're very much a woman. You've never worn women's clothes, or experimented with their underwear, but it's really, really hard to not notice that you're wearing a bra and panties beneath your bright orange boiler suit. You also feel the shifting of your flesh that tells you, the need to wear them too.
As you go to cry out the outrage and injustice, you hear those self-same cries already echoing in your ears. Your shoulders slump in defeat, as you don't want to be just another lunatic demanding release, and claiming the same outrage that you're not ... not this woman whose body you're wearing.
Even beyond the bars, you can see the same chaos amongst the guards. A long glance past the bars, shows one of the guards struggling to find the right key on her keyring. You doubt she was a guard mere moments ago. Her behaviour suggesting to you that she might even have been one of the inmates... might even have had this body. If this... whatever this is works that way.
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