Goon for the Matriarchy

She stared into the gloom, her eyes wide and glassy. Her jaw went slack. A shallow, rhythmic huffing sound escaped her lips. Hhh-hh-hh. Her chest heaved in ragged, stuttering bursts, mimicking the panicked rhythm of a cornered animal. She wasn't a domme anymore. She was just prey, trapped in the dark, desperate to keep breathing, completely untethered from the woman she used to be.

She had been a bratty, entitled mistress who delighted in the whimpers of her subs. But tonight was enough to shatter the last remnants of her human dignity. She convulsed, her mouth forced open. From the depths of her broken throat came a sound, not a human scream, but a high pitched, rhythmic, and grotesque squeal. She wasn't a Lady anymore nor a mistress. She was nothing more than an animal in the slaughterhouse, squealing for a mercy that would never come. Oink Oink piggy...

When the transformation settled, the woman who's high heel click usually signaled absolute silence and fear was gone. In her place, on the cold filthy floor, squirming and squealing was a creature of base instinct. Oink oink piggy...