<strong>CANDY, Dog cages</strong><br/><br/>It was useless. I'd yelled for at least five minutes straight, and rattled the damn cage for just as long, and all I had to show for my efforts was a hoarse throat, a pair of sweaty palms and aching wrists. Except... my wrists weren't aching, now I'd stopped to think about them. They were better than OK. The cramp I usually got in my left writing hand was gone, not even the residual ache that tended to remain troubling me. I looked down at my hands, then back up in disgust, then finally back down to them. It may be humiliating, I thought, to wear these padded mittens, but at the very least they weren't permanent. If they had been genetically induced... I shuddered at the very thought, pushing it out of my head. Soon, someone would come to collect the dogs and bitches, and I'd be found, released, offered an apology and very likely given a fair amount of compensation. I could last for now.<br/><br/>I sat back slightly, ignoring the stirring dogs beside me and studying the mittens, almost admiring them- soft brown and red fur, padded palms, a small intricate lock keeping them in place. Quite impossible to unlock with the gloves on or, for that matter, impossible to get even a loose grip on. Had they allowed me the capacity to grip and manipulate with the dexterity my hands and fingers allowed, I might have even considered calling them handy to have as regular gloves.<br/><br/>I soon turned to my feet, and the much less comfortable leg devices. They were strapped about my lower legs and adorned in the same soft brown and red coloured fur. Part of me wondered why I had them on in the first place- normally dogs and bitches wouldn't have them applied unless they developed a habit of climbing onto people's work surfaces. The question slipped quickly out of my mind as I started to stand up, deciding to find out first hand how effective they really were. Even with support from my paws... no, hands, against the cage side I was quickly forced back down again, all my weight transferred agonisingly to my toes. I'd always prided myself on keeping my feet in perfect condition, and saw no reason to break a toe under such a ridiculous manner. So, apart from the pieces placed upon me- what else had they changed about me? Did I really want to know?<br/><br/>I choked as I looked down at my exposed chest, which had begun to ache again. My breasts were bigger now, at the very least a D cup, hanging down heavily from my chest, a far cry from my old B cups. I'd always considered having a boob job, but it'd never really been considered seriously by myself. A pair of C's would have been nice I guess, but whatever. D's were OK as well... Part of me suddenly realised I was beginning to make excuses. My breasts had been enlarged without my say, and I was trying to see the bright side side of it. But.. it was good, wasn't it? Sure, they ached now, but that was probably as a result of the operation. When I was released they'd feel fine I was sure. I'd be compensated with cash, have bigger breasts and be more limber- if all I'd missed was the standard lobotomy, my body would have been made more flexible and fit. I struggled to keep thinking along those positive lines as the ache in my breasts rose. Yeah, it'd be good- a better body to impress my yoga class with, a healthier bank balance, and the only cost a day or two of inconvenience and this minor humiliation no-one would have to know about.<br/><br/>Soon enough though my optimism was beginning to grow thin as my breasts continued to ache, growing heavier and heavier- or was that just my imagination? Now that I thought about it as well, was I swallowing more often than usual? It must have been down to nerves, surely... And damn, I need to pee was rising, an awkward burning feeling growing in between my legs. Was that what I thought it was? No, no, this was stupid, I was imagining everything. My patience snapped.<br/><br/><strong>"Oh come ON!" </strong>I yelled with renewed vigour.<strong>"Where the hell is... every.. one... hello?" </strong>I stopped yelling, my voice trailing out. There had been noises all about me for the last few minutes, of dogs and bitches stirring about me, but it was only then I noticed a different sound. It was definitely a human voice, but it wasn't English. It sounded Chinese.. or was it Japanese? Whatever it was, I couldn't make out a word of it. I turned my head into the general direction of where I figured the voice was coming from, a few cages down from mine.<br/><br/><strong>"Er.. hello? Do you speak English? I can't understand you!"</strong>I called out, slowly and carefully, my confusion rising. What in the world was a foreigner who couldn't even speak English doing as a warden? For that matter, why was it appearing to come from a cage? Was that voice coming from a bitch? Had there been two mistakes made by the labs? I called out again, trying to keep my voice both clear and level.<br/><br/><strong>"I can't understand you, I'm sorry. Can you speak English? Are you a warden?"</strong>I craned my neck about, trying to determine the exact location of the foreign speaker evidently trying to respond to me.