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I tore my gaze away from my breasts, trying to push those thoughts aside, but then my eyes dropped to the lower part of my body. Where there had once been a familiar bulge, there was now a smooth, flat surface. I exhaled sharply and tugged at the elastic of my panties with my fingers, needing to confirm this wasn’t some kind of illusion. The skin underneath was soft, and my fingers… I felt that place. Warm, sensitive. Nothing extra. It was real female anatomy. A shiver ran through me.
– "Shit..." – I whispered, closing my eyes and snapping the panties back onto my hips as if that would somehow make everything disappear. – "What the fuck kind of nightmare is this?"
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, feeling the long hair brush against my shoulders and back. Damn, I had completely forgotten about the cameras. My stomach tightened at the realization that every move I made, every expression on my face, was being recorded and analyzed.
My hand instinctively moved to cover my chest, but the soft fullness beneath my fingers brought another wave of disgust. It was alive. The warmth and weight were undeniable, even through my palms. Memories of holding Steph came rushing back – how I used to love her body, love her curves. But now... Now it was my body, and those sensations brought nothing but shock.
I jerked my hands away, a chill running down my spine. Cameras. A surge of shame washed over me. I grabbed a nightgown, avoiding my reflection in the mirror where the unfamiliar figure still loomed. The thin straps of the gown felt fragile, like threads, and the cold fabric was surprisingly light, almost weightless, which threw me off a little. Turning my back to the mirror so I wouldn’t have to see myself, I started pulling it over my head.
At first, I couldn’t figure out which side was the front and which was the back. My hair got in the way, sliding over my neck and shoulders, catching on the straps. I tossed it back, but it fell right back into place, tickling my skin. My breasts, now free from the bra, immediately made themselves known. Those soft, overly large shapes seemed to rebel, swaying and jiggling at the slightest movement. I froze, feeling the fabric cling to my body, and exhaled deeply.
– "Fucking tits," – I hissed, trying to smooth out the nightgown. The material slid down easily, hugging my figure, but something immediately felt off. It was too short – barely reaching the middle of my thighs. And the thin straps did nothing to hide my shoulders or collarbones.
I glanced at the mirror and froze. It was a damn babydoll – a short nightgown with thin straps, barely thigh-length, with a ridiculously deep neckline and lace trim. Worst of all, it was almost see-through! Through the light fabric, the outlines of my body were visible: the soft curve of my hips, the lace panties barely concealing... everything else. My breasts were prominently on display under the thin material, the darker circles of my nipples visible, and the cold air in the bathroom made them even more noticeable. This wasn’t just sleepwear – it was a damn costume for bedroom antics. What the hell!
– "Perfect," – I muttered, curling my lips in disdain. – "Just fucking perfect. Thanks a lot for the impeccable taste."
Frustrated, I tried tugging the fabric downward, but it refused to cooperate. If anything, it seemed purposely designed to hide nothing. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and embarrassment bubbling inside me. I need to come up with something. Something to say. If I walk out like this, he’ll think I dressed up on purpose. I need to... need to explain it somehow, without the cameras catching on.
My mind raced as I slowly turned over possibilities. Mentioning the experiment was out of the question – the cameras would pick up on it. I had to make it sound like some weird joke or accidental phrasing. I stared at the mirror and whispered to myself:
– "Marek. Marek, I... I’m your wife, right? Of course, a wife," – I mimicked myself mockingly, snorting in frustration. – "What the hell! I’m not a wife. I’m... Damn it, this is useless!"
Kicking the skirt lying on the floor, I tried to vent at least a little of my anger. But I had to go. The longer I stayed in here, the more suspicious it would look.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Marek already looked like he was about to doze off. But as soon as he saw me, his gaze sharpened. He lazily scanned me from head to toe, and a sly smirk spread across his face.
– "You look like a real treat," – he drawled, propping himself up on one elbow. – "Polya, did you decide to kill me with your charm tonight?"
His eyes lingered on my chest, and I felt heat rush to my face. Damn it, I knew this would happen! Crossing my arms over my chest to hide at least the upper part, I only made the gown cling even more to my hips.
– "This... this is all there was," – I muttered, trying to keep my voice indifferent, though it was clearly trembling.
Marek chuckled, running a hand over his stubble. His smile was wide, almost satisfied.
– "No way. Your closet’s full. I’d say you picked this on purpose. For me."
I took a sharp breath, barely stopping myself from snapping back. Stay calm, Mike. Stay calm. Cameras. If you lose it now, everything will go to hell.