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I stared at this monstrosity with an expression as if a clown costume were lying before me. – Well, Mike, welcome to hell. Now you know how to impress… guys at a kids' party, – I thought irritably. But I had no choice. The cameras left me no room to escape.
With a heavy sigh, I began taking off that damn nightgown. My breasts, heavy and living a life of their own, immediately grabbed my attention. Every movement made them jiggle slightly, creating a strange sense of unreality. I glanced at the mirror. My reflection only poured fuel on the fire.
High breasts, overly full and soft, seemed like the centerpiece of this new body, as if nature had decided to mock me. A slim waist sharply transitioned into wide hips, making me feel like I was carrying myself like an inflatable raft.
Grabbing the bra, I tried to figure out how to put it on properly. Of course, I’d seen girls do it before, but in my hands, it felt like something alien. After a few clumsy attempts, I finally managed to fasten it behind my back. The straps immediately dug into my shoulders, and the soft cups enveloped my breasts, slightly lifting them. The feeling was strange, like something foreign was supporting my body. My breasts felt heavy, alive, and the bra only emphasized their presence, compressing them and making me feel every breath.
– Wonderful, – I muttered sarcastically, adjusting the straps.
Next, I pulled on the panties. They fit snugly, hugging my hips, and immediately caused an unpleasant sensation. That soft material, the tightness—it was all so unfamiliar that I couldn’t help but grimace.
I looked at the pantyhose lying at the edge of the bed and shuddered involuntarily. Thin, almost transparent, they seemed to symbolize humiliation. Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling them on. But as soon as I bent over, my breasts made themselves known, softly pressing against my knees. The sensation was so unexpected and… unnatural that I instantly straightened up as if shocked.
– Damn it, – I exhaled, trying to ignore what was happening and focus on the pantyhose. Pulling them on was harder than I’d expected: the thin fabric snagged on my skin, bunched around my knees, and my fingers constantly felt like they’d tear it. But no matter how hard I tried to ignore my body, every bend reminded me that my new reality wasn’t going to let me go.
– Who the hell came up with this torture? – I grumbled, standing up and trying to smooth the fabric over my hips. But as soon as I straightened, my breasts reminded me of their presence again. They swayed gently, tugging the bra downward, and it was so strange and unfamiliar that I froze for a moment. The pantyhose clung tightly to my legs, accentuating their slimness, but even that sensation wasn’t as alien as these damn breasts, which practically had a life of their own.
– For fuck’s sake, – I muttered, running a hand over my face. I wanted to just rip all of it off and toss it away, but the cameras seemed to whisper: "Money, money. Think about the money. Remember, you’re here under contract."
Then I picked up that colorful sundress. It smelled faintly of something sweet and soapy, as if someone was trying to convince me that I was a loving wife who absolutely adored her role. The fabric was soft and light, almost pleasant to the touch, but the very fact that I had to put it on made me boil with anger.
Pulling the sundress over my head, I felt my breasts get tangled in the fabric, demanding more space than the design allowed. I struggled with it longer than I expected, but finally, the fabric settled into place. The sundress hugged my waist tightly, emphasizing it, while the skirt slid smoothly over my hips, covering my knees. On one hand, it was fairly comfortable, but I felt ridiculous. Too soft, too gentle—not me.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I rolled my eyes. – Just a beauty, damn it, – I muttered, disgusted at how the skirt highlighted my hips. Even the damn bows on the shoulders looked like they were mocking me.
I sighed heavily, brushing my hair out of my face. Makeup. Even the word felt like a joke. Following the instructions, I headed to the bathroom, but I barely reached the door before hearing the sound of water behind it.
– Of course, – I muttered, rolling my eyes. Occupied.
From behind the door came the low mumbling of Marek. He seemed to be talking to himself, humming or grumbling. I waited a few seconds, hoping he’d finish soon, but when it became clear he’d just started, I angrily pounded on the door with my fist.
– Marek, are you going to be long? – I shouted, trying to sound my usual irritated self. It didn’t work. My new high-pitched voice came out more like whining.
– Ten minutes, Polya, – he called back, his voice echoing through the door. – Wait.
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck up there. Without waiting for Marek to come out, I headed to the kitchen. If makeup had to wait, I’d move on to another point in the instructions—lunch for my “loving husband.” Saying this idea infuriated me would be an understatement. But the cameras were a constant reminder: if I didn’t play my role, the penalty would make me regret every penny I’d been counting on.
– Well, at least I don’ have to cook, – I muttered bitterly, pulling out a pot. The stew looked decent, but I felt like I was about to pack up some sort of pretentious meal for a construction worker. I found a clean container and carefully ladled the food into it, feeling the lace straps of the sundress chafe my shoulders. This outfit wasn’t meant for kitchen work; it was more suited for cute pictures in some blooming garden.
Trying not to get annoyed, I packed the container, adding a piece of bread and an apple. "There, all set. Now Marek can enjoy his masterpiece," I thought, placing the lunch on the edge of the table. At that moment, the floorboards creaked behind me. I didn’t have time to turn around before warm hands wrapped around my waist.
– Good morning, sunshine, – Marek murmured huskily right by my ear. His voice was lazy but confident. I flinched in surprise, feeling his chest press against my back. – You’ve already taken care of me, as always. Thanks.
Before I could get a word out, his lips brushed my cheek. I froze. Too close, too real. My body seemed to lock up from shame and irritation, and one thought spun in my head: "Get your damn hands off me!"
– Um… you’re welcome, – I mumbled, trying not to reveal my nervousness. His lips left my cheek, and he stepped back as if nothing had happened.