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The kiss was gentle, but too real. Warm, commanding, it sent a shock through me. My body reacted on its own. I felt my lips move in response, something warm and soft spreading inside me. No, this isn’t me. It’s the body. Damn Apolonia, it’s her cursed body. I’m Mike. It’s just a reaction. Just…
Marek pressed me against the sink, his hands sliding lower, gripping my hips. I felt his breath grow heavier, and my heart began to beat faster, but not from fear. It was something else. Wrong. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our reflection in the mirror: his large frame, my fragile body pressed against him. His hands moved confidently, and I felt the skirt of the dress ride up as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of my panties. I froze, unable to move, as he deftly pulled them down to my knees.
– You’re so beautiful… – he whispered before turning me around to face away from him.
I felt his hands slide lower, gripping my hips, then sharply pull upward, stripping the rest of the dress off me. The fabric slid over my skin, leaving a cool sensation, but it didn’t last long—his palms immediately cupped my breasts, large and soft, now hanging freely. His fingers squeezed them, and I felt my nipples harden in response to his touch. His breath grew heavier, hot and ragged, and my heart pounded faster, but not from fear. It was something else. Wrong.
I felt his cock press against me, then begin to enter, slowly but firmly. My body tensed, resisting, but then relaxed, yielding to his movements. His hands held my waist tightly, and my breasts, trapped in his palms, responded to every motion with a pulsing warmth. His breath was hot on my neck, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, forcing my body to move in sync. I felt every thrust resonate within me, my vagina tightening around him as if trying to hold him in. His fingers squeezed my breasts harder, and I felt my nipples harden further, responding to his touch with an almost painful sensitivity.
– Polya… – he whispered, his voice low, husky, full of desire.
I couldn’t see his face, but I felt his body—large, strong, completely in control. His movements grew faster, deeper, and I felt my body begin to surrender, yielding to him. This was wrong, this wasn’t me, but I couldn’t stop it. My body—this body—reacted, enjoyed it, and I hated myself for it. But at the same time, I felt something warm and pulsating spreading inside me, my hips beginning to move on their own, following his rhythm.
– You’re… so… – his words broke off into ragged breaths, his hands squeezing my breasts even tighter, as if trying to maintain control over what was happening.
I closed my eyes, trying not to think, not to feel, but my body wouldn’t listen. It surrendered, yielded, enjoyed. And I hated myself for it. I hated this body. I hated Marek. I hated everything that was happening. But at the same time, I felt pleasure. And that was the worst part.
But suddenly, he stopped. His cock slipped out of me, and I felt an emptiness, a strange, almost painful sensation, as if my body was protesting this pause. I wanted to scream, “Why did you stop? Keep going!” But instead, I just froze, feeling my vagina pulsate, demanding completion. God, what am I thinking?! This isn’t me. It’s the body. I don’t want this to continue! I didn’t want any of this! It’s Apolonia’s cursed body, now dictating its own rules to me.
Marek looked into my eyes as if he had read my traitorous thoughts. He abruptly picked me up, and I felt my body, light and fragile in his powerful hands, press against his chest. His breath was hot, ragged, and his erect cock, still hard and hot, brushed against my bare ass, leaving a wet trail with every step toward the bedroom. My body trembled—my vagina pulsed in time with his steps, as if begging for what had been interrupted. "No, this isn’t me," I thought furiously, digging my fingers into his shoulders as a stupid warmth spread through my lower abdomen.
Marek didn’t respond. His hands, strong as steel cables, lifted me under my knees and back as if I weighed no more than a cat. My head fell back, and I saw the bathroom ceiling—a crack in the plaster, the dim light of the lamp, the shadow of our merging on the wall. In his hands, I felt like a small doll, powerless and pliant. His steps echoed loudly in the silence of the apartment, and my body—light as a feather—betrayed me, pressing against his chest, absorbing the warmth and the scent of sweat mixed with the metallic sharpness of cologne. His erect cock, hot and firm, slid over my bare skin with every step, leaving a sticky trail of precum. "It’s just reflexes," I repeated furiously to myself, my body trembling, my vagina pulsing in time with his steps, as if begging for what had been interrupted. "No, no, no... this isn’t me," I thought, digging my fingers into his shoulders as that stupid warmth spread through my lower abdomen.
He threw me onto the bed with such force that the springs squealed, and the sheets billowed like a sail. His shadow loomed over me, swallowing the light from the lamp. The sudden movement sent a shiver down my spine, and a burning heat flared between my legs. "No, no, no..."—the thought fluttered like a bird in a cage, but my legs spread on their own, exposing the wet, trembling flesh. I wanted this, wanted it so badly that every cell of this cursed body craved continuation.