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"Damn it, Mike, you're a man!" — raged somewhere deep in my consciousness, but my lips exhaled on their own:
— Take me!
"God, what am I saying!?" flashed through my mind as he entered me. Slowly, but with such commanding confidence that my body treacherously arched toward him. I dug my fingers into the sheets, clenching my teeth to keep from making a sound, but my lower abdomen was already burning, and a quiet, too-feminine moan escaped my throat.
— Ah...
The moan slipped past my lips despite all attempts to hold it back. I bit my lower lip, digging my nails into the sheets, but Marek was already deeper inside me, looming over me. I turned my head toward the wall, trying to pull away, but the mirror in the corner of the room reflected everything: his massive back, covered in sweat, my legs spread apart, my breasts swaying and bouncing painfully pleasurably with every thrust. My nipples hardened to a stony sensitivity, catching on the rough fabric of his shirt, and between my legs... Damn, it was hot, wet, and with every movement of Marek, that warmth spread higher, tightening my stomach with spasms of pleasure. I caught myself with disgust at the thought of how insanely good it felt.
— Look at me, Polya, — his hand roughly turned my face. Marek's eyes burned with a blue fire, reflecting my new face — flushed, with disheveled chestnut strands sticking to my forehead. I tried to roll my eyes, but his fingers dug into my chin. — You're mine. All of you.
That commanding whisper sent shivers down my spine. Damn, why does his dominance make my lower abdomen clench even tighter? His cock went deeper than usual, hitting some new spot, and a moan escaped my throat — high, trembling, utterly feminine.
— Ah! M-Marek...
I couldn't believe it was me who said that. What was left of Mike in me if I was already saying such things, even my voice betraying me, ringing like that of a scared girl who loves this? Marek smirked, lifting my leg higher with one hand, and moved sharper, deeper, squeezing moans from my body that I vainly tried to stifle with my teeth.
— My good girl... — his whisper burned my ear, his hand gripping my thigh tighter, making me shudder — You're so tight! You love it when I... don't you?
"No!" — screamed my mind, but my lips, wet and trembling, exhaled:
— Y-yes... Ah... Ah-ah! Aaah!
His hand squeezed my breast — roughly, commandingly, so much so that I almost lost consciousness from the wave of strange, vivid sensations. From my own breaths, which treacherously escaped my mouth and quickened with every second, I was losing the last remnants of control. My body arched, obeying the animal rhythm, and Marek's fingers dug into my hips, leaving bruises that would remind me of this humiliation tomorrow.
— Polya... my beloved... — his voice, hoarse with tension, sounded almost tender, and that was worse than any insult.
— Yes... oh god, yes! — escaped me against my will. My lips betrayed me, my voice ringing high and pitifully, like that very Apolonia I hated.
His movements became sharper, deeper, wracking moans mixed with curses in my head. "This isn't me, this isn't me, it's this damn vagina, hormones, this cursed body!" But the wave was building, tightening my stomach with fire, and I realized — I was about to come. Like a woman.
Marek growled something in Polish, his fingers gripping my hair, tilting my head back. The mirror reflected a crazy scene: his muscular back, covered in sweat, my face — flushed, with my mouth half-open and eyes full of despair and... pleasure.
— Ah-ah-ah! — a scream escaped my throat that I couldn't hold back, my body shook with spasms, my vagina clenched around his cock in a final spasm. Waves of orgasm washed over me, erasing thoughts. "Mike... I'm Mike... I..." But even my name dissolved into white noise. Everything around me lost meaning for a moment, thoughts mixed, and I stopped understanding who I was, where I was, or what was happening. The only thing I felt was an incredible, deafening pleasure spreading through my entire body.
Marek kept moving until I felt his body tense, and he came after me with a low groan, filling me with warmth that brought a strange satisfaction. "Disgusting. Disgusting!" — screamed my mind, but my body went limp, content.
When consciousness returned, I was already lying on his sweaty chest, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heart gradually slowing. His fingers lazily played with my hair, his other hand slapping my bare ass, like a master pleased with his obedient bitch.
— I’ll buy you that blue dress tomorrow, — his voice sounded muffled, like through cotton. — The one you were staring at in the window, like you were hypnotized.
I nodded, not really understanding the meaning of the words. Thank you. I should say thank you. My lips moved on their own, producing a hoarse:
— Th-th-thank... Thank you... — my voice trembled, and my tongue went limp, so much so that I could barely speak.
Marek chuckled hoarsely, his chest shaking beneath me. His hand continued to stroke my back, his fingers digging into my skin slightly roughly, but... it felt good. No. No, it didn’t feel good. It was humiliating. But my body softened, pressing into his warm skin. My huge tits — goddamn mine — flattened against his chest, the nipples still hard, rubbing against the hair on his body, sending shivers down my spine. It’s just nerves. Reflex. Not me.
My head was spinning. The smell of his sweat, metal, and something woodsy. The slow heartbeat now under my cheek, and the breath in my ear, amplified by the fact that I was lying on his chest. His hand on my ass — possessive, familiar. Like it was meant to be. Like I...
No! I blinked rapidly, trying to catch my thoughts. I’m Mike. 23 years old. I love "The Witcher" and whiskey with coke. My name isn’t Polya, and this guy... But then, the memory flashed: yesterday, I was ironing his shirts, neatly folding them into the wardrobe. In the morning, I made coffee, just how he likes it — strong, no sugar. This isn’t me. It’s a role. Project "Town." They made me.
But why then, now, when his fingers are threading through my hair, do I feel... calm? Safe? Like his chest — the only thing keeping me from falling into the abyss. Did they brainwash her into loving this asshole? Or did I... break?
— Sleep, kitty... — he muttered, kissing the top of my head. His voice was soft, almost unfamiliar.
So sweet and nice... Damn it! No! it’s not sweet! What the hell am I thinking again?! And I’m not some damn kitty! I squeezed my eyes shut. This isn’t me. It’s them. The scientists. The experiment. But even that thought now felt distant, like a dream.
My body pulled downward, into the warmth of the sheets and his breath. My eyes were heavy. Why am I not resisting? Why don’t I hit him? But I knew the answer: a month ago, I tried to talk about who we really are, and realized he was like... unhinged or his brain was fried. I decided I would try to live as "Apolonia" so I wouldn’t get fined. It all happened so gradually and smoothly, I couldn’t even imagine us having sex. It seemed absurd, like a nightmare, the worst thing that could happen. And then... then my body instinctively moved toward him, twisting in bed like a bitch in heat. Hormones. It’s all because of them.
His snoring, low and steady, filled the room. His hand on my waist loosened, but I didn’t pull away. I was just tired. Tomorrow... tomorrow I’ll think about it. But “tomorrow” had already been coming for a month. And I was sinking deeper into the scent of her shampoo, the rhythm of laundry-cooking-sex-sleep.
Stefania... Damn you...
Marek grunted in his sleep, rolling onto his side, and I involuntarily pressed closer to him, hiding my face in his neck. Warm. Damn warm. My arm wrapped around his waist on its own — a habit, formed over weeks of sleeping together.
Tomorrow, — I promised myself, feeling my consciousness melting away. — Tomorrow I’ll start fighting. I’ll find the cameras. I’ll escape.
But my body had already relaxed, merging with the rhythm of his breath.