Office show - Full story (Patreon)

1…

Mike hated his father.

He hated every one of his dad’s idiotic ideas, which usually ended in disaster. But today… today the old man outdid himself. “Body swap for a day,” that’s what he called it. Officially, it was labeled "Corporate Team Building," but everyone knew the truth — just another stunt to get attention for the company.

The procedure took place in the morning. As a VIP, Mike underwent it separately from the other employees, in one of the company’s most luxurious offices. Everything seemed perfect: a comfy chair, white sterile walls, and a machine that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. The lab technician, smiling professionally, injected Mike with the serum, and in the next moment, his consciousness sank into darkness.

When he woke up, something felt off. The lab tech shot him a quick, surprised glance, as if something hadn’t gone according to plan. But Mike didn’t dwell on it. Two hours had passed since the swap, and now he sat at a desk cluttered with papers and odd trinkets that seemed to belong to the secretary named Tiffany, according to the name badge he was wearing.

Long fingers with a perfect manicure drummed nervously on the desk. A tight pink suit squeezed against a massive chest, the skirt strained against the hips, and the heels he was forced to wear were already killing him. It all irritated him to the core, but he tried not to show it. ‘They know who I am,’ he kept repeating to himself, but the nagging thought that something had gone wrong lingered at the edge of his mind.

“Uh… Tiffany,” came the voice of Mike’s “boss” — one of the warehouse workers now playing the role. She knew who he really was. Everyone did, but the rules of this absurd game required them to pretend everything was normal. As if he were actually Tiffany, the dumb blonde secretary who sat at this very desk every day. And for some reason, now, hours into the workday, she chose to make this strange comment: “Why aren’t you wearing any makeup today?”

Mike shot her a glare, showing just how absurd the question was. But it only seemed to give her more authority. “It’s unprofessional, Tiffany. You know the rules,” she added, with a nervous chuckle, her gaze darting to one of the many office cameras recording their every move. “Go fix yourself up. In the ladies' room… now!” she added, her voice shaking slightly.

‘Is she serious? Ordering me around? Makeup? Fix myself up?’ Mike wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but inside, he was boiling with humiliation and anger. His own rugged, masculine face felt utterly out of place against this fragile, feminine body. His shoulders tensed as if trying to shrink from the unwanted attention.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he spat, feeling the anger rise. But his new, high-pitched voice — Tiffany’s voice — sounded annoyingly soft, which only made him angrier.

“Did you say something, Tiffany?” Her tone suddenly hardened, and Mike saw her grow more confident. She knew he couldn’t refuse. The cameras were watching their every move, and everyone knew their roles in this insane show. The online views had already climbed into the hundreds of thousands, and countless people were watching this unfold.

Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The entire day felt unreal, like he’d been thrown into some bizarre dream. But the dream was reality. The weight on his chest, the tight skirt, the uncomfortable heels — none of it let him forget that for a second. And now this…

He looked at his “boss,” who was watching him with barely concealed fear but a serious enough expression.

“And what about my meeting with Mr. Bennett? Did you tell everyone?” she asked, her nervous smile betraying that she wasn’t sure what to do next.

Mike clenched his teeth, trying to contain his irritation. Her question was clearly an attempt to lighten the mood and make everything seem “business as usual,” but inside, he was boiling at the absurdity of it all.

“I… yeah… I scheduled the damn meeting,” Mike growled, but Tiffany’s sweet voice made the words sound far less menacing than he’d hoped.

Without another word, he stood up, struggling to keep his balance on the high heels. His feet immediately throbbed with pain. The first step was awkward, his body swayed, and he had to put out a hand to steady himself, feeling the unfamiliar weight of his new chest sway heavily with the movement. ‘I hate that old man,’ he thought again as he walked out into the main office.

2…

Mike walked down the hallway, feeling the skirt cling to his legs, but tried to ignore it. He tugged at the collar of the blouse, feeling the fabric stretch tightly across his chest — massive, unbearably heavy, and with every step, that chest jiggled, almost as if it had a life of its own. "Damn it!" he thought, as one of the bra straps painfully dug into his shoulder.

He caught the looks from his colleagues — they tried to stay in character, pretending that it really was Tiffany in front of them. They feared him, knowing that this charade would end tomorrow, but they couldn't help the faint, almost imperceptible smirks in their eyes. ‘What are you grinning at?’ Mike wanted to snap, but held back. ‘Once I’m in charge, I’ll fire all of you.’

"Tiffany, you look great today!" a voice called from behind. Mike gritted his teeth, not turning around. ‘Go to hell,’ he nearly shouted.

He was about to speed up when the sound of heels clicking caught up to him. Sarah approached, smiling so warmly that Mike immediately felt suspicious. He recognized her face — she worked in marketing or something nearby, but now she was clearly someone else. He deliberately glanced at her badge: "Kelly Benson, Assistant Director of HR."

"Uh… Tiffany," she said tentatively, but then added, “Are you okay?” Sarah, now “Kelly,” stopped beside him, tilting her head and smiling kindly. Her voice was soft, almost concerned, but Mike sensed the hidden subtext.

‘Okay?’ echoed in his mind. Of course, everything was okay — ‘being stuck in this dumb body, feeling the weight of these boobs bounce with every step, the bra strap digging painfully into my shoulder, and the thong wedged in my ass while trying not to trip over these stupid heels!’

Mike looked at “Kelly,” not bothering to hide his irritation. He knew full well that Sarah, now in Kelly Benson’s body, was trying to suck up to him, even though they were all forced to play by the rules of this ridiculous body swap. Sarcasm bubbled up in his throat — the situation was too absurd to resist.

“Oh yeah, everything’s just peachy,” he said snarkily, though Tiffany’s soft, high-pitched voice couldn’t convey his anger. “A little more makeup and the day will be saved.” And sure enough, Sarah seemed to take his sarcasm at face value, as if she’d been waiting for it.

She looked at him more closely for a moment, her expression briefly surprised, but then a broad smile spread across her face.

"Well, that’s easy to fix!" she said way too cheerfully, as if she hadn’t caught the sarcasm at all. "Let me help you freshen up your makeup. We’ve got that meeting with Mr. Bennett, after all. You need to look perfect."

Mike felt the rage boiling inside him. Makeup? Seriously? He hadn’t planned on doing any of that — he just wanted to take a break, make it to the restroom, and then return to his “desk.” And now this girl was taking his sarcasm seriously. The whole thing was painfully absurd, and he rolled his eyes, barely holding back an irritated laugh.

"Oh yeah, right. Mr. Bennett! How could I possibly show up without perfectly painted lips and lashes? I just wouldn’t be able to impress Mr. Bennett," he shot back sarcastically, trying to give his words the sharpness they deserved. But Tiffany’s sweet, high-pitched voice once again ruined it, making his sarcasm sound almost friendly.

Sarah froze for a second, as if trying to figure out whether "Tiffany" was serious, but quickly recovered, her smile widening.

"Of course, you know how important appearances are for these kinds of meetings. Come on, let me help you. It’ll only take a couple of minutes," she said, turning and nodding toward the ladies' room, clearly expecting Mike to go along with her offer.

Mike looked at her silently, then at the cameras that were recording everything, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his "future employees" exchanging glances and whispers.

"Fine," he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to stay calm, but in Tiffany’s voice, it came out so soft and submissive that he almost ground his teeth in frustration. "Let’s just get to the damn ladies’ room."

3…

Mike let out a heavy sigh as the door to the ladies' room closed behind them. But even here, there was no relief. He watched as Kelly rummaged through her bag, pulling out makeup and a wig. Now, however, he noticed her confident smile falter slightly when she glanced up at him. Sarah was clearly a little anxious. Mike couldn't recall ever crossing paths with her before, let alone being this close. For her, this was a risk—she was playing a dangerous game. Because no matter how much everyone pretended that "Tiffany" was the only one present, everyone knew the heir to the company stood in front of her. And that definitely unnerved her, despite her attempts to appear confident.

"Are you serious?" he grumbled, watching as she laid out brushes, an eyeshadow palette, and propped up a mirror. But Kelly tried to ignore his sarcasm. She slowly walked around the restroom, checking the stalls before finally turning to face him.

"Alright," she exhaled, calming herself as she finally stopped in front of him. "Now we can talk properly," she said, though her voice still betrayed a hint of hidden nerves.

Mike frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling the fabric of the blouse tighten uncomfortably on his unfamiliar body. The whole moment seemed absurd to him.

"About what? Why did you bring all this? What kind of circus is this?" he hissed through his teeth, and to his horror, the words came out too thin and almost comical. Sarah couldn't help but smirk, hearing his ridiculously high-pitched tone.

Mike's frown deepened, and he felt blood rush to his face.

"Are you laughing at me?" he breathed out, barely containing his anger, his voice once again betraying him with a squeak, only adding to the ridiculousness of the situation. His glare was sharp, but even that seemed laughable in his current appearance.

"I... I just want to help you look convincing," she said, choosing her words carefully. "You know how your father likes everything to go perfectly according to plan," she added quickly, giving him a swift wink, as if hoping her comment would ease the tension.

"According to plan?" Mike growled, though it sounded more like a petulant whine. Sarah flinched slightly, sensing his frustration. "What plan? To make me look like a secretary in front of the whole office? Is that your plan?" Sarah nervously bit her lip, looking at him but trying to keep her composure.

"I understand how it looks," she said, letting out a quiet sigh, as though she wasn't thrilled with the situation either but couldn't show it. "But your father... he wants you to be able to handle any challenge. And... Mike, be honest. If you can do this, if you can show that you can... step into any role," she said the words slowly, as if fearing his reaction, "you’ll only strengthen your position."

"Step into a role?" Mike repeated sarcastically, gripping the arms of the chair. He looked down at his nails, painted a pale color, which reminded him of just how powerless he was in this situation. "You say that like it's normal," he scoffed bitterly. "This isn't a role, Kelly. It's idiocy."

Sarah paused, looking at him with a touch of sadness. It was clear it wasn't easy for her to watch Mike struggle with his humiliation, but she understood that neither he nor she had a choice.

4…

"I know it’s hard," she finally said softly, holding a brush in her hands, hesitant to start applying makeup, "but if you just go through with it, if you let yourself… let go a little, you’ll see that it’s just one day."

Mike looked at her, his gaze full of contradictions. On one hand, he wanted to scream, to break free from this trap, to tear off this cursed body, the makeup, the clothes—everything. On the other hand, there was sense in what she was saying. His father really did expect a lot from him, and today was yet another test he had to pass. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

"Fine," he exhaled, feeling the rage still boiling inside him, but now helpless. "Let’s just get it over with. But know this—if any of them tries to make fun of me, I won’t hold back."

Sarah nodded, seemingly understanding that this was the end of the conversation. She gripped her brushes tightly and began applying the makeup. Every touch of the brush on his face reminded Mike of how deeply he was stuck in this absurdity. He watched his reflection as his face gradually turned into what could be called the perfect version of the new 'Tiffany.' It was painful for his male ego, but he knew he couldn’t stop now.

Suddenly, Sarah paused, as if she remembered something, and pulled out a pair of gold clip-on earrings from her bag. She glanced at him cautiously, as if expecting him to snap.

"Just the earrings," she murmured under her breath, taking out the gold clips.

Mike frowned.

"Don’t even think about it. I already look like… like her, and that’s enough."

Kelly chuckled softly, although the tension still lingered.

"Don’t worry, they’re just clips," she said, showing that there was no need to pierce his ears. "A couple of minutes, and it’ll be done. I promise it won’t hurt."

Mike wanted to object, but her calm and almost caring tone surprised him. He sighed through his nose and nodded, allowing her to finish the job. He was angry, but deep down he realized that resisting was pointless.

When she finished, he stood up and looked at his reflection. Now, he looked even more like Tiffany, but Sarah clearly wasn’t done yet and gave him a moment to catch his breath. She began adjusting Mike’s wig, noticing how awkwardly his brown hair peeked out and smirked a little.

At that moment, the door to the ladies' room opened, and a young employee stepped in. She froze upon seeing him, her eyes widening in shock. For a moment, she stuttered, as if trying to grasp what was happening. Her gaze made it clear that she knew exactly who was standing in front of her.

"O-oh... T-Tiffany?" she stammered, clearly recognizing him. Her voice trembled, as did her gaze as she spoke the name. "You look so… natural," she added, struggling to hide her confusion.

Mike almost gritted his teeth at that ‘compliment.’ 'Natural?' That word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he forced out a cold:

"Thank you." He practically hissed the words, but because of the higher pitch, it sounded almost like a sweet response.

The employee awkwardly nodded, visibly nervous. She quickly glanced at him again, as if expecting him to snap or do something strange, but Mike just remained silent.

"You… you’re doing great," she mumbled, glancing at Kelly, and hastily nodded before slipping out of the room.

Mike turned to Kelly, feeling his anger slowly building up again.

"Don’t. Even. Think about it," he said quietly but firmly, throwing her a scorching look.

Kelly struggled to hold back a laugh, trying to maintain her serious demeanor.

"Okay, okay, Tiffany," she replied with a light smirk, knowing full well that Mike had nowhere else to go.

5…

"I think it’s time to go back," he said, trying to keep his voice steady and add some seriousness to it.

Kelly nodded, still smiling, clearly pleased with her work. They left the ladies’ room, and after just a few steps, ran into the new "boss." It was one of the company’s shareholders, a middle-aged man who had always been at the top of the corporate hierarchy and didn’t seem particularly bothered by the current body-swap situation.

"Whoa, Mi… I mean, what’s your name again… Anyway, you look fantastic," he said with a broad smile as his gaze swept over Mike-Tiffany’s figure. The biting sarcasm in his voice was so obvious that Mike barely managed to suppress the urge to respond harshly. His fists clenched, but he quickly straightened up, taking a deep breath. 'Keep it together,' ran through his mind. 'You can’t ignore this. All the cameras are watching.'

"Could you get me some coffee?" the shareholder suddenly added, his eyes lingering on Mike’s chest. His voice was casual, as if he were merely asking to borrow a pen.

Mike frowned, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He wasn’t used to receiving such orders—he was the boss, not someone’s secretary! But right here and now, he was in Tiffany’s body, and apparently, they expected him to do this kind of work.

"What? Are you serious?" The irritation was clear in his voice, but once again, it came out with a soft, feminine lilt.

"Yes, be a sweetheart," the shareholder chuckled, almost snickering. His gaze once again fixated on Mike’s chest, making him grit his teeth even harder. It was beyond humiliating. "The kitchen’s that way," he added, pretending to be helpful.

Mike turned sharply and headed in the direction of the kitchen, feeling the weight of his chest sway with every step, pulling against the fabric of the blouse. He walked, trying to keep his balance and ignore the clacking of the heels and the tightness of the skirt. He hated it all—from the clothes to the looks his colleagues were throwing at him.

When he finally reached the kitchen, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. 'How the hell do you even make coffee?' Mike thought, glancing helplessly at the machine. He had never done this before. The cups were on the shelves, the filters were in some drawer, and the coffee… where did that even come from?

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, staring at the coffee machine. He tried pressing one button—the machine hissed but did nothing. Then he began rummaging through the drawers, searching for instructions or at least a packet of coffee, but found nothing useful.

At that moment, someone else walked in. Mike heard footsteps behind him, but he didn’t bother turning around, silently cursing his ridiculous figure and the long nails that were making it impossible to deal with this whole "coffee" thing. 'Why the hell am I stuck doing this?' he thought, grumbling under his breath.

Bent down, he continued digging through the lower drawers, trying to ignore how awkwardly heavy his chest felt in that position and how the skirt was once again pulling too tightly around his hips. He couldn’t believe they were making him do such petty work. 'I’m the heir to the company, for god’s sake!' he thought, gritting his teeth as he struggled with the machine. 'I shouldn’t be doing this!' he repeated to himself, clenching his jaw.

6…

He heard someone approach from behind but paid no attention. He figured it was just one of the employees, maybe another curious onlooker sneaking a glance at his new appearance. But the moment he tried to start the machine again, a sharp and unpleasant sensation pierced through his mind—someone brazenly grabbed his buttock.

Mike spun around abruptly, his face contorted with shock and rage. Standing right in front of him was a man—his badge read "Dan Foster, Vice President of Corporate Relations." But Mike instantly knew this wasn’t the real Dan. It was someone else. Someone he likely had never met before. Until today, this "vice president" had been a minor employee in the finance department, a lowly clerk named Harry Graham, who always stayed in the shadows. Harry was the typical gray office worker, constantly whining about life, his career, and his position. He quietly nursed hatred inside, envying those who had succeeded. And now, finding himself in Dan’s body—one of the shareholders and a powerful figure in the company—he seemed determined to finally act on all his twisted fantasies.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Mike shouted, whipping around and noticing Harry’s smug grin. His gaze was fixed directly on Mike-Tiffany, and his hand still hadn’t moved from his hip.

"Don’t pretend, Tiffany," Harry winked, continuing to leer at her figure with an openly lecherous interest. "I know your type. Office slut, right? Sleep your way up to stay afloat? Don’t worry, I’m your new boss now."

Mike exploded with indignation, his voice trembling with anger and humiliation, but the high-pitched, feminine tone once again betrayed him, turning his words into pitiful attempts at resistance.

"Are you serious?!" he exhaled, trying to pour all his fury into his voice, but Tiffany’s soft, feminine lilt twisted it into something feeble and meek. "I’m Mike! The heir to the company! Can’t you see that?!"

Harry just laughed, stepping even closer to Mike. His face was far too close, and Mike’s heart started pounding faster—not from fear, but from a wild mix of rage and disgust.

"Oh, don’t give me that, dolly, I’m not an idiot. I know you’re not Tiffany. You’re just some chick from some department, and you’re lucky as hell to be in her body right now. So don’t ruin the moment," Harry sneered casually before boldly grabbing Mike around the waist and yanking him closer. Before Mike could even process what was happening, Harry pressed his lips to his, pulling him into a rough and degrading kiss. It was shockingly forceful and humiliating.

7…

Mike tried to push him away, but Tiffany’s body, accustomed to submissive movements, didn’t respond the way he wanted. His hands froze, while his mind frantically searched for a way out. And then he noticed it… a camera. Right in the corner of the room, hidden at first glance but pointed directly at them. Damn it! They were still being watched.

His heart sank. The camera was recording everything—their kiss, his helpless attempts to resist, and the humiliating struggle. All of it was being broadcast in real-time, to hundreds, if not thousands, of viewers. And they all probably thought "Tiffany" was just playing her part.

And then, a rough, low voice echoed behind them:

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Mike froze at the sound of that voice. He recognized it immediately. It was Mr. Johnson, one of the company’s most influential shareholders. But when he turned around, instead of the stern man, he saw… Emma. She stood in the doorway, clearly shocked by what she was witnessing, her face first showing anger and confusion.

"This… is completely inappropriate!" Her voice was low and authoritative, as if Johnson was trying to break through Emma’s personality, holding on to control. Emma stepped forward, but something in her gaze suddenly shifted when she saw Mike’s face, through the makeup and all the absurdity.

It took her a few seconds to really take a closer look. And when realization finally hit her, she froze in place.

"M-Mr. Flynn?" Emma stammered, her voice trembling, but now it wasn’t the rough bass of Mr. Johnson’s—it was a strange, unsteady mix of surprise and bewilderment. She cautiously stepped forward, squinting, as if not believing her own eyes.

Mike, standing there with clenched fists, could no longer hide his irritation and humiliation. He felt his face burning with anger, but that anger was helpless, just like his attempts to hold on to the last shreds of his dignity in Tiffany’s body.

"Yes, it’s me, Mike!" he finally spat out, his high-pitched voice still sounded clumsy and ridiculous even to his own ears. "You need to help me right now!"

Emma hesitated, her gaze flickering to the camera, and she realized that this whole charade was still being recorded. She knew the rules of Swap Day—no breaking character, no acknowledging who was really who. And now she stood before someone who, by all accounts, was not just anyone but the heir to the company, trapped in his secretary’s body.

8…

“Mike… I… I mean, T-Tiffany! This is… inappropriate here! And you…” she stammered, stepping closer to Harry to read his badge. Her eyes slowly traced over the name: "Dan Foster - Vice President." She looked up at Harry and added, “Mr. Foster, you know the corporate code of conduct. This kind of behavior has no p-p-place here!” Forcing herself to finish the sentence, Emma crossed her arms over her chest and tried to appear serious and stern as she glared at the two of them.

Mike stood there, gritting his teeth, feeling his anger boiling inside him. Harry looked a little stunned when Emma addressed Mike as "Mike." His eyes widened in shock as he froze, realizing that something was very, very wrong.

“Wait a second… Mike? You mean to say this—” Harry glanced at Mike in disbelief, barely holding back laughter. “—dolly is Mike Flynn?” He said it with such a stupid grin that Mike nearly lost control and lunged at him. Harry was clearly enjoying the situation, though he hadn’t fully grasped its gravity.

Emma instantly tensed up. She quickly glanced at the cameras and spoke again.

“T-T-Tiffany,” she stammered, struggling to maintain a commanding tone, “you need to return to your duties immediately. This… situation has clearly gotten out of hand, but we can fix it if you follow instructions.” She threw a sharp look at Harry, who now looked dumbfounded and confused, his grin slowly fading from his face.

“Are you serious?” Tiffany’s soft, high-pitched voice was filled with fury. “Do you think you can just order me to go back to some duties? I’m the heir to this company! I’m not going to stand here, pretending to be a dumb secretary while this idiot gr**s me like some cheap whore!” Mike practically screamed, his chest heaving with rage, but his new, feminine voice only made the entire scene more absurd, adding a surreal layer of comedy to the whole spectacle.

Harry, noticeably rattled, took a step back, realizing that the situation was taking a very unpleasant turn. His smile disappeared, and he began stammering out an excuse, looking completely out of his depth.

“Hey, hey, I thought this was all just a joke!” he blurted, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We’re all just playing our roles, right? I didn’t know it was this serious! Damn, if you’re really Mike… I… I didn’t think it would go this far.”

His pathetic attempts to justify himself only added fuel to the fire. Emma, seeing how things were spiraling out of control, sighed and decided to take matters into her own hands, despite the precariousness of her own situation.

“Mr. Foster, I strongly suggest you cease this… behavior and return to your work,” her voice was firm, but against the backdrop of the absurdity, it sounded almost comical. She was trying to play her role as Johnson would, and added, attempting to maintain a serious tone, “Such actions are unacceptable in the company, even if it’s part of a team-building exercise.”

Harry, realizing how bad this was getting, fidgeted, trying not to look even more ridiculous. He raised his hands again in a sign of capitulation, nodding as if giving up.

“Okay, okay, it was just a misunderstanding… I didn’t think it would be taken this seriously…” he glanced at the cameras, and his face showed that the gravity of the situation was slowly dawning on him.

But Mike wasn’t going to let him off so easily. His rage only intensified, and he was done holding back.

“You think this is a joke, Harry?!” Mike roared, taking a step forward, though his high-pitched voice once again softened the impact of his fury. “You gr**d me like some cheap slut, and you want me to just brush it off because it’s all just a corporate game?! You have no idea who you’re messing with, and when this is all over, I’m—” His words abruptly cut off as he felt the weight of his chest shift—his breasts, which somehow decided to misbehave at that very moment, started slipping out of the bra under his blouse. He was harshly reminded of his current role and the consequences it could bring with his overbearing father.

“Tiffany,” Emma said loudly, but this time with a hint of desperation in her voice, “return to your duties right now. We’ll handle this later.”

“Fine,” Mike growled through gritted teeth, taking a few deep breaths. He glared at Harry, who still looked utterly flabbergasted, and gave him one last venomous look before turning on his heel and heading back to the coffee machine, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Emma quickly turned to Harry, her voice becoming cold and stern again.

“Leave. Now,” she ordered firmly. Harry, not wanting to dig himself in deeper, nodded silently and hurried out of the kitchen without another word.

9…

Mike let out a heavy sigh as soon as Harry left the kitchen. He made a mental note of that guy’s name and already knew what he’d do first thing once he got his own body back tomorrow. But glancing at the camera out of the corner of his eye, he furrowed his brow and returned to that stupid coffee machine. Emma stood nearby, nervously twisting a ring on her finger, trying to maintain her composure.

“Tiffany,” she began cautiously, addressing Mike by his new name, “Get yourself to—”

But the look Mike shot her stopped her mid-sentence. He stared at her with such intensity that Emma nearly stumbled back, quickly turning away and mumbling something incoherent under her breath. She clearly understood that Mike was on the verge of snapping, and one wrong word could be the final straw.

Meanwhile, in a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of the city, Brad Kingsley sprawled lazily on his couch, a glass of expensive whiskey in hand. On the massive TV in front of him, the show was unfolding. Brad watched his old friend Mike, now stuck in Tiffany’s body, struggling helplessly with the coffee machine. Then, suddenly, Mike spun around as Harry brazenly grabbed her (or rather, his) ass.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Brad nearly dropped his glass, laughing out loud as he stared at the screen. He leaned back on the couch, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, trying to process that his playboy buddy Mike—the one who spent his life mocking anything even remotely “unconventional”—had just been kissed by another man.

“This is gold!” Brad couldn’t stop himself from making snide comments as he watched Mike attempt to shove Harry away, only for his new feminine body to betray him. On the screen, Mike was now back at the coffee machine after their bizarre exchange, which Brad barely heard because he couldn’t stop laughing.

He rewound the footage again, replaying the moment when Harry yanked Mike close. A mischievous grin spread across Brad’s face.

“Just look at this!” He grabbed his phone and immediately sent a screenshot to their group chat. “Guys, looks like Mike’s found himself a new boyfriend! See you all at the wedding!”

Another gulp of whiskey, and Brad couldn’t help but keep commenting sarcastically. He knew Mike as a die-hard homophobe who was always a notorious womanizer, bragging about his conquests. And now, here he was, watching his friend, in the body of a blonde, kissing another guy and looking completely humiliated.

“Mike, Mike, what have you gotten yourself into, man?” he muttered under his breath, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Well, I guess now you’re the real ‘Tiffany,’ huh? Hah!”

He could just imagine how furious Mike would be when he saw all the jokes that were already flooding their group chat. Brad knew this moment would be an absolute bombshell among their friends.

“Gotta grab a few more screenshots!” Brad murmured to himself, rewinding the video and picking out the juiciest shots.

10…

The next few hours were spent in constant irritation. Every moment in this body felt like a trial, but Mike stubbornly decided to see it through and play this ridiculous “role,” already plotting revenge against everyone who treated him in ways he didn’t like today.

Despite all the absurdity, the workday moved forward. The meeting closer to lunch went surprisingly smoothly. Mike, sitting in Tiffany’s body at the conference table, listened to the presentation, but his thoughts were entirely occupied with his own predicament. Occasionally, he caught his colleagues glancing at him, but as time passed, they began focusing on the business at hand, seemingly forgetting who was actually sitting before them. At one point, he even felt a strange sense of relief—finally, people weren’t looking at him like some kind of joke.

When the meeting ended, Mike returned to his workstation. He sat down at the computer, trying to make sense of the emails and documents that had piled up by the evening. Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation. His scalp felt tight under the wig, as if it had shrunk and was now squeezing his head, causing unbearable discomfort. Frowning, Mike reached up and tugged at it, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

“Damn it, what the hell—” He almost ripped the wig off, but remembering the cameras, he stood up abruptly and started heading toward the ladies' room.

“Where are you going?” a voice called out. Mike froze for a second, struggling to hide his irritation.

“I need… the ladies’ room,” he managed, each word feeling like it cost him an immense amount of effort. Tiffany’s voice—soft and high—betrayed him again, accentuating his new reality.

The manager, without looking up from his papers, just nodded absentmindedly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, and Mike quickly left the office. His heels clacked against the floor, and he suddenly noticed that he was walking much more steadily now, almost as if he’d been doing it all his life. He’d even stopped noticing the now-familiar swaying of his chest and hips. ‘No way,’ he thought. ‘It’s just muscle memory. I learn fast. A few more hours, and I’ll be back to normal. Everything will go back to the way it was.’

Entering the restroom, he immediately yanked off the wig. But his breath caught in his throat. The reflection in the mirror… wasn’t entirely his. His short, messy hair wasn’t so short anymore. It had grown longer, forming a disheveled bob around his face. Mike ran his hand through the strands, feeling how soft and smooth they were under his fingers.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

He stared at his reflection, trying to grasp what was happening. His lips looked fuller than he remembered. His skin—smoother, as if someone had meticulously perfected it. And his eyes… they were larger, more expressive. Even the color had changed—they were now a bright, almost doll-like blue.

Mike gripped the edge of the sink, his breathing heavy. ‘It’s the makeup,’ he told himself. ‘It’s just the damn makeup!’ He grabbed a paper towel and began furiously wiping his face, trying to scrub off every trace of cosmetics, but when he finished, the horror only grew stronger. The makeup was gone, but the changes remained. His lips were still fuller, and he looked… more feminine.

“Shit… shit, no… no, no, no!” he whispered frantically, staring at his reflection, now noticing how even his eye color seemed permanently altered to a bright blue. “This can’t be real!”

11…

“Damn it… no… this is impossible…” Mike whispered, backing away from the mirror. With each passing second, he felt panic tightening its grip on him. This definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

They had used a high-tech device, specifically designed for such body swaps. It transformed bodies while preserving their heads, and the entire point was that participants were supposed to look exactly like the people they turned into. But this? Mike was horrified to realize that the changes were going much deeper. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just a game.

‘It must be a side effect of the device,’ he thought, gripping the sink as if it could somehow bring control back to the situation. ‘I need to see my father. He has to put a stop to this madness!’

Mike dashed to the door, hurriedly leaving the ladies’ room. The sound of his heels clacking against the floor echoed in the hallway, but he barely noticed it—panic had completely consumed him. He was heading straight for the CEO’s office, where his father should be.

Rushing down the corridor, he felt the panic squeezing tighter inside him. His heels, now moving almost by instinct, tapped rhythmically against the tile floors, and he noticed how his hips once again swayed smoothly with each step. That sensation used to drive him insane, but now… now it was starting to feel almost natural. ‘No, damn it! This is not normal!’ he tried to remind himself, clenching his fists. He needed to talk to his father. He had to stop this insanity. ‘This is all a damn mistake!’ ran through his mind. He knew for sure that this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Their show was supposed to be a simple game, a fun body swap using cutting-edge technology that the developers swore was completely safe. The device, set up at the clinic, transformed their bodies while keeping their heads intact—that was the whole point. No one was supposed to change on a deeper level, but what was happening to Mike now seemed to go beyond a simple “transformation.” This was something else.

On the way, a few people tried to stop him. One of the “new managers,” whom he vaguely recognized as Jenkins, approached him with a strained smile.

“Tiffany, have you finished preparing the reports for Mr. Bennett?” he asked, clearly expecting a polite reply.

Mike was about to snap at him like he would in his regular life: ‘Get lost, Jenkins!’ But instead, he heard himself say:

“Oh, of course, I’ll get right on it!” His voice came out so soft and friendly that Mike frowned, not believing his own ears. ‘Why did I say that?’ Inside, rage boiled, but as he spoke, it felt like the only appropriate response to the question, even though he had just decided minutes ago to stop playing along with this nonsense.

By the time Mike finally reached his father’s office, his heart was pounding even harder. He burst through the door, ready to demand that his father put an end to this nightmare. But inside… he was met with another shock. Sitting behind the massive CEO desk was his father’s body. But it wasn’t his father. The head, the face—it belonged to some other employee Mike barely knew by name.

“What the…?” Mike froze, his eyes widening. He wanted to scream, ‘Where the hell is my father?!’ But his voice, as if to mock him, softened again:

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone unexpectedly gentle, barely containing his irritation.

12…

The man now sitting behind the CEO’s desk looked at him over the rim of his glasses, frowning slightly as if he didn’t immediately recognize who was standing in front of him. His gaze made Mike clench his fists, but a strange feeling slipped through his anger—not the urge to punch him like he would have felt before, but… hesitation. Something inside him wanted to step aside, not wanting to engage in conflict.

“How can I help you?” the man behind the desk asked, his voice calm, as if he saw just another employee standing in front of him.

Mike wanted to yell, ‘Where the hell is my father?’ but what came out instead was a much softer, “Where’s my father?” His voice betrayed him again, turning the serious question into something barely threatening.

The man glanced at him again, this time with a slight squint, as if trying to figure out who Mike was even talking about.

“Your father?” he repeated, as if it were the strangest question in the world. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “Who exactly do you mean, Miss…?”

“I’m Mike!” It burst out of him. He wanted to say it forcefully, assertively, but instead it sounded like a meek attempt at justification.

The man smirked. His gaze lingered on Mike for a second, then shifted back to his paperwork.

“Really? You want me to believe that you are Mike Flynn?” His voice was laced with disbelief, as if he’d just heard the most ridiculous joke. “I think I’d recognize my own son, wouldn’t I?”

Mike felt his legs start to tremble, and he couldn’t understand why. The man in front of him continued, watching him with a mocking smile.

“Who are you, really? Some employee from one of the departments? Yes, I remember you… though I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Mike Flynn… I…” He started too weakly, feeling a strange fear rise in him in the presence of the CEO’s commanding figure. His voice was pitiful, almost apologetic.

“You? Mike Flynn?” The man’s tone was dripping with doubt, and he scoffed, shaking his head. “Miss, I think I’d know my own son. And I certainly wouldn’t confuse him with a secretary.”

The word “secretary” hit like a slap to the face, and Mike felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. ‘I’m not some damn secretary! This is all because of this stupid show!’ he wanted to scream, but instead, what came out was:

“Well, um… you just don’t understand…” he murmured softly, his voice timid and unconvincing. Inside, everything was boiling; he was ready to tear this office apart. But his own words sounded like a child’s feeble complaint. He couldn’t even speak the way he used to.

The man looked at him with a hint of disdain before turning back to his papers. Mike froze, gripping the edge of the desk.

‘What the hell is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the boss here!’ he thought, but a strange sensation of embarrassment and submission held him back. He was afraid—afraid of this man like a low-ranking, insecure employee standing before a powerful executive.

At that moment, the clock in the room struck six—signaling the end of the workday. The whole show was supposed to end now, and everyone was supposed to head to the swap station to get their bodies back. Mike felt a rush of relief, thinking he wouldn’t have to play this role any longer. But… was he still playing?

The CEO smiled and started heading for the door, casually remarking about what an interesting day it had been. Then, to Mike’s shock, he reached out, took his hand gently, and led him out of the office.

Mike instinctively followed, his confusion only deepening as the man guided him out of the room.

13…

“Hey… are we… going to the swap station, right?” Mike mumbled, but the man in his father’s body didn’t respond, and Mike fell silent. He obediently followed step by step down the corridor. His heels clicked loudly against the tiles once more, but Mike barely noticed it now. Everything seemed surreal, as if he were moving through a fog. When they entered the hall where the swap was supposed to take place, Mike saw a line of employees, all waiting for their turn. Conversations buzzed around as people shared their impressions of the day.

Mike froze, scanning the faces of the staff. They were acting as if he was Tiffany—his own name and status meant nothing. They laughed, discussing how their day had gone, saying things like:

“Hey, Tiffany, how did you like being a secretary? Must’ve been fun wearing that little skirt!”

Mike wanted to shout, ‘Go to hell!’ but instead, what came out was, “Oh, well… it was… unusual!” His voice sounded so soft and friendly that even he was surprised. Why did I say that? Why did my voice sound so submissive, like… who am I? He knew Tiffany was brash and bold, and in reality, pretty much the office slut—meekness was not a part of her character… What’s happening to me?

“Well, actually, I’m not… Tiffany,” Mike mumbled, wanting to say who he really was but hesitating. It was as if he felt… ashamed? And, it seemed, no one even heard him. He lowered his gaze, feeling confused and embarrassed, nervously adjusting his dress, feeling completely out of place.

Someone passed by him and, without looking, suddenly called out:

“Hey, Agnieszka, is that you?”

Mike looked up and saw a man in a white lab coat staring at him.

Mike stared back at the man, stunned. ‘Agnieszka? Who the hell is Agnieszka?’ raced through his mind, but the lab tech didn’t give him time to process it. He abruptly grabbed Mike by the arm and pulled him out of the line, forcing him to step away. People around them murmured disapprovingly, a few cast sideways glances, but no one dared to intervene.

“You need to come with me,” the man said sharply, his voice tense, his eyes darting around as if he didn’t want anyone to see them together. “There’s been a mistake. This… this is really bad. We need to fix it before it gets any worse.”

Mike wanted to scream that he wasn’t some Agnieszka, that he was Mike Flynn, the heir to the company, but something stopped him. Fear? Obedience? He couldn’t tell. His legs moved on their own, following the lab tech as if it were the right thing to do. The fury inside his chest still burned, but along with it grew a strange sense of helplessness and fear.

“W-what’s happening?” Mike whispered, his voice softening again, as if he couldn’t control his tone anymore. This wasn’t his body, it wasn’t his voice, and… it didn’t even seem like it was his personality.

The technician glanced back briefly.

“We’ll fix it,” he said curtly, though his tone betrayed that even he didn’t fully believe his own words. “You have to trust me. It’s a mistake—a major glitch in the system.”

Mike stayed silent, his heart pounding wildly, his body trembling with anxiety. They entered a small room, far from the prying eyes of the other participants. It was quiet here, sterile, like a hospital. The technician quickly locked the door behind them and moved toward a large machine that looked similar to the one they had used for the initial swap. He began working frantically, connecting wires and adjusting settings.

14…

“Listen, I… I’m just Mike,” Mike finally exhaled, gathering his strength, though it was difficult and felt wrong. “I’m not… Agnieszka or whatever… and you should know that. What… what’s going on here?” Mike spoke quietly as the lab technician bustled around, frantically connecting various wires and preparing the transformation device. The entire situation felt even more surreal than that morning. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but fear and a strange sense of submission once again took over.

“What… what’s going on?” Mike managed to ask.

The lab technician glanced at him quickly, then returned to the device. He was clearly nervous; his fingers trembled.

“Listen, Mike…” he said softly, as if afraid someone might overhear. “There’s been a mistake. All of this… it’s out of control. The system malfunctioned. But…” He paused, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and continued, even quieter now, “You have to trust me. We just need to fix everything before it gets even worse.”

“A malfunction?” Mike frowned. “What kind of malfunction? I just want my body back…”

The technician froze for a moment, then pulled a photo out of his pocket and carefully compared Mike’s face to the one in the picture. He frowned and quietly said:

“I understand. This is bad… very bad. But the circumstances are such that…” He trailed off again, as if he were about to say something important but thought better of it. “We need to act quickly. This might be the last chance… for all of us.”

Mike tried to muster the last of his resolve and break free from this strange feeling of helplessness. He wanted to threaten the technician, to demand answers, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his voice betrayed him once again:

“What do you mean? What are you going to do?” he whispered, feeling cold sweat trickling down his back.

The lab technician looked at Mike, his gaze full of sympathy, but at the same time, firm and resolute.

“Mike will go back to his life, and no one will ever know,” he muttered. “I’m not getting fired for this… I won’t let it happen.”

Mike froze, feeling his skin prickle at the technician’s words. His heart pounded in his chest, and something inside told him that this man was about to do something irreversible. He had to act fast.

“What… what do you mean? What are you going to do?” he repeated, more insistently this time, though his voice still sounded almost apologetic.

After connecting the final wire, the technician shot Mike a sharp look, his eyes narrowing slightly. He sighed, stepped closer, and pulled out the photograph again, showing it to Mike.

“You want to know the truth? This is why I called you ‘Agnieszka,’” the technician said, pointing to the photo.

Mike looked at the picture. It showed a slightly chubby, short girl with glasses, a bob haircut, and large blue eyes with a cute smile. She was standing in front of an office building. Below the photo, it read: “Agnieszka Novak, Junior Marketing Assistant.”

“And… why are you showing this to m-me?” Mike whispered, stumbling over the words nervously—something that was never typical for him before but seemed very characteristic of Agnieszka. He felt his own hands trembling. A flash of a memory surged in his mind of looking at himself in the mirror not long ago, and now he recognized that face.

“The computer for your event chose random swaps… You, you weren’t supposed to be Tiffany; Agnieszka was supposed to be her. And during the procedure, I made a mistake…” He paused briefly; the awkward silence felt like an eternity, but Mike didn’t dare break it. “But that doesn’t matter! The computer detected it as an error when you were assigned Tiffany’s body and uploaded Agnieszka’s data into you, and yours into her. I noticed it too late… Agnieszka already started thinking she was you and played the role of some warehouse worker, and you…” He looked into Mike’s frightened eyes and gently stroked his cheek, making shivers run down Mike’s spine.

‘What the hell is he talking about?’ Furious thoughts swirled in his mind, but he only stared at the technician in shock.

“In short, it’s complicated. It’s better for everyone if you just become Agnieszka, and she stays as you…”

‘Are you an idiot? Turn me back into myself, damn it! I’m not going to become some Agnieszka!’ flashed through his mind, but out loud he said something completely different:

“I… become… Agnieszka? Is that your plan?” His voice trembled, as if the inner strength had left him.

The technician sighed tiredly, connecting the last wire and looking directly into Mike’s eyes.

“You’ll manage, Agnieszka,” he said softly, and with that, he turned on the device.

Mike felt his body jolt, and involuntarily closed his eyes.

15…

Mike slowly opened his eyes. Everything around him was blurry, as if he had woken up in another world. His head throbbed with pain, and everything seemed foreign. He reached up to his face and suddenly realized that there were glasses on his nose. He frowned, feeling that something was wrong, and took off the glasses to get a better look at his surroundings.

Several employees stood before him, laughing and discussing the events of the day, but they weren’t paying much attention to him. Mike felt strange—his body seemed unfamiliar. He glanced down and saw that his hands were now small and plump, with slightly pinkish skin. His nails were cut short and looked unkempt. He tried to get up, but the strange feeling of heaviness in his body immediately made itself known.

“Oh, Agnieszka, you’re awake!” he suddenly heard a cheerful female voice next to him. A girl with a bright smile stood before him, clearly oblivious to his inner turmoil. “How was it spending the day as Tiffany? Are you okay? You look a bit confused.”

Mike opened his mouth to respond, but what came out was a phrase spoken with a strong accent he’d never had before:

“Um… I… I don’t know… it was strange,” he stammered, frowning as he heard his voice sound high and timid. Realizing that his words now carried a noticeable Polish accent, Mike felt ashamed. ‘Damn it, what’s happening to me?!’ raced through his mind.

Then his gaze fell on a phone lying on the seat next to him. He picked it up, and before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers automatically entered a password. It was so unexpected that he froze for a moment, staring at the screen. How do I know this password? flashed through his mind. He tried to convince himself that it was just instinct, but something inside him hinted that it was more than a coincidence.

He instinctively reached for the phone lying in the purse next to him. He picked it up, and before he realized what he was doing, his fingers automatically entered the password. The screen unlocked instantly, and this gave Mike a strange feeling of déjà vu. “How do I know this password?” he wondered, but then a strange sense of anxiety suddenly began to build up inside him. It intensified with each passing second—he felt that he needed to call someone, but he didn’t understand why it was so important.

“Remember that moment with the kiss? Wow, you’re something!” his colleague’s voice snapped him out of his trance. He looked up at the girl beside him. “And how will your Andrzej take it? Do you think he can handle it? He’s practically an old man now, and I heard he likes to drink! Poor Agnieszka!” Her voice was full of amusement, and the other employees laughed.

Mike wanted to snap back that it was all nonsense, but instead, his hand dialed a number, and his heart clenched—not from anger at their words, but from worry about Andrzej, whoever he was. ‘What the hell?’ he froze, beads of sweat forming on his face as he looked at the name of the contact being dialed—“Beloved.” He fought against the new feelings overwhelming him.

“Hello? Agnieszka? Is that you?” The voice was hoarse, elderly, but filled with care.

Mike froze. The phone trembled in his hand. His fingers tightened around the device, and cold sweat trickled down his forehead. In that moment, his breathing became erratic, and his mind was clouded. He wanted to hang up but couldn’t. He only felt how horror mixed with this foreign tenderness.

Mike’s gaze shifted to his reflection in the glass opposite, and his heart stopped. A girl was staring back at him. Slightly chubby with a round face, the same blue eyes, short hair, glasses… She looked as confused and frightened as Mike felt. Had he really become this… Agnieszka?

Epilogue

Mike stood in the kitchen, gripping the phone so tightly it seemed like he might crush it in his hands. His entire body was trembling. His thoughts raced, desperately searching for a way out, but nothing made sense. As he dialed his own number, panic rose inside him. ‘Maybe if I hear my own voice… somehow this will all make sense,’ flashed through his mind, but the fear grew stronger with each ring.

Finally, a familiar yet foreign voice answered on the other end—it was his own.

“Hello?” The voice was rough, confident, as if this person had always been Mike.

Mike flinched, his hands trembling even more. It felt like fear was choking his vocal cords. He swallowed, trying to pull himself together.

“Uh… It’s me…” His voice was shaking, thin and weak. “I… I’m Mike… What… what’s happening?”

There was silence on the other end, followed by a short, sharp laugh—cold as ice.

“Are you kidding me?” The voice dripped with disdain, as if the speaker found his words absurd. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Mike froze, his heart racing twice as fast. He felt panic closing in on him. He struggled to find the words to explain that this was a mistake, that everything was wrong. But instead, the words came out in broken, almost frightened fragments.

“No… no, I really… I’m Mike…” he stammered, feeling his voice betray him as it trembled. “You… you’re in my body… This is all wrong… It’s a mistake…”

Another laugh came from the other end—this time rough, without a hint of sympathy.

“Are you out of your mind?” Agnieszka replied, confidently and roughly, just like Mike would have. “I’ve always been Mike. Who the hell are you, anyway? What do you want?”

Mike tried to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Panic gripped him even harder. He was literally paralyzed, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“I… I…” he started softly, but his voice cracked. “You can’t be me! I… it’s me… I’m Mike! You… you’re supposed to be in this body… not me! Please, you have to understand…”

Another pause, then an irritated sigh.

“Stop talking nonsense!” Agnieszka’s voice was even rougher now. “I’ve always been Mike. And I’m not going to listen to this crap. Call me again, and I’ll destroy you. Got it?”

Mike felt his whole body tense to the limit. Panic washed over him completely. He wanted to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out. There was a click on the other end, and the line went dead.

Mike stood there in the empty kitchen, his breathing ragged. He was lost, trapped in a body that wasn’t his, and in a life that had become alien.

He slowly made his way to the bedroom, his legs feeling heavy, as if he were wading through a thick fog. When he opened the door, he saw a large bed where Andrzej was already lying. Mike froze at the threshold, his heart pounding so fast it felt like it would burst out of his chest.

His gaze fell on the nightgown hanging on the chair. He hated it, hated even the thought that he had to put it on. But fear stifled his resistance. His body moved automatically, as if it were not his own, obeying some foreign instinct. He slowly took off his clothes, feeling goosebumps spreading across his skin, and pulled the nightgown over himself, the soft fabric brushing against his body, filling him with a sense of awkwardness and shame.

He lay down on the bed, trying not to look at Andrzej. He was scared. He didn’t know what would happen next, but every move Andrzej made filled him with panic.

Andrzej turned toward him, his hand gently resting on Mike’s shoulder. Mike flinched at the touch, a wave of discomfort washing over him. He wanted to pull away, but fear paralyzed him.

“You seem tense,” Andrzej whispered softly; his voice was caring, but to Mike, it felt like a threat. “Rough day, huh?”

Mike bit his lip, his breathing uneven. He wanted to say something, but his throat was dry. All he could manage was a weak, almost tearful whisper:

“I… I… just…” His voice trembled. “Just tired…”

Andrzej stroked his hair, moving closer. Mike felt a wave of fear ripple through his body. He froze, not knowing what to do. He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t.

“My poor thing…” Andrzej whispered, kissing him on the neck. “You need to relax.”

Mike felt every one of Andrzej’s kisses send a shudder through him. He was scared, very scared. He didn’t want this. His mind screamed that it was all wrong, but his body didn’t respond. It felt alien.

“Please…” he whispered softly, not even knowing what he was asking for.

Andrzej pressed against him more tightly, his hands slowly sliding down, wrapping around his waist. Mike curled up, feeling everything inside him boil with fear. He wanted to resist, but he couldn’t. It seemed that if he did anything, said anything, it would only make things worse.

“I’m with you…” Andrzej murmured, continuing to stroke him.

Mike closed his eyes, his breathing hitching. He felt Andrzej kissing him more insistently, his hands exploring his body. Mike wanted to scream, to make it stop, but instead, he froze. His own body was betraying him, responding to the touches.

They lay together, and every moment for Mike was filled with terror and helplessness.