Inherited Instincts

— Ugh… kh… ugh… — rustling sounds echoed through the attic as Agata struggled to lace up that damn corset, each pull tightening it more and more. Between her legs she still felt wetness, her nipples itched just from the fabric’s touch, and her breath—though ragged—still felt somehow… intimate.

— What are you dawdling for down there? — came François’s voice from below, on the stairs, lazy and content.

He’d already managed to tidy himself up, humming under his breath, while Thomas, now trapped in Agata’s body, wrestled with that cursed dress. Everything inside him clenched—whether from irritation or… or shame.

"God, this… I want to forget all of this," — he whispered to himself, feeling how the fabric of the blouse with puffed sleeves clung to his wet skin. Every move reminded him of what had happened in the hay a couple hours ago. Of how his body had broken free of control. How the moans now slipped from his lips, and how this François, lazy with strong hands, held him by the hips as if he’d always been that peasant girl.

— You’re shaking all over… could it be… you’re regretting it? — suddenly whispered behind his ear, and François’s hot breath brushed his neck, sending a wave of goosebumps down his spine.

Thomas, in Agata’s body, flinched, feeling strong irritation and at the same time that intense wave of desire that the real Agata always restrained—but Thomas, being in her body...

— Get off me! I’ll dress myself! Just leave! — Thomas barked, but his voice, cracked with despair, sounded more like the tantrum of a frightened girl than a threat.

François didn’t step back. He just chuckled softly, almost mockingly, and moved even closer so that his chest pressed against Agata’s back.

— I’ll help you, — he murmured, his hands sliding lower to Agata’s waist and clasping it from above. Thomas froze, again feeling his breasts swell, his breathing go ragged, and warmth pulsing between his legs, as though his body itself remembered the recent thrusts in the hay, the rhythm that had shaken him, writhing in François’s arms, wanting to do it again. Thomas grit his teeth—not from pain, but from shame.

— Don’t… — he rasped, but his breath broke off at the end, turning into an almost moan.

— Be quiet, — François whispered in his ear, and his lips brushed the lobe — — be quiet and let me help you.

He started lacing the corset slowly, his fingers working confidently, as if he knew every loop and ribbon. With each tug, the breasts were squeezed tighter. Thomas felt as if he were suffocating not only from the pressure but from how feminine his whole body now felt.

— There, — François whispered, having tugged the last string tight and yanked sharply — now you look… chaste again.

Thomas gasped heavily, his head spinning from lack of air and the overflow of sensation. It felt like the emotions were even stronger than that morning, when Thomas finally decided to test his invention, which he’d even named—Reverseum.

He didn’t know for sure who he’d become—rather, whose body he’d inhabit when he activated Reverseum. He thought he’d end up in one of his ancestors—maybe some alchemist or traveling scholar, a respected man with a pipe, a journal, and, of course, trousers. But he never expected to open his eyes… with wet eyelashes, in a dark barn, in Agata’s body, who at that moment was grieving the fact that she could not be with Thomas, forced to be a good wife and mother for her husband Janok.

Agata’s feelings and her sadness about that were so intense that Thomas, now in her body, sobbed like never before in his life. And he didn’t cry like a man—restrained and quiet—but exactly like a woman, with his mouth open, sparse convulsive sobs, trembling hands clutching his stomach. He couldn’t stop—this body seemed to pour out the pain that the real Agata had been holding back.

As if by instinct, trying to calm himself and think straight, Thomas ran out of the barn, tripping over the edge of the long skirt, for some reason automatically pulling a gray headscarf over his head. He had no idea where he was going—his legs just carried him. Dust rose under the heels, and within seconds he found himself by the stable, feeling warmth bloom inside him because of it.

There was a man standing there. He was with the horses, spreading hay into the stalls, shirt wide open, wet strands clinging to his forehead. He turned around as if he knew she would come.

— Agata… — he said softly, almost solemnly, as if welcoming not just a woman, but a part of his soul. And in the next moment, he stepped closer and… kissed her.

The first seconds were pleasure, then came the jolt of panic. "This is a kiss. I'm kissing. With a man!? God, I haven’t even kissed a woman..." François’s tongue slid into her mouth, and Thomas felt his knees buckle. His whole body seemed to melt. Lips, wet, soft, melted into each other. François’s fingers touched her cheek—tender, almost fatherly. Thomas moaned into the kiss, not from passion, but because his mind couldn’t take the overwhelming pleasure.

That had been several hours ago. But now, after Thomas’s first time having sex—and his first orgasm—inside a body that wasn’t even his, he was finally able to think straight again.

— Let’s leave. Tonight. Drop all of it. You. Your husband. We’ll start over. No one will find us in my uncle’s village...

— Husband?! — Thomas recoiled, his voice cracking. The air felt thick, a lump rose in his throat. — What husband?!

He backed away another step, blinking in disbelief. His heart thumped somewhere deep in his chest, and something nasty began rising inside him. He felt something stir that was heavier than just the fear of being found out.

— Agata… what’s wrong with you? — François frowned. — You told me yourself you hated Janok. That you couldn’t live with him anymore…

"I cheated. I… no. She cheated. And I... I just..." — his thoughts and feelings tangled into a knot.

He spun around and ran. Wooden floorboards, the screech of a chicken somewhere to the side. "I need to go back! That’s it, enough research!"

— “Reverseum… initiate return. Transfer to original body!” — he cried out, voice trembling—but nothing happened.

— COME ON! TRANSFER! — Thomas yelled. — RETURN TO ORIGINAL STATE!

— God, Agata! What’s happening to you?! — François stepped closer, his hand reaching for her face, but Thomas jerked back, bumping his elbow against a beam and leaning heavily on the wall. The corset made it hard to breathe, everything inside felt knotted up.

— Back… back, goddamn it… — he hissed to himself, closing his eyes and again, almost prayerfully, whispering — Reverseum, initiate return. Transfer to original body… please…

Silence. Nothing.

— Again! TRANSFER! — his voice trembled, his chest heaved in jerks, as if with every attempt the body became even tighter, more feminine… more hopeless. He spoke the trigger phrase again. And again—emptiness.

"What the fuck? Why?! Why isn’t it working? Everything was calculated! The trigger word, the returning impulse—it should’ve worked..."

He sank to his knees, the skirt spread around him, his breasts painfully squeezed in the corset. He wanted to scream, but only a woman’s sob broke from his throat.

— Agata? — François’s voice echoed, but Thomas didn’t hear it. He felt something shift, deep inside, somewhere beneath his ribs. His breath caught. In his head it rang loud and clear—something irreversible had just happened.

And then he realized: Reverseum couldn’t return him if a reorganization of identity had begun inside the body.

— No… — he whispered, lowering his gaze. His palms instinctively rested on his stomach. Barely touching through the thin fabric, he suddenly felt… warmth.