The transformation began with a series of crunches that sounded equally relieving and sickening. It was the sound of a crooked and bowed spine realigning itself. Aged joints were rejuvenated, stretching the body under the ornate robes out.

  Ayama’s trembling hand reached for her hair ornament. As she began to reach up, her hand was veiny and covered in age spots. By the time she gripped the ornament, the skin had turned from loose to taut. Fresh muscles surged underneath.

  With one swift motion, she freed her hair. The orderly braid cascaded downwards. A pair of bunny ears, previously so lifeless Rykard had assumed they were just part of the ornaments, suddenly sprang up like an uncoiled spring.

  Two more pops accompanied her shoulders getting pulled back. Back muscles that had long since withered away returned. Ayama couldn’t sit still any longer. Rykard could almost see the shaping of her muscles under the stretching kimono. Healthy fat returned to her cheeks and thighs. He could see the tter pinly, the fabric of the clothing meant to cover her aged body unable to keep up with her regenerated form.

  Ayama breathed heavily. She touched her own face, traced the fullness of her pink lips, then further down to her neck and her bare shoulders. The kimono did not fit over them anymore, not with the pair of rge breasts stretching it out. Matter of fact, her garb barely managed to keep her new (or old) attractive form contained.

  The dy of the house was, returned to her prime, a bunny woman. Much of her incredibly long hair was still white. Purple streaks surfaced repeatedly. Her skin was as pale as moonlight and her eyes were moons in themselves. Orbs of silver, surrounded by a corona of bck that that separated them from the surrounding white of her sclera. Pupils narrowed as she got used to seeing clearly again.

  Ayama cleared her throat, let her voice rise and fall as if preparing herself for a song. She smiled. It was an elegant and yet shrewd smile, befitting of a woman of her femininity and life experience. Her fingers traced down to her bosom. She touched the base of her breasts below the colr, justifiably marvelling at her own, fwless skin. Then, she turned that delighted smile to Rykard.

  “You have kept your end of the bargain,” she spoke, the hard voice of the crone repced with the feminine, graceful tone of the expert courtesan. “Which means you have done infinitely more than the king of these nds would be required to walk the house of one of his subjects.”

  “You sound a lot more agreeable,” Rykard pointed out.

  “Age had made me bitter and had given me little to lose.” She grabbed a folding fan and skillfully hid her smile behind the utensil. It was as if it had been yesterday since she st used it. “Now I am emboldened and have much to gain.” She bowed forwards ever so subtly and Rykard’s gaze fell on her cleavage instantly. He chose to let it linger there for several seconds. This sight existed because of him, the least he could do was enjoy it. When he did return to her face, he was met with an inquisitive gaze. The folding fan closed with an audible ‘thack’. “Inform the girls that they are on break. Their expected earnings will be paid for by the house.”

  “Y-yes!” One of the four assistants in the room answered, then dashed out, quickly followed by the other three. They had important news to spread.

  Ayama circled around the table, swinging her wide hips. Every stride presented the fullness of her thick thighs, the pelvic curtain that remained of her bck kimono serving as barely any obstacle. She stopped next to Rykard and put a hand on his biceps. She squeezed, sighing in a way that was both authentically enticed and meant to allure him. Rykard had been the recipient of female seduction tactics before. She was so great at them, they worked despite him being aware. The touch made his skin run hot.

  “Careful,” he warned her. “You’re enticing the sole king of a nation of harems and I lead by example. This fire is hot.”

  “Am I a child juggling coals or a smith harnessing the fme?” Ayama asked profoundly. She leaned a little closer, the scent of peaches and cherry blossoms imbued into her very being. “I cannot quite say…” The smile directed at him was complicated. Not in the sense that she seemed conflicted on what to feel, but in that it was a smile of the same level of precision as a stained gss window. It was an artwork of disarming femininity, intellect, teasing intent and romantic invitation. She was at once acknowledging him as her superior and elegantly keeping herself far enough not to be taken advantage of.

  It was a masterwork of a courtesan’s seduction. It was the kind of smile that made men empty their saving accounts, despite having not a single promise to see more than that smile. It was a smile that drew lesser men mad with desire.

  Rykard was no lesser man.

  In a singur whirl of motion, Rykard had pushed the bunny dy against the wall. “Wha-” she managed to get that singur sylble out, when his hand smmed hard against the ft pster right next to her head. The impact made her jump. Bunny ears stood straight at attention. Eyes were wide. Her bangs flew. Large breasts bounced. She flushed most adorably, all of her confidence suddenly wiped out and repced with uncertainty as she stared up.

  What she found was a smile that was its own work of art. There was only a singur emotion in there, but Rykard was a master of dispying that specific feeling. It was the benevolent, adoring smile of a dom beholding a submissive's efforts.

  “Careful.” He reached for her hair. As he drew his hand back, white and purple strands fell in a fine cascade. “This fire does not burn you. You become part of it.” He grinned and bowed over her. The closer he got, the more she looked like a bunny. Except, of course, any fear she felt was directly turned into arousal. “You think I would let a woman as gorgeous as you are go?”

  A simple compliment, but it worked wonders coming from him, especially when the recipient was someone who had not been complimented on her looks for decades. The scent of peaches and cherry blossoms intensified with her accelerated breathing.

  “Tell me, little bunny,” the title had her gulp, “how many suitors did you take in your time?”

  “In- in the way you’re asking… none,” she answered.

  She was in no position to lie and that pleased Rykard greatly. “See, I knew you were worthy of having your beauty returned to you, little bunny.” He pulled his hand away from the wall. As if a spell was lifted, Ayama colpsed to her knees, shivering with a deep-seated desire for something she had not felt in many moons.

  ‘This move really never fails me,’ he thought. ‘Getting shoved against the wall is like a drug to tent submissives.’

  The king turned away from her, scanning other objects in the room. It gave his harem queen a moment to assert herself. “My man has taken a liking to you,” the vixen stated, offering her hand to help the white-purple haired bunny stand. “Prove your worth by helping us get what we want and more exposure to him can be arranged.”

  Back on her own two feet, Ayama gnced back and forth between Miyo and Rykard. The usual retionship between courtesan and client was completely warped in this moment. Ayama understood immediately where she belonged in the hierarchy of this room. “Of course,” she said, her voice still breathy with remaining arousal. “Where do you wish to go?”

  Rykard faced her fully again and regarded the courtesan with a disappointed gre. “You should know.”

  No question was asked, no hesitation dispyed, Ayama just pondered those three words. She shivered head to toe from the heat that made her skin flush. Absent-mindedly, she tugged at the already way too low colr of her kimono, almost putting her areo on dispy. Rykard could see the little tents of her erect nipples anyhow.

  Suddenly, she ughed. It was an elegant giggle, thoroughly noble in its execution, from the intonation to the way she hid her smile behind her hand. “I never stood a chance, did I?” she asked no one in particur. “This way, my king, my queen.”

  Rykard smirked and put an arm around Miyo, the two of them following the swinging hips of the dy of the house. A cute little bunny tail peeked out through a specific cut-out at the back of her kimono. It was adorable, but not adorable enough to dissuade him from staring at the curve of her bubble butt instead. The kimono kept a curtain between him and her sex, but the sides of her round cheeks was fully visible. Every step made the abundant quiver. Her thighs were even thicker.

  The walk was short, guiding them to the oldest and most vish segment of the building complex. No incense burned there. The wood itself was so soaked in perfumes that it just always smelled good there. At the heart of that segment was a singur bedchamber. The rge mattress covered half of the floor. The rest of the open space was dedicated to various little ptforms where the courtesans could py instruments, sing, or serve their customer with drinks, massages, and games.

  “The chamber of the first courtesan, restricted for all but our most venerated customers,” Ayama expined. “Here, it is said, the first courtesan worked and here she found her one true love. It is here, then, that our most valuable dies have their st night with the customer that pays their debts. It only gets used every ten years or so.”

  Ayama stopped by the edge of the mattress and stepped out of her sandals. Then, she just stood there, hands folded in front of the sash that kept the kimono tied around her waist.

  Rykard stepped forwards and grabbed the bunny dy by the chin. “Have you ever kissed before?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she confessed. “That much was necessary for some clients.”

  The king gazed deep into her moon-like eyes. He would have tolerated more impurities for a woman like her. This one was far removed from his limit. “They don’t matter. I do. This will be your first true kiss.”

  “Yes…,” Ayama whispered.

  “Yes…?” he coaxed the one word she should say out of her.

  Miyo was right beside them, whispering to the courtesan. “Speak it, little bunny. Speak it, you repressed, breakable thing. Speak it, to the man that gave you everything back, give it up willingly. Admit what he is. One word and you are his. One word and you will know the pce that you have waited for all your life.”

  “...Master,” Ayama moaned.

  Rykard devoured her lips like a starving man. The moment of conquest was sweet, sweeter than her perfume, sweeter than sweetness itself. His tongue invaded her mouth and she answered by coaxing him in deeper. Pyfully, the shrewd woman gave, urging him to drink more of her body. He did, ripping away the sash and making her clothes fall to the ground. He took a step back and feasted on her nudity.

  “Master, one moment,” she requested. Interested where this would go, Rykard nodded and took a step back. Ayama lowered herself to the ground, pcing her hands on the floor and her forehead between her hands. She bowed, in all her pale beauty, not to him but to Miyo. “I thank you for your willingness to share, honoured queen of the harem. Know that my services will ever be yours second, triumphed in priority only by my duty to our Master.”

  “My respect to you as well, venerated elder,” Miyo bowed in turn, although she remained standing as she did so. “Your experience and humility humbles me in turn. I shall do my best as your senior in this harem and your junior by many years.”

  Rykard grinned at the scene. They came here looking for a fan and they had found something of the like, just not the folding variety. They would find that too, of course, but first it was time for indulgence. Squatting down next to the new submissive, the dom said, “Your st chance to turn back, little bunny.” He grabbed her by the ears, pulling softly at first, then harder when he got an intensely positive response from it. Apparently ear pulling was something she greatly enjoyed. “My harem is one of sex sves. You’re my equals in the retionship, but make no mistake when I say I own you I mean it. I’ll train you until you’re every bit as good a cocksleeve as my Miyo.”

  Even snapping his fingers was an unnecessary gesture. The vixen dropped into the bed, pulling the dress over her head and tossing it aside. Legs spread, the lightly pregnant redhead presented her smooth and glistening wet cunt.

  “I am ready for my Master whenever he wishes for me,” she gasped, circling her clit. “His desires are my orders and… no matter how hard it is…” she stopped in her masturbation. “No matter how sensitive I get, I will not cum without his permission.”

  “That’s what you will be when I am done with your training,” Rykard grunted into one of the fluffy ears he was holding the kneeling bunny up by. “My private sex sve, my personal slut and relief tool. You’ll be ecstatic, wet, and pregnant. Do you want that?”

  “I said it already, didn’t I?” Ayama allowed herself a little bit of snark, smiling dreamily at him. “I never stood a chance. Oh, how wrong I was, thinking I would die rich and childless. You are my Master, the one meant to own me. I was yours from the moment you decided you wanted me.”

  “Then its time to put you in your pce, cum dump.” Rykard tossed the bunny sve into the bed. Her head nded right between Miyo’s legs. “I understand that you filled your needs with fellow women at times?”

  “Back when my loins grew hot at night, yes,” Ayama panted.

  “You’ll y with plenty in my harem. Entertain your queen, while I consider what to do with you.”

  The pleased moans of the vixen echoed in the room not a moment ter.