"What exactly is this?"
To be completely honest, the moment Adrian stepped through the heavy double doors into the grand foyer, even his cynical, battle-hardened mind was momentarily stunned.
"I thought you would appreciate seeing her in her proper uniform, Master," Saeko smiled gently. The purple-haired swordswoman stood gracefully in her traditional white kimono, holding a thick leather leash. She gave the rope a light, authoritative tug.
"Hey, don't do that! It chafes my neck!" Shizuka complained, her tone ringing with the petulant displeasure of a slighted child.
The school nurse was stuffed into a degrading, full-body cow mascot costume featuring a mottled black-and-white pattern. Her hands were completely encased in ridiculous, bulky gloves resembling hooves, rendering her entirely unable to perform even the simplest tasks or defend herself.
Moreover, the chest area of the plush outfit had been ruthlessly modified. Two massive, circular openings had been cut directly out of the fabric, leaving Shizuka's impossibly large breasts completely bare and exposed to the cool air of the foyer.
"Stop staring at my tits! Let me go—this is really tight and uncomfortable!" Shizuka whined.
Adrian stepped forward, reached out with both hands, and grasped the massive, heavy mounds of flesh, giving them a playful, assessing heft. He immediately noticed the genius of Saeko's tailoring. The circular openings in the fabric were deliberately cut too small—just barely large enough to squeeze Shizuka's colossal bosom through.
That was precisely why the 'cow' was complaining of discomfort. The tight fabric constricted the very base of her breasts, acting like a heavy tourniquet that forced the massive volume of soft flesh unnaturally outward and upward. Even though female anatomy in this timeline seemed to mildly defy the laws of gravity, Shizuka's assets were simply too immense; naturally, they possessed a heavy, pendulous sag.
But now? It was absolute perfection. Because the bases were bound so tightly by the costume, her heavy tits jutted out high and incredibly prominent. Far from showing even the slightest hint of gravity, the sheer pressure made them tilt slightly upward, the flushed nipples begging for attention.
"Excellent. Truly magnificent," Adrian praised, his thumbs brushing over her swelling peaks.
Shizuka also wore a heavy, studded leather collar tightly buckled around her neck, from which the thick rope dangled—making the gorgeous, airheaded woman look exactly like a lively, frolicking piece of dairy livestock.
"Masao, tell Saeko-chan to let go of me! This is really embarrassing and uncomfortable!" the airheaded cow continued to grumble and shift her weight, entirely failing to grasp the horrific reality of her permanent subjugation.
"Just be a good girl and obey your Mistress. This outfit suits your intellect perfectly," Adrian chuckled, giving the pair of basketball-sized breasts a final, heavy pat.
"As long as it pleases you, Father." Seeing the look of pure, predatory delight on his face, Saeko smiled happily in return.
For the lethal young woman she had now become, as long as this man was satisfied, her world was at peace. As for the pathetic concepts of her past—like 'friendship' or 'morality'?
*'Did I ever really need such trivial things?'* Saeko wondered internally. Even if these women had indeed been her close friends or respected teachers in the old world, their attitudes toward her had shifted to horror the very moment they witnessed her true, bloodthirsty nature. Only her father loved and accepted the monster within her unconditionally. Therefore, he was her sole religion—the absolute, defining reason for her continued existence.
"Come inside," Adrian commanded. Grabbing Shizuka roughly by one of her exposed, constricted breasts, he dragged the whimpering nurse into the main living room.
"Ouch! Don't pull my nipples! It hurts!" Shizuka pouted, voicing her grievances with a look of utter, bewildered misery. *'Why on earth did things suddenly turn out like this?'*
"We humbly welcome our Master back in triumph!"
No sooner had Adrian stepped into the sprawling living room than he was greeted by a breathtaking sight. A bevy of naked, collared women—a pristine mix of voluptuous and athletic figures—were kneeling in perfect, symmetrical rows on either side of the Persian rug. They bowed their heads to the floor, pressing their faces against the wood as they shouted their submission in perfect, rehearsed unison.
"Are you satisfied with this outcome, Master?" Saeko asked in a soft, devoted voice, walking dutifully behind him.
"Excellent! I am incredibly satisfied," Adrian declared, releasing Shizuka's heavy breast and sweeping the purple-haired swordswoman into his arms instead.
Honestly, the scene before him was the absolute pinnacle of a dark conqueror's fantasy.
The women kneeling on the floor were meticulously lined up in order of age, from the youngest, petite Kokoro, to the eldest, the broken corporate executive Manami. There were seven of them in total. Clearly, during the time he had been away slaughtering the Takagi syndicate, Saeko had effectively terrorized and broken the remaining two female refugees from the buses.
However, since those two extra girls fell far below average in both facial symmetry and breast size, Adrian couldn't even be bothered to ask for their names. Of course, the 'below average' standard in this room was relative to top-tier stock like Rei Miyamoto and Saya Takagi. In the old world, those two extras would have been considered 'class belles'—but there remained a vast, impassable gulf between a mere pretty face and a true, top-tier prize.
"Where is that new 'toy' I brought back from the estate?" Adrian asked with a dark smile, glancing around the room and failing to spot Yuriko.
"Hey, you loser dog," Saeko spoke up, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she addressed Saya, who was kneeling near the end of the line. "Where did you put the Master's new ornament?"
Saya's face was an absolute mess of streaked dirt, snot, and fresh tears. Evidently, she had already received the horrifying news of her father's decapitation.
She no longer possessed a single shred of her former, untouchable arrogance. After forty-eight hours of physical torment, her brilliant spirit had been completely, systematically atomized. In particular, the revelation that her parents—the invincible syndicate leaders whom she had relied upon as her unshakeable pillars of salvation—had been effortlessly slaughtered and captured stripped her entirely of the will to live, let alone resist.
After all, the greatest source of courage for a haughty heiress is the wealth and power of her parents. Once she discovers that her gods are just bleeding meat like everyone else, she is left completely helpless, staring into the abyss.
"I'm... I'm here... *sob, sob*..." Saya stammered through violent, full-body hiccups. She babbled incoherently for a moment, unable to articulate a single clear sentence. She was choking on her own despair.
"Master, in accordance with the Mistress's strict instructions, we have finished preparing the artwork! Please grant me permission to bring it out!"
Seeing that Saya had completely broken down and was risking punishment, Rei hurriedly stepped out of line to answer.
"Then wheel it out. Let us take a look," Adrian commanded smoothly.
As for the weeping teenager on the floor, Adrian felt not a microscopic shred of pity. Although he knew the girl was crying because her entire dynasty had been violently erased from the earth, Adrian felt they had gotten exactly what they deserved for their weakness.
Having received permission, Rei immediately stood up.
*Jingle-jingle.*
The crisp, high-pitched chime of a small silver bell instantly rang out from between her bare thighs. The pragmatic blonde winced, suppressing the sharp, pulling discomfort in her pierced core as she walked awkwardly into the adjoining dining room. A moment later, she emerged, heavily pushing a massive, circular dining table.
"Master, the artwork is prepared."
"This is excellent work. Who put this together?" Adrian asked, his eyes widening with genuine, dark surprise as he gazed at the centerpiece.
Yuriko Takagi was locked down flush against the polished mahogany tabletop. Her wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the edges, splaying the aristocratic Wall Street elite out completely bare, leaving her looking exactly like a biological specimen pinned to a dissection board.
The dining table itself was a heavy, commercial piece fitted with four industrial casters on the bottom, allowing it to be rolled around the room with ease. Furthermore, the tabletop was built on a lazy Susan bearing—meaning Yuriko could be effortlessly spun around to display her ass, her pussy, or her humiliated, gagged face to any angle desired.
Of course, the table itself was nothing rare—it was a standard fixture seen in any high-end restaurant. What was truly breathtaking, however, were the exquisite 'decorations' currently sitting atop it.
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