Chapter Three

The front door stood open behind her, letting in the cool night air that brushed across her bare skin, which was already flushed from shame. Emily remained rooted just inside the large house, one hand still gripping the knob as though she might bolt back into the darkness. The foyer chandelier poured light over the Japanese-American, catching the glossy sheen of her swollen lips, the deep bronze glow of her skin, the obscene thrust of breasts that strained the knotted fabric of her sailor top until the material looked ready to split. Every breath lifted those unnatural, heavy mounds higher, drawing the eye whether anyone wanted to look or not. Her brother had unexpectedly returned, and she hung her head in shame.

Alex turned first. The travel bag slipped from his fingers and hit the polished floor with a dull thud. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no sound came out. He had left a sister who wore modest skirts and was wholly focused on her studies and making the family proud. The woman standing there now looked sculpted for someone else’s pleasure, every exaggerated curve screaming invitation, every inch of her exposed flesh declaring she belonged to the gaze of strangers.

The young woman’s mother, Hanna, saw her next. One hand flew to the older American’s throat while the other reached blindly for her husband’s arm. “Emily,” she breathed, the name sounding like a question. Her eyes traveled the length of the transformed body and snapped back to the face, searching for the daughter she knew in those wide, glittering eyes framed by thick, slutty lashes. What she found instead was a permanent pout, lips so full and open they seemed designed for one purpose only.

Haruki’s face hardened into something between disbelief and fury. He was the patriarch of the household and a well-respected man around the city, but what he saw disgusted him. He took a single step forward, then stopped as though the sight itself had struck him. The foyer suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. The new blonde’s family stood mere feet away from her in horrified shock.

Alex found his voice at last. It came out low, rough, almost broken. “Emily?” he gasped. “What the hell happened to you?”

The question hung in the foyer like smoke that refused to dissipate. Emily felt it settle in her enhanced chest, pressing against ribs that suddenly seemed too tight. She looked up to her older brother. Everything he and his parents had done to rid the city of crime and turn Tanaka Academy into one of the most revered academic institutions in the country. She wanted to tell them the truth and to warn them about what lay ahead.

Instead, her glossy lips curved into that same vacant smile the conditioning had perfected. “What has happened to me, brother?” she said in a soft, inviting, yet formal voice. “I chose all of this, and I am proud of the new me.” She shuddered as her lips pressed against each other to speak.

Her brother stared at her as though she had spoken in a foreign language. His shoulders dropped, the easy confidence that had always defined him suddenly absent. Alex took one careful step closer, his hands open at his sides, palms facing up, the universal gesture of someone trying not to frighten a cornered animal. “That isn’t an answer,” he said quietly. “It sounds like you’re reading from a script. Quit putting on an act and tell me what’s wrong. I promise I won’t get mad.”

Alex’s quiet plea hung between the siblings. He had spoken with the same tone he had used years ago when he first told her about the anonymous tip line he planned to set up at the academy. Back then, she had hung on his every word because he had always been the one who made impossible things feel possible. The busty woman wanted to tell Alex everything. She wanted to tell him about the video, the commands, the way her own body had turned into a traitor while her mind screamed helplessly. However, her tongue wouldn’t obey her as she parted those full lips again. “It’s all me,” she heard herself say. “I chose this, brother. I like how it feels to be noticed.”

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, worse than the smoke she had been forced to inhale the night before. She felt the serum spark between her lips the instant they brushed together, a bright, humiliating jolt that raced straight down her spine and settled between her legs. Her knees nearly buckled, but the conditioning held her upright and kept her chest thrust forward as though she was offering herself to the room.

Hanna made a strangled sound, half sob, half outrage. She took two quick steps toward her daughter, then stopped when Emily’s body turned away, already climbing the staircase. The older woman’s voice cracked. “Don’t you dare walk away from us like this. Get back down here and explain yourself, young lady.”

Emily’s platforms hit the next step with a hurried clack, the sound echoing through the foyer. The blonde felt her tiny skirt rise higher, the hem teasing the lower curve of her ass, and the young woman knew exactly how much of her was on display for the people who had raised her properly.

As her mother stepped forward to chase after the student, Alex moved faster than her. His hand closed around Hanna’s wrist firmly, holding her in place before she could ascend the first step. “Let her go,” he said quietly.

Hanna twisted against her son’s grip, eyes wide with fury. “Let her go? Alex, she needs to answer for this. She needs to explain to your father and me why she would do this to herself, and destroy our name.”

“She isn’t doing this to herself,” Alex kept his voice low as he slowly released his mother from his grip. “Look at her. Really look. This isn’t her choice.”

The older woman’s shoulders sagged as she stayed rooted to the spot. “Not her control?” she questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Yakuza have returned to Miyoshi, mother,” Alex answered, prompting a gasp from the woman and her husband. Haruki stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Alex continued. “I don’t think they ever truly left. They simply watched and waited. And when I was gone, they came straight to her.”

Alex kept his gaze locked on the staircase long after Emily disappeared around the curve of the landing. The faint clack of her ridiculous shoes faded into silence, leaving only his mother’s heavy breath blocking the quiet. The handsome man turned back to his parents, his shoulders squared in a way that made him look older and wiser than he was. “I don’t think Emily is the target,” he said steadily. “The Yakuza are playing a much bigger game. They want to take back the city.”

Hanna’s hand trembled where it rested against her collarbone. She opened her mouth and closed it again. If her son was correct, they were in trouble. The organized crime gang had increased its influence in Japan over the last couple of years, and the Tanaka family didn’t have the resources to repel them again. Suddenly, the older woman found herself praying that her son was wrong, that her daughter was going through a slutty phase, because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

❖

Emily slammed her bedroom door with enough force to rattle the frame, then pressed her back up against the wood as though the barrier might keep the nightmare locked outside. Her breath came in heavy, uneven pulls that lifted the swollen weight of her fake breasts against the knotted sailor top. The blonde closed her eyes tight, willing the world to reset and wishing that she would wake up from this lucid, horrific dream she’d been living the last few days. However, the darkness behind her eyelids offered no mercy. When Emily finally forced her eyes open again, she gasped in horror as she stared at her newly decorated room. Someone had invaded her space.

The room she had once claimed as a sanctuary of disciplined study now looked like the fever dream of someone obsessed with the worst vices in Japanese culture. Every wall had been stripped of the soft, neutral colors and motivational quotes she had carefully chosen to put her in the best frame of mind for studying. In their place hung enormous posters of muscular men in various states of undress, their bodies oiled and posed to emphasize their power and dominance, while explicit shots of gangbangs and creampies filled the spaces between them. Her walls were adorned with actual porn. Glossy prints showed women on their knees, mouths stretched wide open and filled with cock, their eyes glassy with surrender. Between the images, bold black letters screamed slogans in Japanese and English: “Good girls obey,” “Your body belongs to men,” “Serve your superiors with a smile.”

The young blonde pushed away from the door and took two unsteady steps forward, her heels forcing her hips into a humiliating sway she couldn’t seem to prevent for very long. Her gaze landed on the space where her study desk had always resided, the expensive oak surface that had supported countless hours of calculus and essays. The desk was gone. In its place sat a wide makeup vanity, the mirror ringed with a bright LED bulb—tubes of gloss, palettes of bright colors, and brushes with bristles dyed pink crowded the surface. A small stool upholstered in black vinyl waited in front of it, positioned so anyone sitting there would have no choice but to confront their reflection while painting themselves into a young man’s wet dream.

Emily’s attention shifted to the chest of drawers that had once held neatly folded t-shirts and modest underwear. She crossed the room and pulled open the top drawer. An obscene collection of sex toys lay arranged with an almost mocking neatness: thick silicone dildos in graduating sizes, plugs with jeweled bases, gags of every type, collars with silver tags, and leashes coiled patiently. The sight made bile rise in the transformed woman’s throat. She slammed the door shut in disgust, but the image lingered, burned into her mind like the horrible posters on the walls.

She turned toward the closet, the double doors standing slightly ajar as if someone had left in a hurry. When she yanked them open, the hangers rattled as Emily gasped in horror. She pursed her lips together, temporarily forgetting about her handicap, but was promptly reminded when a jolt of pleasure shot against her clit, forcing her to part them again.

Every modest piece she had once treasured had vanished. Her long skirts, simple blouses, and warm cardigans were all gone. The rods now supported an array of micro-skirts so short they would ride up and reveal her crotch with the slightest movement, tiny tops of every color and creed designed to frame her assets rather than cover. Ridiculous fantasy uniforms took up at least a third of the space, complete with racy underwear and stockings, and an assortment of stripper heels lined the bottom of the cupboard. Leather collars with metal rings hung from a separate hook, each one tagged with a small silver plate labeled for a specific occasion.

The sight pressed against the last fragment of composure she had managed to hold onto. She stood there, hands limp at her sides, staring at the transformed space that used to belong to her. This had been the one room where she could shut out the world, where the only expectations were her own. Now every corner mocked her with the same message: her body, her time, her thoughts no longer belonged to her. The posters stared down at her, and the toys waited in their drawers. Those bastards had corrupted her safe space, and there was nowhere left to run.

A fresh surge of helplessness washed over the young, transformed beauty. She didn’t reach for the posters or try to swipe the makeup on her table aside, no matter how much she wanted to. The conditioning had already taught Emily that resistance in one place only tightened the grip everywhere else. Instead, she crossed to the bed and sank onto the edge of the pink satin sheets. There were handcuffs attached to the headboard, matching the ankle cuffs tied to the corners on the opposite edge. They had turned her room into a perverted paradise.

Emily stared at the closed door, listening to the muffled voices that drifted up from the foyer downstairs. Her family was still down there, grappling with the reality of what they’d just seen, while she sat surrounded by evidence of how thoroughly the Yakuza had claimed her. The anger that had consumed the student when she first opened her eyes now simmered into a steady burn that promised no warmth or easy release. Her life had spiraled so far beyond her reach that the room itself felt like a cage she no longer wanted to leave.

❖

Excited, confused chatter filled the sports hall as students sat cross-legged on the polished floor, waiting for the unexpected assembly to begin. Groups of friends leaned into one another, whispering guesses about what could have pulled them together into the large hall. Some speculated about a surprise holiday announcement, others joked about a celebrity guest speaker, while a few wondered if the school had finally decided to replace the ancient vending machines. It was unusual to see the entire academy population poured into a single room, which meant the announcement would be unlike any other.

The double doors at the far end of the room swung open. Suddenly, the jovial conversation stuttered before dying completely. Every head turned as the transformed blonde stepped inside. She moved with the forced grace of someone whose body had been trained to perform, her hips swaying side to side as she hung her head in shame. Her knotted sailor top clung desperately to fake breasts so large and firm they threatened to spill free with the slightest shift, the fabric stretched thin enough to show off the erect peaks beneath. Her plaid pleated microskirt barely reached the top of her upper thighs, flashing her pantie-less ass and entirely showing off the bold arrow of her tattoo above the hem. 7-inch black platform heels, designed as slutty Mary Janes, lifted her higher, forcing her to take tiny, teetering steps that felt like she was walking a tightrope. Heavy makeup framed her face, with her lips swollen into a permanent, glossy invitation that stayed parted to avoid her body reacting to her forced mini-orgasms.

The young adults nearest the transformed honor student gasped and pointed, whispering to each other as she tottered in. Someone muttered about how the council president had fallen, while another wondered aloud what kind of bet would make someone change so drastically overnight. Emily kept her gaze on the floor, her cheeks burning in humiliation as her body moved with exaggerated sensuality. She wasn’t even sure whether it was her body-control conditioning that made her act that way, or the gravitational effects of her newly altered body.

She reached the edge of a row near the front of the assembly and lowered herself to the floor, folding her legs beneath her. The girl sitting beside her immediately scooted sideways, putting an extra foot of distance between them. It was as if the young second year didn’t want anyone to believe she was associated with the busty Japanese-American. Only a week ago, people would have been clamoring to be close to the wealthy woman, and now they treated her like she had some highly infectious disease.

A female Biology teacher, Akari Sasaki, stepped onto the platform at the front of the hall. The crowd gasped as they took in her outfit; the forty-six-year-old never dressed like that. She wore a scandalously short red latex pleated miniskirt paired with a shiny white PVC button-up blouse that clung to her slim body, with the top two buttons missing. Her 4-inch red stilettos clicked sharply against the wood as she moved to the microphone stand. The woman looked visibly uncomfortable despite the nervous smile on her face.

Akari cleared her throat into the microphone. The slight sound echoed through the silent hall. “Good morning, students,” she said. Her voice carried her usual authoritative tone, which seemed paradoxical given her scanty outfit. “Thank you for attending this important gathering on such short notice. We appreciate your patience and cooperation as we gather for a big announcement.”

The black-haired woman paused for a moment, letting her words settle over the audience. The hall remained unnaturally quiet as the students had no idea how to react to their formerly modest teacher’s new state of dress, or the student council president’s transformed appearance. The Biology teacher eventually continued her announcement. “You may have recently heard about this school coming under new leadership. Well, it is my honor and privilege to introduce the new headmaster of Tanaka Academy,” she paused for a moment. “Please join me in welcoming Mr. Kazama.”

There was a confused ripple of applause as the side door opened smoothly. The surname was synonymous with notable members of the Yakuza crime gang, and the large group had no idea how to act. There was a collective gasp as Takeshi Kazama stepped into the hall with the calm assurance of someone who owned the place. Takeshi was a notorious gangster who was put away on corruption charges years ago, thanks to Emily’s brother, Alex. How had he somehow claimed leadership of the same academy named after the family who had him arrested?

The tall man wore a tailored black suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His black hair was neatly swept back, framing a sharp jawline and eyes that moved slowly across the assembly. When his gaze reached the edge of the row where Emily sat, it lingered. The corner of the man’s mouth lifted in a subtle, private grin as he studied the young woman his brother had been working on, and his gaze sent a shudder down the blonde’s spine. Takeshi held the look for one heartbeat longer than necessary, then turned his attention to the rest of the students.

Takeshi stepped to the microphone and surveyed the room once more. The silence had thickened into something uncomfortable. Students shifted on the floor, their eyes fixed on the new headmaster. He was possibly one of the most dangerous men in the city, and now he ruled supreme over their studies.

“Thank you, Ms. Sasaki,” he said. The dark-haired woman bowed reverently as the powerful man addressed her, her eyes flicking down as if she was terrified to look at his face, before she stepped back to the side. “Students of Tanaka Academy, it is my privilege to address you today as your new headmaster. For too long, we have allowed undisciplined Western culture to invade and corrupt our way of life. We now stand at the beginning of a new era, one built on respect, discipline, and a clear understanding of purpose.”

He paused, letting the words settle. A few girls in the front row exchanged glances as uncertainty flicked across their faces. It was obvious that the Yakuza wasn’t a big fan of women’s rights when they ruled previously. “To ensure every student can focus fully on their education and the new curriculum without the distractions that have plagued this institution in the past,” he continued, “we will be immediately implementing segregation of male and female classes. Male students will remain in the main building, while girls will relocate to the newly renovated east wing. Your updated schedules have been uploaded to the online portal. Please review them before heading to your first class.” He paused before smiling widely. “Attendance at these classes is mandatory, and truancy will be severely dealt with.”

Takeshi let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the way the students hung on his next words. When he spoke again, his tone remained calm, almost paternal. “These measures will help each of you reach your full potential,” he said. “Boys will learn discipline and leadership. Girls will learn grace, obedience, and the proper way to support the men around them. The previous soft, Westernized culture has weakened this country for too long. That ends today.”

A few male students in the back exchanged smirks, nudging one another. The girls near the front shifted uncomfortably, their faces fraught with horror at the implication of the man’s words. “I wish you all good luck in settling into this new rhythm. We all have our part to play, and together we can build a stronger community here at Tanaka Academy.”

He stepped back from the microphone and nodded to Ms. Sasaki. The teacher hurried forward again, smoothing her hands over her latex skirt to prevent it from riding up. “Thank you, Headmaster Kazama,” she said quickly. “Students, please remain seated until your row is dismissed. You will then head straight to your first period.”

The hall filled with the soft rustle of bodies adjusting position and phones being pulled out to check their new timetables. Emily sat frozen, staring at her own screen. Her first period must have been some kind of sick joke. The words “Female Excellence: Respectful Language” stared back at her. What the hell was this? They weren’t living in the 1920s anymore, and they couldn’t expect the women just to sit down and take this blatant misogyny. The heavily made-up blonde scanned the room as she witnessed countless other women staring at their screens in horror while the men high-fived as though they had just won a sports match. This wasn’t right.

❖

Emily lowered herself onto the chair at the front of the refurbished classroom, fidgeting as she tried to make herself comfortable on the hard wooden seat. The other female students sat in rigid rows, their eyes fixed straight ahead. There wasn’t a male in sight, and every girl in the room looked nervous, their fingers clasping on their desks, waiting for whatever came next.

The door opened softly, and Ms. Yamada stepped inside, wearing what appeared at first glance to be a modest knee-length floral dress. The pattern was delicate, pale blossoms against a light cream background. Only when she turned to close the door did the truth reveal itself. A large circular cut-out window exposed the teacher’s entire rear, the smooth curves of her ass framed like an exhibit. Her pale skin was marked with vivid red paddle marks that stood against her creamy skin tone. The marks looked fresh, as though the teacher had been disciplined shortly before walking into the room. She moved with careful stiffness as she tried to force a smile.

Hiroko Yamada was a pretty, young teacher who had only joined the Academy a few months ago. The redhead was popular with female students and always made herself available to listen to their troubles. This version of Hiroko looked infinitely subdued. “Good morning, girls,” she said as her lips trembled. “Please settle down. We have a great deal to cover today, and  expect your full attention.”

“Today we begin our study of respectful language,” Ms. Yamada started, her hands clasped in front of her waist. “This is one of the most important skills you will develop during your time here. Proper speech demonstrates deference, gratitude, and a clear understanding of our place as women. We will focus on how a woman should address men.”

There was a collective gasp as the teacher picked up a marker and wrote the first phrase in cursive, looping script, on the whiteboard. What the hell was this?

“Repeat after me,” she instructed. “Thank you for your guidance, sir.”

The crowd was stunned into silence at what they were being asked. Hiroko nervously glanced at the door as if she were nervous about being watched. “Please,” she said softly. “If you don’t comply, I will be replaced with a teacher who will ensure you comply.” Her soft threat prompted the majority of the audience to repeat the words on the board quietly.

The teacher waited until the last echo faded, then nodded once as though relieved the class had complied. She turned back to the board and wrote the next phrase in the same cursive script. “Repeat after me,” she said again. “I understand, sir, and I will obey without question.”

Emily sat in shock, her lips parted to avoid the cruel spark of pleasure she received whenever the lips touched. The phrases kept coming, each one more degrading than the next, and the girls anxiously followed their formerly respectable teacher’s requests.

“If a man states an opinion, a woman must affirm it,” Ms. Yamada continued. “You may say, ‘That is a wise perspective, sir. Thank you for sharing it.’ You must never contradict a man publicly, even when you know he is wrong. Disagreement, if any, must remain private and only when the man invites it.”

She stepped away from the board, the cool air brushing against her exposed ass as she did. “Public contradiction shows disrespect. It undermines a man’s authority. Your role is to support and to please. Language is the first tool we use to demonstrate that role.”

A girl in the third row cautiously raised a hand. Hiroko nodded at her. “Ms. Yamada,” the girl said softly, “what if… what if we disagree strongly? What if the man is simply wrong?”

The teacher’s smile faltered for the briefest moment. She glanced toward the door again, as though she was expecting someone to enter and judge her answer. When she spoke, her tone stayed measured. “Whether the man is right or wrong is irrelevant. In public, you must smile, nod, and accept his answer. Your opinion should not be taken into account.”

Emily felt the anger rise in her chest like a tide she could no longer hold back. It was one thing to force her body to comply with this misogynistic bullshit, but the new headmaster was destroying her family’s very legacy.

Ms. Yamada turned to the class again. “Let us practice together. Repeat after me: ‘My purpose is to please and support the men in my life.’”

The class echoed the sentence in a low, confused murmur. The blonde student’s hands clenched into fists beneath her desk. She would not say it. She refused.

Hiroko waited patiently for the murmur to die away. When the room felt quiet again, she addressed the class. “Now we will practice more advanced responses,” she said casually as if she were teaching a regular subject such as Geography or Math. “Imagine a man has just given you an instruction that feels difficult or uncomfortable. The correct way to reply is to show immediate willingness and gratitude. For example: ‘Thank you for the opportunity to serve you, sir. I will do my best to please you.”

The final instruction was too much for Emily to bear. In a flash of fury, the busty blonde slammed her fist onto the desk and stood up, her bare ass on full display for the student behind her as it swayed to her sudden movement. “No!” she exclaimed, prompting a startled gasp from the rest of the class.

The single word cracked through the room, bringing the young women from their dazed state of compliance. Every girl froze, their heads turning in unison. The group’s eyes widened as they took in the sight of the blonde standing tall at the front with her fists clenched. The same girl who had walked in looking like the ultimate pick-me gyaru, the one who seemed designed to please men and become a poster child for lessons like this, was now the one raising her voice in rebellion.

Ms. Yamada’s marker clattered to the floor. She took a half-step backward and stared at the disobedient student. “Emily,” she said. “Sit down immediately. This is not how a woman behaves in this class.”

Emily’s lips stayed parted invitingly, careful not to let them touch. She couldn’t prevent it when she spoke, however. “This isn’t right. None of this is right. We’re supposed to be learning how to think and navigate the world. We are meant to learn how to function as independent members of society, not how to kneel and smile while men decide everything for us.” The transformed woman clenched her thighs together as she tried to subdue the pleasure coursing through her as she spoke.

The girls murmured appreciatively as Emily stood there. A few exchanged glances, their earlier resignation giving way to something hopeful. The teacher stared at the closed door, panic-stricken, as if she feared she was losing the room.

In the back row, Natsumi sat perfectly still. Surprise flicked across her face, quickly replaced by a quiet pride that softened her Japanese features. She spent days watching her former best friend transform into this exaggerated, obedient shell, and she had started to wonder if the real Emily had disappeared forever. Now, seeing the honor student stand tall in the front of the class, Natsumi felt a spark of hope reignite. The strong, independent woman she had always admired was still in there.

Hiroko’s face paled. She smoothed out the dress with her hands, and narrowed her eyes at the rebellious blonde. “Emily,” she said again. “Sit down immediately. Disobedience will no longer be tolerated.”

Emily remained rooted where she stood. Her voice stayed firm and angry, carrying to every corner of the room. “No!” she cooed out. “Just wait until my family finds out about this.”

With that comment, the blonde turned on her platform heels and strode toward the door. The ‘Public Use’ tattoo across the exposed small of her back undermined her furious rebellion. The girls watched the honor student go in, in stunned silence, as the door swung shut behind her.

Ms. Yamada stood frozen for several seconds. She knew she would be punished for this. Turning back to the class, the young teacher tried to calm her students down. “We will continue,” she said. “Repeat after me…”

As the girls obeyed, Natsumi allowed herself a subtle smile in the back row. She kept it small and hidden from the teacher’s view, but it lingered on her lips as she heard the women recite the submissive lesson. The real Emily was still fighting. And if one girl could stand up, perhaps the others could follow.

❖

Emily sat alone at the far end of a long table in the cafeteria, her tray of noodles untouched in front of her. The lunch bell had rung only moments ago, so the room remained relatively quiet. The busty woman had expected punishment by now, some swift reprimand from the new administration for her outburst in class, yet the morning had passed without incident. The blonde picked up her chopsticks and dug into her meal, shuddering as the noodles brushed against her fat, pink lips. The contact sent a sudden, electric jolt straight to her clit, forcing an audible moan from her. The student kept her mouth open wider, careful not to let her lips touch again, but it was impossible as she tried to eat.

Her eyes scanned restlessly around the room, watching every face that entered through the double doors as the cafeteria slowly began to fill up. She half-expected Kenji to appear, or one of his goons, ready to drag her away for whatever fresh humiliation they had planned for her. Emily lowered her gaze back to the tray, trying to focus on the simple act of eating, when the chair opposite scraped against the floor.

The student’s heart dropped. She braced herself for the inevitable humiliation, certain she would look up to see that familiar, cruel smirk.

Instead, she saw Natsumi.

Relief flooded through the blonde so quickly it almost hurt. The girl who had been her closest friend up until a couple of days ago sat across the table with a soft expression. For a moment, neither spoke.

Natsumi set her tray down carefully and looked into Emily’s eyes. “I saw what you did in class earlier,” she finally said. “The way you stood up. That’s the Emily I remember and love. I thought we had lost you.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She wanted to reach across the table, grab her friend’s hand, and hold on, but she kept her arms hovering over her food, afraid that any movement could trigger some conditioning she didn’t intend. The blonde nodded once, her lips still parted, careful not to trigger the serum again.

The other student leaned forward slightly, her voice hushed, “I figured it out after you walked out. The Yakuza must have done something to you. I assume they’ve done something that makes it impossible for you to tell me the truth. That’s why you’ve been saying it’s all your choice, why you look like a ridic… like this.”

Natsumi glanced briefly at Emily’s garish long nails, then back to her bimbofied face. The look held no judgment, only quiet understanding. She placed her hand gently on top of the transformed woman’s, her fingers curling lightly around the pink nails. The touch felt warm and steady, and she gave a small squeeze before meeting Emily’s eyes.

“I know the strong, independent Tanaka is still inside your head,” she said softly. “The girl who wouldn’t stand by and let anybody destroy her family’s legacy. That girl hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s just buried under whatever they did to you, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to help bring her back out. We’re going to take this academy back, Emily. Together.”

Emily’s chest tightened. The words landed somewhere deep inside of her, stirring the part of her that still remembered how it felt to stand tall without shame. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could fight despite her transformation and the control Kenji held over her.

The blonde shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her gaze darted around the cafeteria again. The room had filled while they spoke, and the volume had risen. “I can’t talk here,” the busty blonde said quietly. “There are too many ears around. Meet me in the girls’ restroom after the next period. I’ll tell you everything.”

Natsumi’s fingers gave one final squeeze before she withdrew her hand. She nodded silently, a small, reassuring smile on her face.

Emily picked up her tray, stood, and walked away. The platforms carried her across the floor with a seductive sway, her hips rolling enticingly despite her attempt at walking normally. Some of the boys, emboldened by their recent classes, whistled and catcalled her as she tottered away. Emily tried to ignore the attention and head toward the exit. However, beneath the humiliation and embarrassment burned something else, a fierce sense of rekindled hope. Natsumi still believed in her, and for the first time since the transformation began, that belief felt like enough to hold onto.

She pushed through the cafeteria doors and disappeared into the corridor, the echo of her heels fading behind her.

❖

The transformed blonde paced the tiled floor of the girls’ restroom as she waited impatiently for her friend. She had just endured another absurd class, this one on “correct female posture,” where the teacher had demonstrated how to kneel with perfect submission, back arched, chest forward, and eyes lowered. The lesson had dragged on for what felt like hours, but the young Tanaka resisted the urge to storm out as she had done in the previous class. Now the restroom stood empty except for her. She checked the time on her phone again and wondered where her friend was. Natsumi should have been here already.

The door opened, and Emily froze midstep. Natsumi stepped inside, glancing behind her to make sure the corridor was clear before letting the door close. The moment it latched shut, the tension in the dark-haired student’s shoulders eased. She crossed the small space between the pair and wrapped her arms around Emily in a gentle hug.

The embrace felt strange. Natsumi’s body stiffened slightly as she made contact with her friend’s new exaggerated curves, the heavy breasts pressed against her much smaller chest, the unnatural firmness impossible to ignore. Natsumi had hugged her friend countless times, but now it almost felt like she was embracing a stranger. She held on anyway, her arms tightening as though she could pull the old Emily out through sheer force of will. When she finally stepped back, the girl searched Emily’s face with quiet intensity.

Natsumi softly bit her lower lip, something Emily was no longer able to do. “I figured it was true,” she started. “The new headmaster is still aligned with the Yakuza. This takeover of the academy is probably only the first step in their plan to change the entire culture. They want to reshape everything into their misogynistic ethos.”

“Their cruelty and tactics are shocking,” the woman continued. “They’ve turned our teachers into frightened puppets. Did you see the marks on Ms. Yamada’s buttocks? The boys used to treat us with respect, but now leer at us like they are better than us. They’ve terrified everyone into silence, and it’s only been a single morning. What will happen once they’ve been in control for a week?”

Emily stayed silent as her friend paced in a slow circle around the small restroom. “The fight isn’t over yet, Emily. We need strong women like you to build a resistance and fight back,” she said optimistically. “It won’t be easy. Look at what they’ve done to you just to send a message to us. If we can prove that their tactics won’t knock our determination, we can hold them off. We need to involve the media and let the world know what these bastards are up to.”

Emily smiled and nodded throughout the speech. Every movement of her head sent her loose platinum blonde locks swaying against her bare shoulders. The gesture felt genuine for once, a quiet acknowledgment that somewhere beneath the conditioning, her friend’s words had reached her. The blonde kept her plump lips carefully parted, careful not to let them brush together and trigger another humiliating spark.

Natsumi turned away, deep in thought, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the sink as she stared at the restroom door. “It would help if you could tell me everything you know,” she said. “I know you’re struggling to let it out, but the more we know about their tactics and their future plans, the easier it would be to use that information against them.”

There was a momentary tense silence. Natsumi started turning back around to face her friend, but before she had the opportunity to turn fully, her eyes widened in horror. A hand had clamped tightly over her mouth from behind the young woman. The grip was sudden and extremely tight, the fingers pressing hard against her lips. She tried to twist, muffling a startled question against the palm that sealed her voice.

Emily held her friend in place. Tears fell down the transformed student’s glitter-dusted cheeks, trailing down the heavily made-up face. “I’m sorry, Natsumi,” she gasped, her own voice hoarse with shock. “I’m so sorry. I can’t control it. I can’t stop my body.”

Natsumi’s struggles grew frantic. She clawed at the arm pinning her, her flat-heeled shoes scraping against the tile as she tried to wrench free. Her muffled cries vibrated against Emily’s skin just as a sharp chemical smell hit her nostrils. The dark-haired Japanese student muffled a helpless plea as her movements slowed. Her eyebrows fluttered in distress as the fight slowly drained from her limbs in a slow, inevitable surrender.

Emily guided her friend’s lifeless body carefully to the floor, easing Natsumi down until her head rested against the cold tiles. The dark-haired girl lay still, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she sprawled out unconscious. Her controlled friend knelt beside her, tears still streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor. She brushed a stray strand of hair from Natsumi’s face with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I didn’t want to. I tried to fight.”

The restroom door opened once more.

Kenji strolled inside with an arrogant confidence. His hands moved in a slow, methodical applause, each clap echoing off the tiled walls in a mocking gesture. He stopped a few feet away from the unconscious woman and her distraught friend, his eyes gleaming with pride as he took in the scene. “What a performance. A perfect ten out of ten,” the man said lazily. “You played your role beautifully, princess. Award-winning, to be honest.”

The blonde rose slowly from her kneeling position beside Natsumi’s unconscious body. She stared at Kenji with raw, unfiltered loathing. She hated that bastard. “You’re a monster,” she growled furiously at the man who controlled her. The words came out rough as her breathing deepened and her long nails clenched in her palms.

Kenji closed the distance between them in two unhurried steps. He lifted one finger and pressed it gently to the center of the busty woman’s swollen lips, the touch light but deliberate. The contact sent an immediate, searing jolt straight down her body. Pleasure exploded between her thighs and attacked her sensitive clit, forcing a soft, helpless moan from Emily’s throat. Her hips jerked involuntarily before she could stop them.

He tilted his head, watching the reaction with jovial amusement. “Now, I don’t believe they were the manners you’ve been taught, princess,” he said quietly and detached from emotion. “Speak to me with respect.”

Suddenly, Emily found her mouth parting on its own. The words emerged soft and reverent, dripping with the obedience that had been drilled into her all morning. “Thank you, Kenji-sama.” Her body bowed her head low in respect, her blonde locks falling forward to curtain her face.

The gangster chuckled in a satisfied growl. He took a single step back, giving himself room to admire the display. “That’s much better, Emi-chan,” he said condescendingly. “See how easy it is when you remember your place?”

The man let the silence linger, allowing his patronizing words to sink in. What had Emily just done to her friend, and what was Kenji’s plan for her? The gangster glanced down at Natsumi’s unconscious form sprawled on the cold tile. The girl lay still and completely vulnerable. Kenji tilted his head, studying her the way one might appraise a new toy.

He looked back at Emily before grinning widely. “It’s time we create you a new best friend.” The words knotted in Emily’s stomach. She knew she was in trouble.

❖

A few days later, the long corridor of the main Tanaka Academy building felt entirely different. A tense, respectful structure had replaced the previous jovial chatter of students that once bounced off the walls. Young men moved in orderly lines, keeping their voices quiet around the teachers, keeping their eyes forward. The female students had been relegated entirely to the new east wing, leaving the main corridor almost exclusively male.

The silence was shattered by a bang as the double doors at the building’s entrance burst open. The hinges snapped off as Alex Tanaka stormed through the entranceway, knocking the doors clean off their frame. The infamous man stood flanked by a dozen armed Tanaka loyalists, all dressed in dark tactical gear,  pistols held at the ready. The few students who strolled the hallway scattered instantly. Some dove into nearby classrooms, while others darted up the stairs, eager to get out of sight.

Alex’s voice thundered down the corridor. “Takeshi Kazama! Show your face! Let’s settle this once and for all, man to man!”

Tension thickened in the air as the occupants of the corridor looked around for any glimpse of the new headmaster’s presence. After a moment, footsteps echoed from the grand staircase at the end of the hallway. Takeshi descended the stairs slowly, each step careful and unhurried. He wore the same crisp black suit from the assembly, adjusting his tie while he walked. When he reached the bottom, he stopped and spread his arms out in a mocking welcome. “It’s good to see you again, old friend,” he said to Alex, the words dripping with false warmth.

As the headmaster took one more step forward, Kenji Kazama stepped out of a nearby room as he approached his brother. In his hand, he held a thin black leather leash. The other end disappeared behind him, attached to a woman who followed obediently. It was Emily.

Emily stood there, transformed beyond anything Alex could have ever imagined. Her newly colored platinum blonde hair had been gathered into tall, exaggerated pigtails that bounced with each tiny step, the ends curling down past her waist. She wore a glossy pink latex top molded tight around her massive implants, the Academy logo standing proudly above her bosom. A large heart-shaped window cut through the center, leaving her breasts completely exposed. Large silver rings pierced her stiff nipples, glistening against the light above her. The matching pink latex g-string sat high on the blonde’s hips, the thin straps digging into her soft flesh and exposing both degrading tattoos proudly: the bold arrow above her mound reading YAKUZA USE ONLY, with the mirror one across her lower back pointing straight to her ass, declaring that hole as PUBLIC USE.

Nestled deep between Emily’s cheeks, and out of her ashamed brother’s view, glistened a pink-jeweled princess butt plug, the large surface filling her tight hole and shifting as she moved. Six-inch patent pink platforms completed her look and gave her the appearance of gracefully walking on stilts, the handicap of her posture emphasizing the woman’s submission. Around the slutty woman’s throat sat a pink leather choker locked at the back with a small padlock. A silver tag dangled from the front, engraved in delicate script: Emi-Chan – Gyaru Doll. The O-ring at the center secured the end of Kenji’s leash.

Takeshi grinned and circled Kenji and Emily with slow, mocking steps. His eyes roamed over the blonde’s ridiculously exposed form, drinking in the way the pink latex framed her massive fake breasts, the window leaving her bare and vulnerable. He grinned as he studied the woman’s heavily made-up face. Her obscene lips were bright pink and highly-glossed, almost as if they were made of latex themselves. More notably, they stood wide open, giving them an appearance that made virtually every man around her harden instantly. Her smoky-shadowed eyes drifted downward, as if resigned to humiliation and shame.

The headmaster reached around from behind the busty woman and gripped one of her big, bare breasts roughly, his fingers sinking into the soft, enhanced flesh. Emily gasped sharply, a small, involuntary sound escaping her bright pink lips.

Takeshi released the woman’s breast and turned back to Alex. “Tell me, Alex. Do you approve of the new uniform policy I just implemented? Your sister had kindly volunteered to model it, but it’s currently being distributed to the other female students in the East wing.”

Before Alex could retort, Kenji tugged Emily’s leash hard, sharply jerking the woman forward. She stumbled the single step between them, her mouth opening wider on instinct. The controller met her halfway, crashing their lips together in a deep, possessive kiss. Kenji’s tongue pushed past her swollen pout, claiming every inch of her mouth. Pleasure surged down the blonde’s spine instantly, a mini orgasm ripping through her from nothing but the kiss. Her thighs pushed together, and her ass clenched around the invasive plug. Both of Emily’s manicured hands flew to her captor’s chest, her palms pressing flat against his shirt, as her fingers curled into the fabric as though she needed the anchor to stay upright.

Alex’s hand immediately dropped to his holster. He drew the pistol in one clean motion and leveled it at Takeshi. “Get your hands off my sister!” he demanded.

Suddenly, the corridor erupted.

About twenty men poured from the classrooms lining the hall, guns already in their hands and raised at Alex and his men. They flanked Takeshi and Kenji in seconds, their barrels trained on the enemy. Sensing that he was losing control of the situation, Alex pulled the trigger, firing at his arch-nemesis. The bullet grazed Takeshi’s shoulder, tearing through his suit fabric and drawing a thin line of blood. The headmaster hissed, but didn’t flinch.

As bullets started flying, Kenji reacted instantly. He yanked Emily’s leash hard, dragging the bimbofied blonde backward and shoving her behind the nearest pillar for cover. The former honor roll student pressed her back against the cold wall while bullets tore through the air around her.

The shootout raged with brutal intensity. Alex’s loyalists returned fire from behind overturned benches and doorframes, dropping several Yakuza in the opening exchange. One of Alex’s men took a round to the chest and collapsed backwards with dramatic intensity. Another clutched his thigh, screaming as he fell. The corridor was filled with smoke, making it harder for the men to know who they were shooting at.

Takeshi gripped hold of his torn shoulder and ducked behind a column. He barked orders in sharp Japanese, directing his men through the chaos. The Yakuza pressed forward at his command, using the smoke to their advantage. More of Alex’s group fell, with one loyalist taking a bullet to the neck and dropping face-first directly in front of Alex. Another man spun from a gut shot, his pistol clattering uselessly to the floor.

Kenji stayed in the distance, keeping Emily pinned up behind the pillar, openly groping her body with one hand as he absently shot towards the entranceway with the other. Despite his lackadaisical approach, his shots were precise, dropping two more of Alex’s men in quick succession.

Alex fought with grim determination as his men fell around him. He reloaded from cover, leaned out, and fired again. His bullet caught a Yakuza in the leg, sending the man sprawling, while another ended the man’s life directly in the skull. However, the numbers were turning against him fast. Over half his loyalist already lay dead or wounded, and the remaining fighters were pinned and holding on for their lives.

Seeing his chances of success diminish with every fallen man, Alex locked eyes with Takeshi. The headmaster stood partially shielded by a column, directing his men to press ahead. Alex broke cover in one desperate charge, sprinting straight toward his enemy with his pistol raised. If he could take out the Yakuza leader, the rest would scatter. When the young man felt that he was close enough, he raised his pistol, aiming for the head, finger already tightening on the trigger.

Before the man could shoot, a Yakuza stepped from the side, the man’s boot catching Alex across the shins, sending him crashing to the floor. The pistol skittered from Alex’s grip and spun across the tile. Before the dark-haired man could scramble for it, three armed men closed in. They kicked the weapon away, then forced Emily’s brother to his knees, their guns directed at his head.

Alex had no choice but to surrender. He raised his hands slowly, his palms open as the circle of barrels pointed at his skull. His loyalists lay scattered across the corridor, most dead, and the others wishing they were. The young man’s assault had failed.

Takeshi approached the scene slowly, no longer worrying about the small wound on his shoulder. He stopped in front of the man who had put him away, towering over the kneeling man. The headmaster’s grin stretched wide, cold, and victorious.

“Welcome to a new era, Tanaka,” he told the young man.

Takeshi swung the butt of his pistol in a sharp arc. The metal cracked against the back of Alex’s head with a sickening thud, sending the kneeling man forward as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The headmaster signaled to his men to clean up the mess as he wiped the blood from his suit. This academy belonged to him now, and it was time to send a message.

❖

Alex came to slowly. His eyes fluttered open against the dull throb pounding through his skull. The world swam into focus piece by piece. He noticed the bare concrete walls, the row of empty desks, and the fluorescent lights above. He was inside a classroom. The man tried to lift a hand to the source of the pain at the back of his head, but his wrists met resistance. Cold metal bit into his skin. Both of his arms were cuffed behind a standard school chair, his wrists locked tight against the backrest. Panic flared in his soul as he tested the bonds, but the metal refused to yield. His legs were cuffed too, each ankle secured to a chair leg. Headphones rested over his ears. They were silent now, but a sickening feeling in his stomach told him they weren’t always that way. Slowly, footsteps approached from behind the bound man, and Alex tensed.

Kenji stepped into the cuffed man’s view. He wore the same casual jacket he had donned in the corridor, a faint smirk curling along his lips. “Welcome home,” he mocked. “Have a good sleep?”

Alex stared at his enemy and noticed Kenji’s smile twitch as he looked down at the helpless man’s body. Alex glanced down and gasped. He was naked, like totally butt naked, but that wasn’t the most alarming discovery. A small, flat metal cage encased the rebel’s cock, the ring snug around the base, and a totally flat front kept him locked and helpless. Fury boiled inside the man, and he tugged furiously against the cuffs, the chair creaking under the force. The metal held firm, however.

“Where the hell is my sister?” Alex snarled defiantly at the smiling man. “Release me now, or I’ll make sure you pay for this!”

The Yakuza thug chuckled and decided to humor the man. He bent down and unlocked the cuffs on Alex’s ankles with a quick twist of the key. He then moved behind the chair, his fingers brushing the young man’s wrists as he freed them too. The metal dropped to the floor with a soft thud as Kenji stepped back in front of Alex. The cocky man crossed his arms casually.

Alex rose slowly. He felt vulnerable in his undressed state, but anger dictated his actions. His rage propelled him forward as he lunged at the Yakuza gangster, his hands outstretched, aiming to wrap his fingers around Kenji’s throat and squeeze until the smirk disappeared.

However, the clothed man didn’t flinch. “Sit down,” he said calmly, as if he were a parent commanding his child. “And keep your hands behind your back.”

Alex had no intention of complying with the command. He attempted to surge forward even further, but his body suddenly refused. His legs folded beneath him, and he dropped back into the chair with a dull thud. The man’s wrists slid behind the backrest as though invisible strings were pulling them. Horror overwhelmed the man as he tried to regain control of his body. Alex’s mind screamed in protest, urging his limbs to rise and strike his enemy, but his body sat still, his hands still locked in place, staring up at Kenji with helpless rage.

The Yakuza man chuckled again. “Now, stay put,” he said casually.

Alex remained seated, despite his muscles trembling with the effort of fighting the command. Every fiber of his being strained against the invisible bonds, but his limbs refused to budge.

Kenji circled the chair slowly. “You seem much more obedient now,” he observed. “The headphones worked wonders, didn’t they?”

Alex responded furiously. “What the hell did you do to me?” He had no idea what was going on or why he couldn’t resist the man’s directions.

The clothed man stopped back in front of Alex and crouched, teasingly pinching the good-looking young man’s lips together. “Be a good boy and keep those lips sealed together,” he said. “Don’t open them until I give you permission.”

Alex’s mouth snapped shut instantly. He tried to speak, tried to pry his lips apart, but his jaw remained locked. The command took hold instantly, leaving the naked hero silent and seething.

Kenji leaned in closer, his breath warm against Alex’s ear. He had been waiting for this moment, and he was going to savor every moment. “The Yakuza has taken total control of Tanaka Academy,” he explained joyously. “There has been some natural resistance to the new order, but that had been expected. That is where you come in.”

The man straightened and circled the chair again, enjoying the sight of his family’s worst enemy’s helpless fury. “You will now become a willing participant in our project,” he chuckled, glancing down at the dark-haired young man’s flat cage. “That metal equipment you’re wearing? That’s going to be permanent. You’re going to become the academy’s resident cuckold poster boy. While the women around here learn their proper place, everyone will see the once-revered Alex Tanaka serving his betters. Once they witness that, any hope of rebellion will be dead in the water.”

Alex tried to resist and retort, but his lips remained sealed shut, and his body compliantly stayed seated on the hardback chair. Kenji took two steps back and clicked his fingers.

Someone moved from the shadows behind the Yakuza gangster, and Alex’s eyes widened in anger. Emily tottered forward, eyes downcast. She wore the same ridiculous pink latex uniform he had seen her wear as he was getting knocked out, with her huge breasts standing out proud and on display. The Yakuza Use Only tattoo across her abdomen filled him with bile. That was his baby sister, and now she looked like a willing whore for the criminal gang he had spent his life repelling. The blonde’s eyes still burned with hatred toward Kenji, showing the real Emily was still locked somewhere inside, but her body moved with perfect obedience, her hips swaying seductively as she approached.

Kenji stepped closer to Alex, guiding Emily by the small of her back. “Let me introduce you to Emi-chan,” he said mockingly, looking the ridiculously dressed woman up and down. “I put a lot of work into her. She’s come such a long way from that stuck-up little council president you knew before you left for Africa.” He whistled and stepped back again. “Maybe a small demonstration would be better.”

The gangster turned to Emily. “Emi-chan, give your brother a lap dance. Make it sexy.”

Emily’s eyes widened in horror. He couldn’t be serious, could he? That was her own flesh and blood. The transformed blonde tried to plant her feet and scream her refusal, but her body betrayed her instantly. She bowed obediently before her controller, her head dipping low. When she straightened, her voice came out soft and reverent. “Yes, Kenji-sama.”

The words tasted like poison in her mouth and seemed to seal her fate. Emily stepped toward her brother, her hips once again swinging with that slow, provocative sway she had perfected in her step. She straddled Alex’s lap, as her thighs pressed tight against his. Her bare plastic breasts hovered inches from the controlled man’s face, her pierced nipples so close to pressing against his sealed lips as she began to grind.

Emily rolled her hips in slow circles, pressing her slick heat against the flat metal cage through her thin latex g-string. The friction was immediate and cruel. Alex’s cock strained painfully inside its confines, the cage biting into his swollen flesh with every grind, ensuring he could never get fully hard. The helpless man tried to stand and push his own sister away, but his body continued to refuse. His wrists stayed locked behind the chair as he could do nothing but remain seated, helpless as his sister danced on his lap like a trained performer.

The blonde woman leaned forward, her pierced nipples brushing his bare chest with each forward movement, thrusting her bare breasts closer to his face, the heavy mounds swaying hypnotically as she cupped them provocatively. She even found herself whispering filthy encouragements against the man’s ear, shocking Alex at what his sister had become. The young man’s breath grew heavier as the cage grew tighter and more painful. Even without Emily physically touching Alex’s cock, he felt pleasure build, and he came hard from his limp cock. The pain subdued the pleasure, and the cum leaked out of his cage pathetically, eliciting a muffled moan from the former hero. Shame flooded Alex’s face as he hung his head, unable to meet his sister’s eyes.

Kenji roared with laughter at the result of the transformed woman’s work. “Did you just cum? Pathetic,” he taunted the demasculated man. “I hope you enjoyed it, because that may be the only way you can orgasm from now on.”

As Emily finished grinding on her sibling, Kenji clicked his fingers again and turned his head toward the darkness. “Natsu-Chan. It’s time for you to play.”

A far-from-happy, transformed Natsumi stepped from the shadows and tottered toward her new master. Her movements were stiff, robotic, every muscle fighting the compulsion that had dragged her forward. A lot had happened to the young woman since she had been betrayed and knocked unconscious by her best friend a few days prior.

Dyed, bright pink hair now rose in tall, exaggerated pigtails that perched perfectly atop the Japanese woman’s head. Heavy makeup dominated her face, smoky eyeshadow deepening her angry gaze into something weirdly alluring. Bold pink blush gave her cheeks a soft appearance, and her now massively inflated lips were painted in glossy pink paint. They were forced into a permanent parted pout by the same serum that tormented Emily. The lips glistened wetly, trembling with suppressed fury.

That wasn’t all. Her entire body glowed with a deep, even heavy tan that no Japanese woman would claim as natural, and massive, round G-cup breasts jutted forward from her chest, even larger than Emily’s, as they strained the pink latex top with its heart-shaped window that left them completely exposed; she wore the exact same ‘uniform’ as her blonde best friend. Silver studs pierced Natsumi’s prominent nipples, and she had matching degrading tattoos marked above her pussy and ass, marking her vagina for Yakuza use, and her anal passage for the public. The same glossy pink g-string and six-inch pink platform heels completed the look, forcing her into that signature submissive sway, even as her eyes burned with silent rebellion.

The pink-haired woman stood before Kenji, her body rigid as she tried to resist her conditioned commands. She fought every inch of the direction that forced her downward, but her knees bent anyway. She sank to the floor in front of the Yakuza man, losing her internal fight. Natsumi’s big lips remained parted and at the perfect height for the man, the injected serum ensuring she couldn’t keep them closed for long.

The kneeling woman glared up at the man, but Kenji ignored her as his hands moved to his pants, unzipping slowly as he let the fabric drop. His large cock sprang free, thick and already hard before he looked down at his new toy with lazy amusement. “Suck,” he commanded her.

The pink-haired woman tried to keep her head away from his member, but his command and her enforced conditioning pulled her forward anyway. Her bright pink lips parted wider, trembling with the effort of resistance. She took Kenji into her mouth slowly, the thick shaft sliding past her swollen pout until it filled her entirely. Her tongue moved against him in helpless, practiced strokes, swirling around the head while her cheeks hollowed with each pull. She hated every second of it, but Natsumi’s body performed with obscene skill, sucking deeper, wetter, the soft slurping sounds echoing off the classroom walls. What made it worse was the intense pleasure she felt jolting directly to her pussy with each suck. As her lips stayed wrapped around Kenji’s shaft, she was brought closer to an orgasm of her own, humiliating the student even further.

Natsumi fought to pull back, but the command held firm. Her head bobbed steadily, taking him to the back of her throat on every downstroke. Saliva glistened around her, dripping onto the latex top and covering her exposed, fake tits. Another mini-orgasm rolled through the helpless girl, her hips jerking against nothing as she sucked harder, the pleasure twisting with the shame until she could barely tell them apart.

Not satisfied with one mouth, Kenji looked at his blonde conquest and clicked his fingers toward her.

Emily felt the pull instantly. Her body rose from her brother’s naked lap and carried her toward the fellatio scene before her. Refusal and rebellion twisted inside her chest, but her legs moved anyway. She dropped to her knees beside her best friend, her own huge lips hovered inches from Kenji’s shaft while Natsumi continued to suck the head. Emily leaned in without hesitation, her tongue sliding along the base, tracing the thick vein that pulsed beneath the skin.

The girls’ mouths met around the thick shaft in a messy, wet kiss. Emily’s glossy pink lips slid along one side while Natsumi’s worked the other, tongue tangling over the pulsing vein that ran the length of him. Every time their lips brushed against his shaft, or the other’s lips, they felt another sharp jolt of pleasure as a constant wave of pleasure crashed through each woman. Emily’s hips jerked forward as a small orgasm crashed around her while her pink lips were wrapped around the man’s balls. Natsumi shuddered the same way with Kenji’s cock deep down her throat, her thighs clenching while she sucked harder. They worshipped the hated man in perfect tandem, lips gliding up and down, taking turns on tasting his dick and experiencing moan-inducing orgasms. Another shared orgasm hit the pair of sluts at once, their body trembling as they moaned around the cock occupying their mouths.

Kenji suddenly groaned out, his hand tightening around Natsumi’s bright pink pigtails as she was throat deep over his shaft. He thrust once, twice, then buried himself as deep as he could. Thick spurts flooded the girl’s mouth, spilling past her swollen lips. Emily leaned in closer, obediently catching what escaped, her tongue sweeping below the action to taste the man. They both hated the vile taste of his semen, but their bodies acted like they worshiped the seed. Once Kenji had finished, he pulled his member away from Natsumi’s mouth, but before she could spit out any remnants of his cum, he grabbed the back of her head and pushed her ridiculously large lips against Emily’s, forcing the pair to exchange juices until everything was swallowed As their lips locked together in a deep, cum-slicked kiss, their pleasure swarmed again, harder this time. One final orgasm tore through the two women, their moans muffled against each other as they shared every drop.

Kenji grinned down at his pair of transformed, gyaru sluts, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Well, are you two ready to start your new lives?”

Neither woman responded to the rhetorical question. Their swollen lips remained parted as they breathed heavily, their bodies still trembling from the aftershocks of the forced pleasure they had endured.

The Yakuza man reached down and clipped separate leashes to each choker, the metal clasps snapping shut with a quiet finality. He gave both leashes a single firm tug. The newly crowned Emi-Chan and Natsu-Chan rose together, their platforms clicking in unison as they straightened. They stood on either side of the man who controlled them, their heads bowed slightly in conditioned submission.

Kenji glanced over at the formerly powerful young man, now a naked cuckold under the control of the gang he had previously subdued. “Someone will come collect you later,” he taunted. “Just sit there and think about your new life.” Alex was still unable to open his mouth to respond, and Kenji chuckled to himself. Without another word, he turned and let his two gyaru pets out of the classroom.

The Yakuza man walked through the corridor with his head held high, his hands triumphantly resting firmly on the asses of both women, one on either side of him. Emily and Natsumi followed obediently, their bodies moving in perfect, slutty unison. Students in the hallway moved to the side for the feared man and bowed their heads as he and his girls passed, respect rippling through the crowd like a wave. The academy belonged to the Yakuza now, and every bow made Kenji feel like a king.

Kenji slowly led his submissive bimbos toward his brother’s office, taking in the respect he received from everyone he passed. The Yakuza had plans for the other women, while Emi-Chan and Natsu-Chan had plenty of men to keep happy.

The End.