[b][u][center]From Geishas to Whores For Rayoelgatubelo By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] With the money of a brainwashed husband at her fingertips and a great deal of boredom before her, Horiora was the definition of a nightmare for the people of Japan. The rich woman had made a mark on things by buying up more property on the coastline than anyone else in the city actually owned, including the city itself, and she spent more of her time among native women than she did among her own folk. Tradition and cultural norms were trodden on like so much dirt, and the white woman showed little care as she created one gaffe after another. However, her rampage was stopped one day, and for a whole week, the entirety of the coastal city was left to wonder what had finally caught her attention. Had her husband finally gotten in touch and told her to stop spending his money? Had she been called to a halt by her own government, sick of the trouble she was causing? Had someone managed to get something on her to make her stop? In fact, it was none of those things. It was merely a piece of Japanese culture that had been buried for some time that she’d discovered that had finally gained her attention. # Horiora sat on a cushion in the middle of the makeshift geisha house, her eyes wandering from one woman to another. Not one of them looked like the Asians from back home, not one of them appearing quite as...dirty...as the ones that had come from China and inhabited the west. No, these looked...cultured. Beautiful. Sexual. She licked her lips as she ran her eyes across the assembled ladies, her mouth turned up in a smile that was as dark as it was tight. “You have all been gathered from the illegal houses across the city,” she said, a translator at her shoulder turning her words into something that these...people...would understand. “I have offered you food, shelter, and a place to do business where you will not be interrupted.” Once more, the translator spoke up, and once more, the women looked down at the ground. Not that they had much to say, she imagined. She had not given them clothing; in fact, she had taken most of their garments away, leaving them in nothing but their underthings. Western bras and panties, covering very little, were all that she required them to have, and they showed off their bodies well. Skin just off-white, turned vaguely yellow, it had a gleam of near-gold to it to her eyes. A treasure to be amassed, a hoard to be held. She chuckled; she sounded like a dragon, but she imagined that most people of means gained a little of the dragon thought when they reached her level. Horiora licked her lips again as she looked down their bodies, their garments soaked by sweat, clinging to them and showing off features the poor women would doubtlessly wish to keep hidden. Panties clung to pussy, bras clung to breasts. Oh, they would do more than that. Far more than that. “Here, you will do business under my name,” Horiora said. “When you are not serving the men that are allowed here, however, you will serve me. I have long had a craving for...your type.” Several of the dozen women assembled lifted their heads up at that, their eyes opening wide. Quite an achievement, with their biology. “Yes, you will serve me. You will serve my needs the way that you have served men in the past. You will spread your legs for me. You will slide beneath me and lick me. You will do whatever I ask, or I will throw you out on the streets once more. And if any of you try and go to the authorities about this…” There was no need to go further. Her reach, her power, her authority outmatched anyone in town. Some said it outmatched anyone on the island, and only the Emperor, weak as he was, had the sway with the west to slow her down. Slow her down, not stop her. One by one, the women that would protest lowered their eyes, looking down at the ground once more. Horiora chuckled. “Gooooood. Now...you.” She pointed at the woman nearest her. Dark-haired, short - barely five feet tall - and with breasts that would be small on a western woman, but large for an Asian, the young woman looked to be perhaps nineteen in age. Quite young, but still decent enough for her. “Stand. Strip.” The girl did as she was told, getting to her feet and pulling her panties down as she went. She stepped forward, a brushing of black pubic hair seen just over her sex. It was nearly invisible in the low light of their makeshift brothel, but it was still there. Horiora clicked her teeth together hungrily as the nameless woman pulled off her bra, letting it fall beside her other clothes. She stood with her hands defiantly at her sides, clenched into fists even as she shuddered. “Yes, you know the stakes. You know what I can do to you...or at least, you think you know.” Horiora stood up slowly, letting her own clothes fall to the floor. The kimono had been undone for some time, and she grinned as she slowly stepped forward. Her long legs, her heavy breasts, her thick curves; all of it came from a life that was better off than any of the women around her, and all of it amounted to making her look like the most womanly of the girls in the room. And yet, as she walked, things began to change. She hunched her head forward, her grin slowly turning upwards, hardening and growing cruel. Her lips began to change, shifting from a soft red to a deep yellow, cracking and then smoothing out, pushing forward from her face. Whispers erupted as feathers followed, brown ones sprouting from her neck as white ones covered the top of her head, displacing her hair and leaving some of it to fall out. She kept moving forward, her shoulders hunched, her arms starting to crick and crack as the bones beneath her flesh began to change. “Witch,” some whispered. “Kitsune,” others whispered, for their tails of the changelings. She was neither. She was something different. Every step brought another change as the feathers ran down her like a cloak of power and authority, rushing along her arms and then over her wrists, stopping just short of her hands. Even they were changing, becoming something yellowed, taloned, rather than the mere human fingers that she’d had just a moment ago. Crick, crack, crick. Her bones were altering, pushing her to lean forward slightly even as she grew taller. Her breasts were half-hidden within her plumage, her body hiding its femininity even while showing it off all the more. Around the base of her back, her feathers grew longer, pushing out and up to form tail feathers, and along the backs of her arms… As she walked forward, feathers streamed down from one side of her arms, connecting her to her sides, running down in long streams towards her waist. Bit by bit, it added to the look of being cloaked, making her look that much more clothed than the rest of them despite her nudity. And yet, the women did not flee. They knew that she would chase them down to the ends of the earth, run them down like the prey that they were. There was no fleeing from her, now. They were hers. As her legs cracked, her feet turning into three-toed talons, she pushed herself forward and grabbed the naked girl by the throat. The Asian woman gasped, her eyes going wide as she was lifted from the ground, her toes dangling just a few inches above the wooden floorboards. Horiora chuckled, pulling her down as the translator stepped up behind her. “You will become my thrall, tonight.” The translator gave the young woman the words, but the understanding was not there. Not the understanding that Horiora had seen in her husband, when she had taken him and turned him into her thrall. Not when she had taken her children and ensured that they would respect her as the matriarch of the family. Not when she had turned every man, woman, and child that had come before her into something that was worthy of service. “You will grow under my wings...and when you have become something worthwhile, perhaps I will give you a hint of freedom again.” She chuckled. “Freedom. The illusion of a nation that believes anything so long as it comes with money.” “Please…” The girl spoke. Surprised at the daring of the gold-skinned girl, Horiora arched a feathered eyebrow. “You want something, then?” she asked. “What do you want?” “I…” “...Speak, or do not. I have no patience for this.” She shoved a finger into the woman’s sex, forcing her legs apart, and as the girl arched her back, about to scream, the Bald Eagle harpy leaned in. Her beak cracked the skin as easily as a person might have cracked an egg, and she tasted blood as she bit her way up the flesh. It was not necessary to change another this way, but it was more pleasurable...for her. The blood, the screams, the shift of pleasure to pain and back again: it reminded her of the feeling of being on the hunt, of bringing down prey and making them understand the way of the world, the way of everything. [i]The strong feed on the weak, and the weak survive only by being useful to the strong,[/i] she thought. These women would have to be very useful indeed to survive, but she would look after them as long as they remembered that they were part of her flock. So long as they remembered that, she would ensure their care. So long as they remembered, she would make sure that they were comfortable. [i]But if they forget…[/i] It wouldn’t be the first town she burned down as punishment. She hoped they didn’t make this another. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]