Arrival in an isekai

You release the paralysis binding Princess Euphemia li Britannia. She gasps, hands flying to her throat as motor control returns. Pink hair falls across her face as she scrambles backward on the bed, violet eyes wide with terror as she takes in the scene: Villetta riding you with mechanical consistency, Kallen standing beside you in a revealing white bunny suit, your fingers moving between the red-haired girl's thighs.

"What is this?" Euphemia's voice cracks. "Why have you brought me here? I haven't done anything!"

The Illusionary Wall flares to life behind you. Silver light coalesces into moving images showing Princess Euphemia standing before massive crowds, her face radiant with hope. Then blood. Screaming civilians running as soldiers open fire. Bodies piling in streets. The princess herself falling, pink hair matted with crimson as news broadcasts label her the White Butcher, the Bloody Princess, the Traitor Princess of Death.

"No," Euphemia whispers, tears streaming down her face. "That's not real. I would never... I'm trying to create peace!"

"In the next year you publicize a Special Administrative Zone to support peace between the Japanese and Britannia," you tell her calmly. Villetta's inner walls clench around you as she maintains her slow ride. "Two hundred thousand civilians attend. Two hundred thousand dead in a single nationally televised bloody massacre. You die during it, becoming famous as exactly what you just saw."

"You're lying!" Kallen's voice cuts in sharp. "Nobody would never..."

You increase the pace of your fingers between Kallen's legs, curling them precisely. She gasps mid-sentence, words dying as her hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"These events might vary slightly by timeline," you continue, focusing on Euphemia. "But they're almost guaranteed to happen as long as you're in this world."

Euphemia stares at the wall, watching herself die over and over across different timeline variants. Some show her shot. Others stabbed. In one she's crushed beneath panicked crowds. But in every single version, the massacre happens.

"Two options," you say. "Option one: your clothes and the door are over there. You now know your future. Walk out and let fate happen."

Euphemia's breathing comes ragged. Milly watches with calculating intensity from her position still paralyzed on the bed. Shirley openly sobs.

"Option two: change into your choice of outfit and stand at my other side." You gesture with your free hand, mimicking the fingering motion currently keeping Kallen compliant. "Become mine and leave this world. You won't be able to commit the massacre."

"But I don't want to commit a massacre!" Euphemia cries. "I'm trying to save people!"

"Intentions and attempts. The results however... Are out of your control."

Kallen tries to speak again. "That's not..."

You shift the angle of your fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her legs tremble. She gasps sharply, doubling over slightly as pleasure overrides speech.

Euphemia looks at the door. At the costumes laid out beside it. At Kallen standing exposed and being pleasured despite obvious anger burning in her eyes. At Villetta riding with mechanical acceptance.

"If I refuse," she says slowly, "two hundred thousand people die because of me."

"Correct."

"If I accept, I become your... your property. But those people live."

"Also correct."

Her hands shake as she climbs off the bed. She walks to where the costumes remain: three animal-girl outfits with their enchanted tails, and two open-cup maid uniforms. She picks up a maid outfit, holding it against her chest.

"I choose this," she whispers. "I choose option two."

You watch Euphemia step into the open-cup maid outfit, fabric whispering against pale skin as it settles. The black-and-white ruffles frame her modest breasts without covering them; nipples already peaked from open air and adrenaline. The skirt flares short enough to expose the cleft of her ass with every small movement. She smooths the material once, automatic, then walks toward you on unsteady legs, violet eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder rather than meeting your gaze.

When she reaches your left side, mirroring Kallen’s position on the right, you speak.

“Beautiful choice, Euphemia. The black lace contrasts against your skin.”

The compliment lands without warmth. She flinches fractionally anyway, conditioned politeness warring with revulsion. You reach out. Fingers trace a slow line: cheekbone to jaw, down the slender column of her throat, over the gentle swell of one breast, pausing to circle the pale pink nipple once, then continuing lower across the flat plane of her stomach, along the flare of hip, finally resting at mid-thigh.

“Turn around.”

She obeys instantly, small, mechanical pivot. Back presented. Pink hair spills across narrow shoulders; the maid skirt rides up enough to bare the pale curves of her ass completely.

You slide your hand between her thighs from behind. Palm cups her sex, warm, dry, untouched. Fingers part soft folds with deliberate care; middle finger traces the seam once, then settles over her clit in slow, patient circles. Her body tenses, spine rigid, breath catching, but she does not pull away.

Kallen watches from your right, red hair falling forward as her own hips twitch into the matching rhythm of your fingers inside her. Villetta continues her slow, mechanical ride on your cock, inner walls fluttering with the approach of a second quiet climax. The wet sounds of three women being worked fill the room in obscene counterpoint.

Euphemia’s breathing turns shallow. Her knees tremble once, then lock. A single tear tracks down her cheek and falls onto the carpet.

“You made a choice to save them,” you state. “With a price that I offered knowing you would accept. That does not reduce it's value.”

She makes a small, broken sound, half sob, half agreement. Her hips give the faintest involuntary rock into your hand before freezing again in shock.

Across the bed, Milly’s amber eyes track every micro-movement: the way Euphemia’s fingers curl into fists at her sides, the precise angle of your wrist between pale thighs, the slow clench of Villetta’s dark cunt around your length. Calculation wheels behind the paralysis. Shirley’s sobs have quieted to hiccupping breaths, green eyes huge, freckled cheeks streaked wet, horror unfiltered.

You increase the pressure on Euphemia’s clit gently, small circles that coax reluctant slickness. Her breath hitches again; thighs quiver.

You release the paralysis binding Milly Ashford with a casual thought. She sits up immediately, amber eyes sharp as she takes in the scene with calculating precision. Her gaze sweeps across Villetta riding you with steady rhythm, Kallen standing naked beside you save for the white bunny suit while your fingers work between her thighs, Euphemia in the open-cup maid outfit trembling as your other hand services her from behind.

"Well," Milly says, voice remarkably steady despite the circumstances. "This is certainly an unusual Tuesday morning."

The Illusionary Wall flares behind you, silver light coalescing into moving images. Unlike the others' displays of death and torture, these show Milly alive and thriving. Wedding ceremonies with various partners. News broadcasts with her face reporting political developments. Television studios where she gestures animatedly while discussing international affairs.

"Milly Ashford. Heir of the family name and energetic student council president. You actually have a high chance of living and even have chances in the future to get married, only one of which suits your interest." The images shift, showing different timeline variants. In most she appears genuinely happy, though in one particular wedding her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "In most futures you find your calling as an energetic news and politics reporter. The end."

Milly watches herself age across the timelines, blonde hair graying, laugh lines forming around her eyes. "That's it? I become a reporter and live a normal life?"

"Yep, a bit disappointing of an end for such an energetic individual, although easily the most optimistic future of the women here. The only one of the five of you I'd actually suggest considering option one."

Kallen makes a sharp sound that might be agreement or protest. You curl your fingers inside her precisely, drawing a gasping moan that cuts off whatever she was about to say. Beside her, Euphemia's breathing comes ragged as your other hand continues its steady work.

"Two choices, as you've likely guessed," you continue. "Option one is the door. Your clothes are next to it."

Milly climbs off the bed, stretching with deliberate casualness that almost masks the tension in her shoulders. She walks to where her school uniform lies folded, picking up the jacket and examining it.

"And option two?" she asks, though her tone suggests she already knows.

"Pick an outfit, or don't. You'll be my woman. I offer all the benefits of adventuring to different worlds."

Milly turns to face you fully, holding her jacket against her chest. Her amber eyes meet yours with unsettling directness. "So my choices are: walk out that door and live a perfectly acceptable life as a reporter, possibly married, definitely safe. Or stay here, become your property, and get to see other worlds."

"Correct."

She glances at Euphemia, whose pink hair clings to her sweat-dampened forehead. At Kallen, whose red eyes burn with hatred even as her hips rock against your fingers. At Villetta, who continues her mechanical ride without breaking rhythm.

"What happens to them if I leave?" Milly asks.

"Nothing. Their choices were made. Yours is independent."

"But I'd know. I'd know three women, a princess," she gestures toward Euphemia, "are here being used while I went home to my comfortable life."

"You're not ignorant enough to be unaware of the existence of the black market and human slave trade. Countless women in this universe and timeline alone live in misery in broad daylight, to say nothing of those beyond of your sight. I treat my women well, while I admit this is a very rough meeting, this world isn't exactly interesting enough to stick around in."

Milly sets down her jacket carefully. She walks toward the remaining costumes, fingers trailing across the animal-girl outfits with their enchanted tails, then settling on the second maid uniform.

"You said I could choose not to wear anything," she observes.

Villetta's inner walls clench suddenly around you as she reaches another quiet climax, small gasping sounds escaping her throat before she resumes her steady pace. Milly watches this with clinical interest.

"I did," you confirm.

"Then I choose option two," Milly says clearly. "And I'll wear the maid outfit. Might as well match Euphemia."

She begins dressing smoothly, pulling the open-cup uniform over her athletic frame. The fabric settles across her shoulders, framing her modest breasts without covering them. When she's finished, she turns to face you.

"So," she says, walking toward your remaining side. "What happens now?"

You shift your hand between Euphemia's thighs, adjusting the angle fractionally to maintain steady pressure while she trembles beside you. Your other hand continues working Kallen's slick heat with practiced rhythm. Villetta rides you still, inner walls fluttering as another quiet climax builds.

"Now, I compliment my Milly that looks stunning in her risque outfit" you tell her as she looks at you with a woman on your lap and both hands occupied. "Though I'd appreciate if you'd help calm Shirley before she races out in hysterics. She needs to actually listen to her future."

Milly inclines her head once, small, acknowledging gesture, then glances back at Shirley where She continues sobbing, freckled face streaked with tears, orange hair plastered against her cheeks. She steps closer to the bed slow, deliberate, then kneels on the edge of the mattress so she's eye-level with Shirley. "Shirley," she calls out gently. "Please listen. I know this is terrifying. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. He's telling the truth about one thing: you need to hear the rest before you decide anything."

Shirley's sobs quiet slightly, green eyes fixing on Milly with desperate hope and confusion.

"I learned of this world and the five of you through a single story," you begin, voice steady despite the three women you're simultaneously servicing. "A single near-impossible timeline, with a few short offshoots. I wanted each of you, because of both your beauty and your potential. Consider this: I could have simply claimed you all on the bed without explanations or choices, but you have all been given the option of leaving and trying to change fate on your own. While not as easily done as said, still an option."

Kallen's breath hitches as you curl your fingers inside her. Euphemia makes a small whimpering sound behind you. Villetta's pace remains mechanically consistent.

"Villetta, even without her memories, was able to understand that by giving the option of leaving, it became a simple choice while providing only relevant information." You gesture toward the dark-skinned woman currently riding you. "Kallen is emotional enough that she may have left even knowing, so I gave her a simple bonus: giving her brother a second chance at living. She may hate me for the obvious abuse of her relationship still, while her brother walks the streets alive, she's standing at my side willingly in a reverse bunny suit."

Kallen's red eyes flash with fury even as her hips rock against your hand. "Don't you dare," she hisses through clenched teeth.

"Euphemia's story and idealism is a tragedy that intends the best and crashes and burns against the corruption of this world. She likely views this as a form of self-sacrifice to save others. As an irony, if she survives and becomes strong enough through adventuring other worlds, she could someday come back and make this world the fairy tale she dreams of."

Euphemia's breathing turns ragged. Pink hair falls forward, hiding her face, but her body responds involuntarily to your touch despite the tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Milley's was actually the most optimistic of the futures present because despite unfortunate husbands, she lives semi-peacefully. Choosing a life of adventure fits her personality well."

Shirley's sobs have quieted to hiccupping breaths. She stares at you with huge green eyes, orange hair disheveled across the pillow. She's listening now rather than simply panicking.

Milly watches this display with calculating amber eyes, processing the recruitment methodology you've just openly explained. "So you're admitting you manipulated each of us specifically," she observes.

"Manipulated... I provided accurate information and real choices," you reply calmly. "What you choices you made with that information is yours."