The week in London passed by quickly, a rhythm of wandering cobblestone streets, tasting fine foods, and exploring museums and markets that blended the mundane with hints of hidden magic. Each day ended into the next in laughter, new sights, and fulfilling nights spent together in the hotel suite.
But as the days slowly come to an end and the start of Hogwarts drew near, I felt the need for one final change. Something that would mark the start of something in this world.
That afternoon, I left the girls in the suite with promises of a surprise. The streets of London bustled as I made my way into the city, to where the best stylists and tailors could be found.
The salon itself was unassuming, but when I stepped out hours later, the reflection in the window startled even me.
My hair fell sleek and styled, my sharp features now framed in a way that carried both elegance and authority. The look mirrored Kinesis from MapleStory, striking yet refined, that made me appear approachable and untouchable. Appearance and good clothes always makes the man.
When I walked back into the suite, the air shifted instantly.
Wednesday's usually impassive expression cracked with something close to hunger. Her dark eyes lingered longer than she meant them to, lips pressed tightly together as if hiding words she'd never admit aloud.
Enid, by contrast, practically squealed, bouncing forward to circle me as if I were a work of art she couldn't quite believe was real. Her hands hovered near my shoulders, her eyes glowing with excitement.
Nitocris allowed a small smile to curve her lips, her head tilting ever so slightly as if acknowledging his king returned to his rightful throne; which is her.
And then they all came to me at once.
They were indulgent, savoring ourselves as though time itself had slowed to allow us this perfect night.
Hands intertwined. Lips brushed against lips and skin. The warmth of our bodies pressing each other.
By the time the last moans quieted and silence settled into the room, the city outside had grown still. The moon hung high, its soft light shone over us.
In the morning, I took the girls to the Leaky Cauldron. It smelled of piss, smoke, and boiled stew, an inevitable barrier between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. I made sure the tickets are in our individual storage equipment and looked at the girls—Wednesday with Thing perched on her shoulder; Enid bright-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement; Nitocris looking at everything with intrigue.
"Use the Floo Network," I told them, handing over a small bowl of green, sparkling powder to each. "Hogsmeade. Don't mispronounce the location."
They dipped their hands and flung themselves into the green flame with ease; for a moment the Leaky Cauldron was a flicker of emerald light until they vanished and left only the faint scent of smoke and the clink of mugs behind.
We got out in Hogsmeade as planned—steam rising from cottage chimneys, children racing along the street with candy in sticky hands, and the history that comes with an ancient village.
I fell into step with them, the sense of the week's last little surprises curling in my chest like smoke.
Enid asked, "How long are we hiking?"
"Ten minutes or so," I said easily as we moved.
We crossed the village and slipped into the ridge path, the air growing cooler as the cliffs fell away to reveal the ocean spread out like glass below.
The path opened wider, and there it was: Ashborn Manor, exactly as the picture had promised — modern glass terraces reflecting pink blossoms, pale stone terraces that seemed to float beyond the cliff line, and, front and center, the wrought iron gate bearing the sigil: the Ashborn crest, lacquered in deep, uncompromising dark purple.
Enid's jaw dropped.
"Whose place is that?" she breathed.
I turned, letting the cliff wind lift the hem of my coat as a smile touched my lips.
"Surprise," I said simply with my arms extending out. "It's our new home."
For a moment the world held its breath. Then, with a rumble of excellent goblin machinery and a jaunty whistle, the gates parted.
Gricko stood at the threshold, polished and proud, Hootsie towering at his side with feathers fluffed in pleased dignity. He gave a little theatrical bow, the sort that always made me think he'd been born to theatricality rather than banking.
"Lord Ashborn! Ladies! Welcome home!" he crowed, voice of all bright pride and smug satisfaction.
From the terraces and steps beyond, the household emerged in an orderly, flowing line—maids in tailored uniforms that combined classical service with subtle, tasteful nods to each woman's origin: silk tails wrapped for the fox-women, narrow reflective trims for the cat-women, soft linen aprons that suited the rabbit-women's gentleness, and dark, elegant sashes that complemented the snake-women's statuesque grace.
They moved with practiced grace, bows synchronized, hands clasped demurely at their fronts. When their eyes found mine, they softened—faces lit with warmth, devotion plain in the tilt of their heads and the unobtrusive smiles that spoke of something deeper. There was no fear—only an open, willing affection that warmed the air between us.
One of the fox-women—tail wrapped in a ribbon of deep purple—stepped forward, hands folded, voice low and sincere.
"Welcome home, Master," she said.
The nekomata's smile curved, slow and deliberate like the stretch of a sunlit cat.
"We are at your service, Lord Ashborn," she added, half a purr threaded through the words.
The rabbit-women—one lush and welcoming, the other quick and attentive—curtsied in unison, while a snake-woman inclined her head with cool composure, scales at the edge of her sleeves catching the light. Each voice when it spoke the word carried its own flavor—affection, pride, promise.
Wednesday's expression flickered between the almost-imperceptible ghost of a smile.
Thing shifted on her shoulder, fingers tapping, then relaxed when it felt the household's manner.
Enid moved forward first in excitement, reaching out to touch a trailing ribbon on one of the maids' uniforms as if already claiming her new friends.
Nitocris stood a measure apart, eyes sweeping the horizon and the manicured grounds, already mapping defenses in her mind.
Gricko clapped once, loudly and with theatrical delight, "Hootsie! Present the keys!"
Hootsie obliged with a muffled, contented hoot, nudging a small, ornate case with her beak toward me.
I took the case, the weight of it familiar and heavy with meaning—not just keys to rooms, but keys to a future. The crest on the gate glinted once in the late sunshine, the dark purple catching and holding the light like ink in water.
"Welcome to Ashborn Manor," I said, voice even and sure.
"Let's go see inside. I'm sure you'll enjoy our new house," I continued.
They moved forward willingly, the maids opening pathways and offering small courtesies—hands gently guided. The house immediately keyed and breathed around us: the faint scent of cherry blossoms drifting in through enchanted vents, the hum of wards settled into their bones.
As the door closed behind us, I let the girls see all of it: the terrace, the pool that folded into the horizon, the gardens of pink that flared like a captured sunrise—every detail a part of the life I had envisioned for them.
The servants moved about and their glances when they met mine were not of ownership as much as of belonging: to the house and to the man who had given them a place with love and responsibility.
Enid squealed softly, planting a hand against the balcony rail to stare out at the ocean. She really wanted to change into a swimsuit and jump into the pool.
Wednesday let Thing creep along the railing, content.
Nitocris's eyes lingered on the rear wing I'd arranged for her, then on the servants, testing faces and ranks with an expression that suggested approval.
Outside, Gricko and Hootsie waved from beyond the gate, happy and rattling off little administrative notes at anyone who would listen. My surprise was a success.
The crest was there on the gate, the dark purple banner rippled softly in the cliff wind, and the house—our house—hummed with new life beneath the sky.
Wednesday's voice cut through the quiet as we stood in the great hall, the vast windows pouring in the pale shimmer of the ocean's reflection.
Thing crawled from her shoulder onto the banister, tapping rhythmically, as though emphasizing her words.
"This was your secret?" she asked, her dark eyes steady on mine.
"When you left us at Gringotts that day," She continued.
I inclined my head towards her, "Yes. I started the process then—acquiring this estate, setting the goblins to work on renovations, ensuring every stone and ward would answer only to us. But there was more. I had our House—our clan, our name—made official in this world. That way, we will not have to hide in case anyone comes asking who we are. You are mine, and a part of House Ashborn. That is the surprise I wished to secure for us."
I let the silence stretch for a beat, then added with a faint smile, "I hope you don't mind that I moved ahead without telling you first. From the way you're looking at everything... I think my gamble paid off."
Enid practically glowed, spinning once in the middle of the hall with her arms spread, "Mind? Are you kidding? This is amazing!"
She hurried to the wide stairway, then back again, too restless to contain her excitement.
Nitocris offered only a slow nod, her expression unreadable, but her gaze lingered on the carved crest above the door—approval in its own way.
Wednesday, however, didn't move. Her eyes slid toward the line of servants still waiting discreetly near the walls, their tailored maid uniforms unmistakable, their posture deferential yet calm.
Fox tails swayed like pendulums, cat ears twitched at faint sounds, rabbit-girls shifted softly from foot to foot, and snake-women stood elegant, golden eyes flickering toward me with a devotion that couldn't be missed.
"What," Wednesday asked finally, her voice low and laced with curiosity, "is the story with them? These demi-human maids. Opening up a harem?"
I met Wednesday's gaze evenly as the question cut the air. Thing tapped the banister once, curious, as if waiting for my answer like everyone else.
"This was never merely indulgence," I said.
I continued, "The estate is not just a home — it is a stronghold. The world we've stepped into is old and patient; it understands power in many forms. These women are not trinkets. They are trained, capable, and bound to House Ashborn in ways that make the house durable. We can also take this place with us when we are finished our time in this world."
I let my hand rest on the signet at my pinky, feeling the cool weight of the Ashborn crest, "They serve three functions. First is strength — their bloodlines are woven into the estate's wards. Their domestic enchantments and talents reinforce the protections I ordered: hearth-wards, pantry-shields, cleansing rites for the water conduits, and subtle counter-detection spells. That makes the house itself harder to breach."
"Second is protection — many of them possess reflexes, senses, and subtle battle magics. Fox-women think three moves ahead. Cat-women move like shadows and can silence an intruder before he knows he's been touched. Snake-women read a room and a person like an open scroll. They are not merely pretty faces; they are living defenses."
"Third is labor and continuity — they keep the house alive. The rabbit-women tend the gardens and stores, the cat- and fox-women run the household's complex domestic magics, and all of them are versed in the rituals that maintain the wards. We are self-sufficient in this world, even if they are taken to the Shadow World, they can also manage it. The branding and the contract about integration. Their essences were woven into the estate so that if an enchantment weakens, the household itself will heal it. If a breach occurs, they will be the first to respond. At the very least, they look much more appealing than the dirty House elves we know here."
I watched the servants' expressions as I spoke.
Their faces were steady; none of them blinked as if this were a thing to be ashamed of. They had chosen this path and taken the brand. Their loyalty had been pled in oath and sealed by mutual agreement.
"And yes, Mi Cuervo," I added, meeting Wednesday's eyes directly, "that binding is intimate by design. Intimacy shapes loyalty. To bind one's essence to the House and, by extension, to me — that is to create a tether that is both personal and political. It makes betrayals costly and attachments genuine. You all, the three of you included, are a part of that same closeness. It isn't being taken away from you; it's being shared across a stronger, safer circle."
Wednesday's eyebrow rose—slow, deliberate, the kind of movement that carried more information than a speech. For a moment she lingered on the precise way I'd described magic woven to flesh and stone, on the practical calculus behind binding personnel to ward-lattices.
Then she looked to the line of housemaids, to their steady, pleased faces, to the way one of the snake-women caught Enid's curious smile and returned it with something like maternal warmth.
She met my gaze again and, with a tiny, almost private twist of mouth, nodded once.
"They couldn't keep you all to themselves," she said in that cool, dry voice of hers. "Better you have company I can trust. Besides—" she added, eyes cutting to the branded women with a kind of clinical appraisal, "—it's efficient. I approve."
Enid whooped and bounced forward to embrace the nearest fox-woman, delighted; Nitocris inclined her head once, a slender acknowledgment of order well-made.
The maidens—fox, cat, rabbit, snake—stepped forward as a unit then, hands folded respectfully, eyes shining with the warmth of the oath they had taken.
"Master," the fox-woman murmured, voice steady and sincere, "House Ashborn will stand for all eternity.
The dining hall of Ashborn Manor shimmered with candlelight, the long table set against the backdrop of the sea and the moon spilling silver across the waves.
Plates of roasted meats, charred vegetables, and delicately seasoned fish were laid out in abundance, while goblets brimmed with rich red wine.
I raised my glass first, letting the flame catch the dark liquid.
"To House Ashborn," I said. "Our future, our strength, and our unity."
The chorus of raised cups answered, followed by the hum of laughter and chatter. For a time, the tension of building, branding, and transition faded.
Even Wednesday allowed herself a faint smirk, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet while Enid tipped hers too eagerly, cheeks already flushed. Nitocris drank more carefully, when her lips touched the wine, her eyes sharp and knowing.
As the food dwindled and the wine loosened restraint, the atmosphere thickened. Gricko excused himself with Hootsie at his heels, the goblin humming an off-key tune as he vanished into the night. They headed back to their new home and enjoyed its peace and quiet. That was when the air shifted.
Wednesday set her cup down, then flew from her chair. Her gaze locked on mine like a hawk. In a swift motion, she seized my collar and pulled me down into a searing kiss, the metallic taste of wine mixing between us.
When she finally broke the kiss, her voice was dark and possessive, "You're mine first."
Before I could answer, she tugged hard, dragging me toward the master bedroom.
Enid scrambled after us with a half-drunken laugh, Nitocris moving slower but with an unmistakable glint of intent.
Behind them, the maids followed, eyes lit with heat.
The night that followed was chaos — a storm of limbs, lips, and whispered claims.
Wednesday's hunger, Enid's playful insistence, Nitocris' commanding grace, and the eager submission of the demi-women all crashed together into a single endless rhythm. I was the axis around which they moved, their Master, their anchor, their chosen.
Their bodies glowed faintly under the crest's power as my essence bound them tighter to me, the sigil blooming purple across their lower abdomens like living fire.
When dawn finally arrived, pale light spilling across the bedchamber, the room was a tangle of satisfied forms. Their breathing was steady, their skin radiant, faint magic pulsing through them.
After long showers and fresh robes, we gathered once more in the dining hall, this time for breakfast. The scent of spiced porridge, bread, and honeyed fruit lingered as everyone slowly regained their energy.
It was Enid, ever unfiltered, who broke the quiet, "So, um... last night I noticed something."
She leaned forward, pointing with her fork, "That pattern on the maids' stomachs. Glowing purple, kind of... intense. What's that about?"
The others turned toward me. Even Wednesday, though she'd already guessed, let her eyebrow lift in silent demand.
I set down my goblet of tea and answered, "That sigil is the mark of House Ashborn. It binds them to me in body, will, and spirit. They are sworn to protect us, to serve faithfully, and to love. It is their sign — and their pride — that they belong to me, and through me, to all of us as a House."
The maids bowed slightly at my words, their eyes glowing faintly with loyalty, their hands resting just above the hidden crests.
Enid's eyes widened, but she grinned. "So it's like... magical marriage tattoos. Kinda cool, actually."
Wednesday only sipped her tea, her expression unreadable but her acceptance clear.
"So long as the order is kept," she said at last, "then I suppose it suits us."
I teased Enid, "Do you want one? I can always brand you too, my little wolf."
Enid thought for a moment before refusing, "Maybe in the future. Wednesday may take you up on that offer."
Wednesday merely gave an eyebrow before returning to her tea.
The women—fox, cat, rabbit, and snake—had spoken softly among themselves in the days that followed, voices barely more than wind in the sakura trees. They cherished the bond the ritual had forged, and some confessed a hope that the essence I'd shared might one day seed a deeper bond: children born of House Ashborn, bearing the lineage we'd begun.
I made it clear, gently that such a thing could not happen without my will — that any child of the house would be by design, deliberate, and under my explicit blessing. I did, however, promised them that in time, I will give each one of them a child.
They accepted that answer with a mixture of disappointment, longing, and contentment; their devotion did not require a promise of offspring to remain whole, only anticipation for the future.
They also enjoyed the happiness that came from being a woman. They loved the care I gave them, and voiced that love in small, intimate ways—touches and whispered compliments, leaning in close, lingering looks and warm gestures that spoke louder than words.
We spent the final days moving our things from the hotel to Ashborn Manor. Gricko's men took care of heavy lifting while a skeleton crew of goblin artisans stowed trunks and arranged rooms with practiced efficiency.
I watched them work—beds set, curtains hung, a corner of the main study already filling with the volumes we'd purchased at Flourish and Blotts.
Wednesday's books were stashed in her private suite; Enid found a sunny spot to line up jars of preserves and sweets; Nitocris claimed a low window ledge where she could sprawl and watch the cliffs.
The week settled into comfort. The days were oddly simple: Wednesday bent over grimoires and notes, studying with a focus that made the quiet near-sacred; Enid bounced between rooms, inventing games with the Anubites and teasing the maids into mock rebellions; Nitocris took long naps in the sunlit reading nook and allowed me to read aloud while she rested on my lap, the corner of her mouth lifting at some private amusement.
The household moved around us with grace, the maids fulfilling every practical need so we could exist in a constant state of ease.
The days at Ashborn Manor unfolded like a dream, each one layering comfort upon comfort until the estate felt less like a new acquisition and more like an extension of their lives.
The maids moved through the halls with quiet symphony—dusting the high shelves of the library with magic where Wednesday had claimed a shaded spot for her studies, tending the sakura gardens that bloomed eternally under their gentle enchantments, and preparing meals that blended the flavors of distant worlds with the hearty staples of wizarding Britain.
Their devotion was a living thing, palpable in the way a fox-woman's tail would brush against my leg as she passed, or how a cat-woman's eyes would linger with a knowing purr when she refilled my goblet.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the terraces in hues of molten gold, I found myself alone in the master suite after a day of overseeing minor ward adjustments with Gricko.
The room was vast, its four-poster bed draped in deep purple silks that matched the Ashborn crest, floor-to-ceiling windows open to the cliffside breeze carrying the faint salt of the ocean.
I had shed my outer robes, lounging in a loose shirt and trousers, when a soft knock echoed at the door.
"Enter," I called, my voice carrying the authority that had become second nature.
The door creaked open, and in stepped a quartet of the maids—representatives from each lineage, their uniforms tailored to accentuate their forms: the fox-woman with her sleek, russet tail swaying hypnotically, her silk tails braided with purple ribbons that matched her low-cut bodice; the cat-woman, lithe and graceful, her ears twitching atop her head as her reflective trims caught the fading light, her skirt hugging her hips; the rabbit-woman, plush and inviting, her gentle curves emphasized by the soft linen apron that barely contained her ample bosom; and the snake-woman, statuesque and poised, her scales glinting along her collarbone, her sash cinched tight around a waist that flared into serpentine elegance.
They entered in unison, their steps synchronized like a ritual dance, eyes lowered demurely but burning with unspoken hunger.
The fox-woman, whom I had come to know as Akira, spoke first, her voice a sultry murmur, "Master, we have prepared the evening's response. May we... attend to you personally tonight? The house hums with your essence, and we ache to strengthen the bond."
I regarded them, feeling the pull of the sigil's magic—a warm thrum in my veins that mirrored the faint glow beginning to pulse beneath their uniforms, just above their navels.
It was an invitation, mutual and electric.
"You may," I replied, rising from the chair to approach them. "Show me your devotion, ladies."
As the door clicked shut, They began undressing, letting their uniforms slip away to uncover alluring lingerie that highlighted their unique charms.
The three fox-women stepped forward first, their tails swaying in rhythm. The first revealed a sheer black lace bodysuit with plunging neckline and thigh-high slits, designed to tempt and ensnare like a succubus's whisper. The second showed off a red satin corset with garter straps and minimal thong, her form radiating corrupting allure. The third uncovered a violet mesh teddy with demonic wing accents, enticing every glance with sinful promise.
Next came the three cat-women, purring softly as they shed their outfits. One displayed a sleek black leather harness bra and cheeky panties, teasing with feline grace. Another revealed a dark blue lace set with tail-friendly cutouts, her movements playful and revealing. The last one bared a silver mesh top and thong, her lithe body unfolding in a seductive, teasing display.
Then the three snake-women uncoiled their sashes with poise. The first exposed a flowing green silk qipao-inspired slip with high slits and subtle embroidery, graceful yet enticing like ancient Chinese courtesans. The second unveiled a jade satin chemise with mandarin collar and side ties, her form elegant and alluring. The third showed a gold-trimmed red hanfu-style babydoll, blending poise with subtle temptation.
Finally, the two rabbit-women approached, their ears twitching shyly. The mature, voluptuous one let her apron fall to reveal a soft white lace bustier and fertile-hipped boyshorts, primed for breeding with plush, inviting curves. The petite one uncovered a pink bunny-eared bra and thong set, her dainty figure ready and eager in a playful, reproductive vibe.
Akira moved first, her fox tails unfurling like fans as she closed the distance, her hands sliding up my chest to unbutton my shirt with deft fingers.
Her lips brushed my collarbone, soft and teasing, while her tails wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.
"We live for this," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin.
Beside her, the cat-woman—Lira—purred low in her throat, her claws lightly grazing my back as she circled behind me, pressing her lithe body against mine.
Her tongue darted out, tracing the line of my neck, feline and insistent, while her hands slipped lower, unfastening my trousers with a playful tug.
"Feel us, Master," she murmured, her ears flattening in submission as she nipped gently at my earlobe.
The rabbit-woman, soft and yielding, knelt before me—her name was Mira, her eyes wide and adoring.
She looked up through thick lashes, her plush lips parting as she took me in hand, her touch gentle yet firm, stroking with a rhythm that built like a heartbeat.
"We are yours to nurture," she breathed, leaning forward to envelop me in the warm, wet heat of her mouth, her tongue swirling with eager devotion.
Her free hand cupped and massaged, her body arching to press her full breasts against my thighs, the linen of her apron straining.
The snake-woman, Ssera, watched with golden eyes that gleamed like polished coins, her movements deliberate as she uncoiled her sash, letting it fall to reveal the smooth scales tracing down her sides.
She slithered closer, her long, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air before pressing against my lips in a deep, possessive kiss. Her hands roamed, scales cool against my heated skin, as she guided me toward the bed.
"Our essences, yours," she hissed softly, her body wrapping around mine with serpentine grace, her hips grinding against me in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
We tumbled onto the silken sheets, a tangle of limbs and tails and scales.
Akira straddled my waist, her tails fanning out as she lowered herself onto me with a gasp, her inner walls clenching tight, slick and welcoming.
She rode with fox-like cunning, hips rolling in deliberate circles, her hands braced on my chest as the sigil on her abdomen flared brighter, pulsing in time with our union.
"Deeper, Master," she moaned, her voice breaking into a yip of pleasure.
Lira joined from the side, her cat-like agility allowing her to position herself astride my face, her thighs quivering as my tongue delved into her folds, lapping at her sweetness while she ground down with purring abandon.
"Yes... claim me," she whimpered, her claws digging lightly into my shoulders, drawing faint lines that healed almost instantly under the magic's influence.
Mira, not to be left out, positioned herself beside Akira, her rabbit ears flopping as she leaned in to kiss and suckle at my neck, her hand reaching down to fondle where Akira and I joined, adding friction that made Akira cry out.
Ssera coiled around us all, her tongue exploring Mira's breasts, suckling at the hardened peaks while her tail teased Lira's entrance, heightening the symphony of gasps and moans.
The air thickened with the scent of arousal—musky and floral, laced with the faint ozone of magic as their sigils glowed in unison, drawing my essence into them, enhancing their vitality.
Akira climaxed first, her body shuddering as she threw her head back, tails thrashing wildly, her release coating me in warmth. Lira followed, her purr turning to a yowl as she bucked against my mouth, flooding my senses.
I flipped positions then, taking Mira on her back, her legs wrapping around me as I thrust deep, her plush body yielding perfectly, breasts bouncing with each powerful stroke.
"Fill me, Master," she begged, her voice needy, and I obliged, pounding into her until she arched in ecstasy, her sigil blazing as she came undone.
Ssera claimed me next, her serpentine form twisting to take me from behind, her scales rubbing erotically against my skin as I gripped her hips, driving into her with forceful rhythm. She hissed in pleasure, her tongue lolling as her body clenched, milking me toward the edge.
It was in this heated frenzy that the door creaked open again.
Wednesday entered first, her dark eyes widening fractionally before narrowing in possessive intrigue. She was clad in a simple black see-through nightgown.
Enid bounded in behind her, cheeks already flushed, her nightgown half-untied in her haste.
Nitocris followed last, her robes slipping from her shoulders to reveal her lithe form.
Wednesday's lips curled into a rare, wicked smile, "Starting without us? How presumptuous."
She shed her slip in one fluid motion, joining the bed with predatory grace, claiming my mouth in a fierce kiss while her hands roamed over Akira's still-trembling body, fingers teasing the fox-woman's sensitive spots to prolong her aftershocks.
Enid laughed breathlessly, diving into the fray by pulling Lira into a playful embrace, their bodies pressing together as Enid's hands explored the cat-woman's curves, eliciting more purrs.
"Room for more?" she teased, before leaning down to take Mira's breast in her mouth, suckling while her free hand reached for me, stroking in tandem with my thrusts into Ssera.
Nitocris approached with measured steps, her presence commanding as she positioned herself beside Ssera, her fingers tracing the snake-woman's scales before dipping lower to join our union, adding pressure that made Ssera gasp and tighten around me.
"Share the essence," Nitocris murmured, her voice like velvet, as she guided my hand to her own core, letting me feel her growing wetness.
The scene devolved—or ascended—into a whirlwind of shared pleasure.
Wednesday straddled my face once Lira relinquished her spot, her thighs clamping down as she rode my tongue with demanding precision, her moans low and guttural.
Enid paired with Mira and Akira, their bodies entwining in a Sapphic tangle of kisses and caresses, tails and ears adding exotic textures.
Nitocris claimed Ssera, the two ancient souls moving in a dance of dominance and submission, their forms glistening as they rubbed against each other, drawing me in to alternate thrusts that built a crescendo.
I moved between them all, my essence flowing freely, the sigils on the maids' bodies flaring brighter with each release, binding them deeper.
Climaxes rippled through the group like waves—Wednesday's sharp cry as she came, Enid's bubbly laughter turning to whimpers, Nitocris' regal composure cracking into a throaty moan, the maids echoing in a chorus of yips, purrs, and hisses.
By the time exhaustion claimed us, the room was a heap of sated bodies, limbs intertwined, breaths syncing in post-coital harmony. The sigils dimmed to a soft glow, the magic settling like a warm blanket.
We slept entwined, the maids curled protectively around us, their devotion reaffirmed in the most intimate of ways.
The following mornings brought no awkwardness—only strengthened bonds, the household running smoother, the air charged with contentment.
All good things, as ever, must yield to the rhythms of duty. The morning we left for King's Cross was gentle but raw. The maids gathered at the parlor doors, hands clasped, eyes shiny.
They had been more than servants; they had been the first heart of House Ashborn in the world.
They pressed small, careful gifts into our hands: a jar of preserved sakura honey, a linen wrapped with embroidered sigils, and an omamori from the fox-women. Tears wet the edges of some of them; their smiles as they bowed and whispered blessings and promises to keep the estate till we returned.
I answered them with gratitude and care, "Keep everything in order inside. Tend to the wards. We will return during the holidays. If there is any unforeseen problems, I'll send for Mumei to inform you all. Until then relax and enjoy yourselves in the house. It is much your home as it is ours."
The maids waved as we left, all of them lingering at the gate until the me and the girls along with Thing were no longer visible to them as we head to Hogsmeade and then to King's Cross Station.