You sit on your couch, the sleek black package from Bunny Bliss Inc. resting on your lap, its gold embossed logo glinting under the dim light of your apartment. A faint memory flickers months ago, in a late night haze, you’d signed up for their custom bunny girl service, a guilty indulgence where you could dictate their every desire. You’d forgotten about it until now. Curiosity prickles as you lift the lid, revealing the contents: a tight blue leotard, brown tights, bunny ears, blue heels, and a featureless white mask with an opening for the mouth. A note slips out, reading, "For our valued beta tester enjoy your new role." Your brow furrows this isn’t what you ordered. You wanted a bunny girl, not this. But the mask draws your gaze, its smooth surface almost hypnotic, whispering promises of something forbidden. Your fingers tremble as you lift it, the cool material sending a shiver down your spine. Just a quick try, you tell yourself, holding the mask to your face to see how it feels. It snaps into place with a soft click, and the world shifts as a voice echoes in your mind: "Directive: Transform. Serve. Please."

Art by Saturnxart