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They were in the broom cupboard, filled only with cleaning supplies and a large orange couch. Tracey's face was beet red, as was Harry's, but not as much as Tracey's.

After a few seconds of tender gazing, Tracey closed her eyes again and tilted her chin up for Harry.

Harry once again placed his lips on Tracey's, but this time, it was more passionate than the first kiss.

They kissed passionately, not caring about anything else. Time may have stood still as their lips met, but the tremor only intensified. Tracey's heart pounded in her chest, and her knees grew weak. She could only focus on how soft he felt in her mouth, how eagerly he assaulted all her senses.

Harry wrapped his arms around Tracey's waist, pulling her close to his body.

Tracey's lips were warm and soft. They slightly parted, allowing Harry's tongue to slip inside.

Their tongues entwined and battled within their closed mouths, fighting fiercely for dominance.

Her whole body tingled, and the sensation of his arms against her while his hands found her juicy ass felt almost forbidden.

His hands immediately delved into her soft, rounded buttocks, exploring them.

Tracey was slightly taken aback and embarrassed by Harry holding and groping her buttocks, but she didn't dislike it.

His hands made her feel so good. Their bodies pressed against the closed door, breathing heavily as their mouths clung to each other and their tongues fought. They could taste their shared breath, feel the pounding of their joined hearts as Harry tried to remove Tracey's clothing.

It was their first kiss, and no words could describe how amazing it was, even though they were both inexperienced and virgins.

Harry began by taking off Tracey's white blouse, unbuttoning it. The blue bra Tracey wore underneath slowly came into view. He removed her blouse and tossed it onto the orange couch.

Then he moved down, unbuttoning her blue skirt, but it didn't fall because Tracey's round butt got in the way. Harry had to pull it down, and only then did it fall to the girl's feet. Tracey was now only in her lingerie, wearing a blue bra and blue panties. She looked so attractive and sexy, and embarrassment was at its peak for Tracey as she helplessly tried to cover her sensitive parts with her hands.

Harry couldn't hold back any longer and also removed his shirt and black pants, now only in his underwear.

He then approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and started kissing her.

Tracey accepted his kiss and wrapped her small hands around his neck.

Tracey's lips were as sweet as honey, and Harry couldn't get enough of her kisses.

Harry felt the warmth of Tracey's lips, feeling himself drinking her saliva eagerly, trying to hold back.

After several minutes of hot, passionate kissing, their lips parted.

"I want to do it..." Harry whispered softly into Tracey's ear, breathing heavily.

Tracey's face turned even redder than before, but she calmed down a bit and nodded, agreeing...

Her response didn't satisfy Harry; he wanted her to say it.

"What do you want? Say it," Harry whispered to her ear again.

"I want to do it with you," Tracey said with a trembling, embarrassed voice.

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Slowly opening his eyes from a deeper sleep than usual, Harry stared at the ceiling. Another day, and he would be coding, solving the same problems, and dealing with the same errors. He lay in bed a bit longer and noticed his morning glory. It was an unusual but positive change compared to being flaccid. He wasn't as upright as yesterday, but firm enough to strain the sheets. Since going to bed last night, he couldn't stop thinking about Daphne. He wondered if she might have touched him by accident. She seemed dazed, but maybe she saw him setting up the tent earlier and wondered if it was true or not. Even though he had dreamt of becoming a male actor, he was haunted by his abnormal size, which was also one of the reasons he had such a bitter history with schools in general. From his experience, teachers usually didn't care about their students' well-being, at least not when you tried to tell them you didn't feel particularly well or that bullies were nearby. In primary school, he stopped taking showers and attending physical education classes, and that continued until the end of Hogwarts because he was so self-conscious.

Harry slid his feet off the bed and ran his fingers through thinning hair. Every day, he noticed more and more hair in his hairbrush. It wouldn't surprise him if he was going bald when the rest of his life was already in chaos, so why not his health and the rest of him? He glanced at his phone on the nightstand and noticed a message in his DMs. Probably another job request. He grabbed his phone and swiped up, focusing on his Instagram inbox. He immediately recognized her face. It was Daphne. "Good morning, I need help with something in my apartment. I think my computer is broken. Do you have time?"

Harry blinked for a moment and felt a warm sensation slowly growing in his chest, flowing through his body. He clicked on her profile, which had thousands of followers, with a group of guys commenting on her posts where she posed in skimpy outfits. It was definitely her. He returned to his inbox and concentrated on the text, realizing he needed to reply. "Sure, when do you need help?". As soon as he sent it, it was already visible. He blinked and realized it was important to her.

"The sooner, the better," she replied, adding a smiley face at the end.

Harry stared at the ceiling, calculating how much time it would take to take a shower, find decent clothes, and then go to her apartment. He had told her he would be there in an hour. She lived only a few blocks away, but he needed to dress decently, and maybe grab a bite.

As he prepared himself, his mind began to wonder and suspect why she had invited him to her apartment in the first place. Perhaps she had some issues and needed help, but the way she phrased it didn't look like a typical request. It was at least strange. Harry found it difficult to think optimistically when everything he dealt with in life was a harsh reality.

Finally, he left his apartment and headed towards her place. Although he lived in southern England, and he had spent a few years living on the French coast, he was quite pale compared to all the others in the area. He didn't live far from the beach, but the presence of young Muggles made him feel like an outsider, as if he clearly didn't belong there. He had always dreamed of being able to afford high-class apartments with a beach view; surely that would make him feel better than his current neighborhood. Having someone to talk to all day improved his mood, even if her invitation seemed somewhat suspicious.

As Harry approached her apartment, he recognized the buildings as student housing. He despised such places because he had to work from home, but then he thought that at least he wouldn't have to spend the whole day in isolation.He took the elevator to her floor, discreetly adjusting his semi-hard penis tucked into his waistband, and knocked on her door.

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Harry Potter rested his elbows on the table, propping up his chin. He stared at the runic screen, frustration building within him. Debugging, he thought, was one of the most exhausting and annoying aspects of working with runic shields. He had been stuck for over an hour, and the incessant ticking of the clock in the background only exacerbated his irritation. Harry meticulously combed through every line of code, ensuring there were no typos, but the solution eluded his grasp.

He read the error message once more, resisting the urge to vent his anger on the tabletop. Instead, he reminded himself to be patient. He had a task to complete, no matter how poorly he felt about it. Clenching his teeth, he dipped his quill back into the ink and delved into the code.

Another hour passed, and he finally managed to crack it. Relief washed over him like a wave, and he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Bloody hell," as he made progress at last.

Stress was taking its toll on Harry. As he entered another block of runic code, he noticed a strand of hair falling from his head and landing on his runic tools. He raised an eyebrow and picked it up, observing its grizzled appearance. A sense of unease washed over him, wondering if it was a sign that everything was falling apart.

After his seventeenth birthday, Harry had dropped out of school, feeling that it had never served him well. Despite his post-war career in runic coding, the profession had taken its toll – loneliness, poor health, and constant stress. It made him question whether it was all worth it. He dreamed of starting his own business and becoming self-employed, but a recent bankruptcy had dashed those hopes. He lived like a recluse during his first startup, only to watch it fail. The second attempt didn't fare any better, leaving him disheartened. Although he earned decently for his age, rising rent and expenses made a comfortable life an elusive dream. A penthouse, a yacht, and models seemed like distant fantasies.

His libido had also waned, along with his addiction to pornography. Back at Hogwarts, a few playwitch magazines had to suffice, with imagination filling in the gaps. Later, he learned that the images in adult wizarding magazines were deliberately left incomplete to always leave something to the imagination. A year after finishing school, a year and a half after defeating Voldemort and breaking the pure-blood hold on magical Britain, the world had opened up to the neglected country. As Muggle Britain shone as one of the world's most advanced nations, wizards abroad hadn't stopped developing in parallel with Muggles. Computers, mobile phones, even magical wireless networks. Obliviate was considered outdated magic; now, its modern version was used to secure electronic memories, so anyone who witnessed an event live on camera considered it a Muggle performance. Magical Britain was offered development, opportunities, and the promise of a much higher standard of living, followed by interest-free loans. Magic was adapting to the modern world. So, not only had the magical internet become popular in households, but the entire bureaucratic system had been electrified, Apparition was banned due to being the most threatening transport to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, and the same fate befell transportation by Floo Network. As a result, porn had suddenly become easily accessible, leaving nothing to the imagination. Harry soon couldn't muster the energy for more than one session a day. It was a mixed blessing, as his porn addiction had once spiraled out of control, but now, at his age, he shouldn't be experiencing such problems. Physically and mentally, Harry felt broken in many ways. Despite his failures, he clung to the thought that he wouldn't give up and wither away. He longed for the day when he could have it all—wealth, women, and power. But relentless setbacks and harsh reality kept hitting him in the face. He wondered if his aspirations were too high and if he should take one step at a time. Yet the thought of spending years in his sorry state was one of his greatest fears, and he saw no other option but to push on.

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Harry Potter, a young man longing to break free from his family and experience life on his own terms, had long dreamed of escaping home. Unfortunately, those dreams were crushed when his mother delivered the news that he would have to live at home and attend an English school with his sisters.

"But I got accepted to Beauxbatons with a full scholarship! All you have to do is sign the release forms, and I can escape Gabrielle and Fleur. Finally, I can have my own life," Harry pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she replied, shaking her head sadly and pushing a stack of financial forms away from her. "You know how difficult these past few years have been with your godfather leaving and the girls so involved with their friends... I need you here, Harry."

"Are you serious?" Harry asked, stunned by the disbelief that engulfed him. Part of him had expected this response, but he had allowed himself to fantasize about leaving it all behind, and now it was slipping away. Bitterness twisted his lips, and anger consumed him. "You've always favored them just because they share your blood, and I don't."

"Harry," she said with pain on her face. "You don't mean that..."

"Don't I?" Harry replied, hating himself but unable to suppress his anger. "Then why am I the one who can't go out on weekends? Why am I always the one cooking while they lock themselves in their rooms? I'm treated like a house elf!"

Her features stiffened, and spots of color appeared on her cheeks. Harry sensed he had gone too far, but his anger continued to surge. Not wanting to endure another lecture about how the girls contributed in their own way, he grabbed the papers and stood up to leave. She reached out as if to stop him, but he snarled angrily and headed to his room.

Harry's stepmother had never been a warm and loving person. She was undeniably beautiful, just like his sisters. In fact, their beauty made it hard to go out in public without attracting attention.

He slammed the door of his bedroom, locking himself in for hours, refusing to come downstairs and make dinner. He hoped this would force his lazy sisters or his mother to fend for themselves, but it didn't. Guilt eventually got the better of him, and after ten o'clock, he came downstairs to make sandwiches. The girls hurried down to grab them.

"Finally!" Fleur exclaimed, taking her meal upstairs.

"Thanks, Harry," Gabrielle said, pulling a chair up to the counter and starting to eat. "Mom told me you got accepted to Beauxbatons. But you don't really want to go to that stuffy school, do you?"

"Of course I do. Anything to get out of here," he replied.

"Are we really that awful?" Gabrielle asked, her big blue eyes softening. "I know it's been tough for you these past three years, but you're almost a man now... And everything will change after that big day."

Harry chuckled bitterly, having heard the same assurances from Gabrielle and his mother for years.

His stepmother had grown up in Eastern Europe and had passed on some peculiar ideas to her daughters.

"You still haven't told me what you want for your birthday," she said.

"Don't bother," Harry said, grabbing a bottle of water and heading towards the stairs.

"How about tickets to the game on Friday night?" she teased.

"Don't mess with me," Harry snapped, his voice choked, as Gabrielle held up four long tickets with the team logo in the middle. "Center court," Gabrielle said, and her smile widened as she saw Harry's reaction.

"Wow, Krum is playing tonight!"

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Harry Potter gazed out at the rolling hills of Scotland near Hogwarts. The mountain air was brisk, and this place, he believed, must be one of the most beautiful spots he had ever seen. It had been a few weeks since he received the shocking news of his grandfather Charlus' passing, who left him a small estate in this remote land. Harry wasn't particularly close to the old man and had no idea that Charlus owned property in England.

Yet here he was, driving into a small mountain town in England, ready to take over a business he knew absolutely nothing about. Approaching his thirtieth birthday, his life hadn't unfolded as he had expected. He found himself stuck in a dead-end job, struggling to make ends meet and perpetually lonely—his twenties were nothing like he had envisioned. When he received the news, he thought, "Screw it. Let's move back to England and see what happens. I've got nothing to lose."

As he pulled up to the traditional magical inn, Harry began to question the wisdom of his decision. He double-checked the address, and it was definitely the right place. But it looked like a complete dump. Paint was peeling, windows were boarded up, and wild weeds grew around the entrance. It looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic horror film.

"This place is going to need a ton of work," Harry muttered to himself. "What have you gotten yourself into, Harry?" He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "I need a damn drink. Then I can start worrying about what the hell I've gotten myself into."

Harry followed the winding, picturesque road into town. When he parked his car, the first thing he noticed was the serenity of this place. There were hardly any cars on the streets, as if English wizards were still living in the medieval era, and no one was rushing to work. It was quiet, peaceful, and Harry couldn't help but appreciate it.

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Emi stood before two books—one titled "Succubus Main Guide" and the other "Incubus Main Guide."

An incubus was the male version of a succubus. They were different races, but they still originated from the same roots.

Emi sat down and started reading, and a vast amount of information slowly began to enter Harry's mind. Almost all the questions he had about succubi, incubi, their powers, and how it all worked were answered.

It happened quickly, and the memory ended. Harry felt as if he had read all the information in the books.

Now that his questions were answered, he knew everything he needed to know, from the nature of succubi and incubi as beings to how to control and utilize their powers. "Thanks, I feel so knowledgeable now," Harry said with a smile on his face, communicating telepathically with Emi. He had learned how to use her powers. Emi had been using them to communicate with him all this time, but since he didn't know how to use them, he had to talk to her verbally. Harry also discovered all the abilities he could use at the moment and how to activate them. There weren't many, and most of them served sexual purposes.

[Pleasure Touch] (Active)

Description: Touching a person with your hands intensifies their pleasure, making them experience twice as much pleasure as usual when in contact with you.

[Incubus Aura] (Active)

Description: Upon activation, creates a three-meter aura around you that arouses and sexually attracts any woman in proximity.

[Orgasm Master] (Active)

Description: You can bring your partner to orgasm at any given moment and delay their climax.

[Sterile Semen] (Active)

Description: Renders your sperm infertile, making it unable to impregnate a woman.

[Ejaculation Volume] (Passive (24/7))

Description: Semen volume increases along with thickness.

[Male Scent] (Active)

Description: Your penis emits a strong masculine scent that can drive women crazy for your member.

[STD Protection] (Passive (24/7))

Description: Provides protection against sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) during intercourse without the need for condoms.

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The homemaker was pretty enough if not in the glamor model type that Harry was attracted to. And she deserved it, he reminded himself, straightening up.

Slowly, the woman—her name was Namidia? Narcissa? He couldn't keep up—began to come out of her trance. She was smiling. Happy. She would never again allow any amount of alcohol or sleeping with someone to hurt her. He had really done a favor to the poor girl. More than ever, she was aware and fully accepted her place. Harry kissed her on the head and left, walking the rest of the way to his own home. Padma's home. Soon it would be his again. He would make her beg to give him everything. He would even be nice about it. She wouldn't have to suffer like he did.

Harry felt the charm of power moving away from him. He didn't care. Using and abusing it was too much fun. Everything he did, he could undo. He had proven it with the bank manager, with the barista, and now with the Author. It was easy to take, easy to give back.

He still wondered about the white room. What would be the combination—his new watch and the mind-numbing white room?

The white room was an experiment he created when he aspired to be a mind healer. The idea was to remove all ideas of consciousness, all ideas of the subconscious, and leave only the pale fire of the soul. Perhaps it was dangerous, but it was worth exploring. Previously, when he had tried it, his patients would leave almost like zombies. It wasn't until hours later that they returned to normal.

But in this state, in this perfect state of unconsciousness, if he combined it with the powers of the watch, how deeply could he delve into the primal state of the human mind? What would be waiting there? What could he discover? What could he control?

He knocked, but the doors pushed forward, already open. Ready for his arrival.

Padma sat inside. It was incredibly similar to the scene two days ago, but there were a few differences.

She sat in the place he had occupied this time, opposite to where she had been before. While that day she had been dressed in black, as if going to a funeral, she now wore a crimson dress - shorter than the previous one, with a more flirtatious cut around her much-talented chest. Her legs were no longer bare but adorned with smoky stockings, and high, sexy heels adorned her feet.

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He gasped, feeling a month of his life leaving his body – a month that would never be his again. It was chilling, like a thousand atomic missiles.

"I can't go on with this," Harry managed to say.

Bent-over Fleur checked on him. "Harry? Everything okay?"

"Sure," Harry replied, breathless. "Sorry, I just..." Then he saw the look in her eyes. Wet. Warm. Pleading. Needy.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. "I need to take care of you," she whispered in his ear. "I need it right now."

They forgot about the groceries in the aisle.

SHE ACTUALLY LIVED nearby, and there were no one-way streets and very long lights to contend with, unlike his congested neighborhood. Nine and a half minutes later, Harry was at Fleur's house, on her deep red leather couch, with Fleur on his lap. Her living room was large and spacious, hidden behind two large walnut doors that she closed without ceremony. Beneath them lay a high-pile carpet the size of a swimming pool, soft and blue.

Her ass pressed into Harry's crotch, and his swollen cock pushed against his pants, eager to meet her.

"I've never felt anything like this before," Fleur whispered. Every word was a caress to Harry's ear and cheek, and her plush lips glided across his skin. "I feel like my soul is on fire, I need you so, so much..."

With every phrase, she interrupted her words with hot, easy movements grinding her perfect round ass on his throbbing cock. Her cheerleader work had perfected her abdominal muscle control over years of training.

Harry tried to keep up, but he was mostly just astonished. Every few seconds, he leaned in to kiss her hungrily or fondled her impressive breasts, but it was hard to maintain because she was so engrossed in it. Every touch, kiss, and caress made her tremble with what seemed like a lifetime of desire and abandonment. The look in her eyes was almost insane with desire; the Death Stone had really done a number on her.

"You're so damn hot," she moaned. "I can't believe how sexy you are..."

Her lips moved up and down Harry's neck, and eventually, her hands reached for his pants. She seemed somewhat surprised by his restraint and lack of initiative.

It wasn't a lack of desire, Harry wanted to tell her. He just had never been in such a situation before. He had no experience—zero, zip. In other words, he was a virgin about to lose his virginity to the hottest woman he had ever met. She was the woman he had fantasized about his whole life, the one who consumed his thoughts, the subject of countless hours of self-indulgence in the darkened apartment.

But when she grabbed his cock through his pants, his throbbing, needy, aching shaft and head, he felt the overwhelming need for climax almost consume him. He couldn't believe it. He was ashamed to admit it, but he was so aroused, so overwhelmed with desire that he was about to make himself come in his pants. Damn!

"I'd like to last as long as I want," Harry said, barely audibly. He hoped the sound waves wouldn't reach the stone in his pocket, as he certainly didn't want Fleur to hear it. "To be as hard as I want, whenever I want."

After a moment, the stone lit up again, indicating it was ready to accept the price. But Harry couldn't give away more of his life. It was too much, too hard. And he certainly wasn't going to take anything from Fleur.

So, it had to be his soul. How bad could it be to lose a piece of your soul? Almost as soon as he thought it, he felt it being ripped away, as if some spectral eyelash had snapped, breaking and tearing it from him. It hurt, but oddly, he felt better. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time.

The guilt about breaking up her marriage was gone, as were the mixed feelings about tampering with her mind. It was the right thing to do. Fleur wanted him. Sure, he made her want him, but who cared? If she wasn't meant to be with him, then who was? Sure, she had a husband, but now she was going to have a real man, right? It was exactly what she needed.

Besides, her husband was a stupid jerk, fooling around with that goddess when he obviously would have been loved if he knew how to treat her right.

His cock swelled beneath her, fully under his control. With newfound confidence, he lifted her and threw her on the couch, where she giggled and squealed in anticipation. He dropped his pants, and his cock sprang free. Fleur watched him with open delight and wet lips, moaning, and her fingers danced in the air, gesturing for more. But was it his imagination, or did he detect a hint of disappointment in her eyes?

He understood her point of view. She had desired him so much, fantasized about the man of her dreams for so long, and then she saw his soldier standing at attention—there was nothing to be ashamed of, it fit perfectly with the average, but unremarkable, attention she deserved, right?

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When it came to Harry himself, he never really thought he would go through all of this – wishes, changes, darkness. But fate had other plans when he laid eyes on the most enchanting woman he had ever seen in person at the grocery store – Fleur Weasley.

Fleur was tall, incredibly athletic, and slightly older than Harry, approaching her thirties. Her face had a deliberately polished look, much like women working in aesthetic-related fields. Her silhouette resembled that of a dancer, slender, narrow, and graceful, but Harry knew she was a professional cheerleader in a Quidditch team. Her hair cascaded in long, shimmering platinum waves, and her posture was impeccable, the result of years of slow, painstaking training to sculpt her muscles to perfection for public display. Her waist was the smallest Harry had ever seen on a woman in real life, maybe even in pictures. She was dressed in tight black yoga pants adorned with shiny silver stripes, a tied white shirt emphasizing her incredible abs and beautiful bust, and a short leather jacket that spectacularly accentuated her curves. In high, delicate heels, she literally stood head and shoulders above other women in the store, and her beauty and wealth made her a metaphorical giant.

Harry had just arrived at the store after meeting a strange, masked stranger. Thoughts of an empty fridge at home prompted him to fill his stomach before making any serious decisions about altering reality with the Death Stone. Did Harry contemplate Fleur Weasley as he headed back home? After all, the stranger had promised him that all his wishes, no matter how likely or unlikely, were his to enjoy.

Yes, Harry did indeed think about the woman who had been the object of his obsession and infatuation throughout his adult life. He had meticulously organized a catalog of thousands of her photos and could sketch her strikingly beautiful face from memory, although he would never capture her true magnificence.

But in reality, being with her because of wishes somehow felt cheap, his adult brain told him. When fantasy becomes reality, it often turns into a nightmare. How many women fantasize about being with horrible, toxic, domineering men? They would rather have a heart attack than fulfill those fantasies – that's why they remain fantasies.

Harry began to consider that perhaps it would be better if he wished for a reasonable stock portfolio or a well-paying career built on mastery of skills, that sort of thing. Of course, this very adult, rational decision-making process fell apart at the sight of the first beautiful woman he saw, the object of years of obsessive desire.

Can he be blamed for it? How often can one encounter a truly beautiful woman? Not just an attractive woman – no offense to them, there are plenty of those. But this woman – she wasn't just attractive; she was beautiful. There's a difference; that's why sculptors spend years trying to capture aesthetic perfection and end up with something abstract rather than exact. True beauty is ethereal, fleeting. It's difficult, if not impossible, to quantify. But you can see it in the way a truly wonderful woman turns her head, adjusts her blouse, or reaches for a box of pasta...

Harry realized he was staring at Fleur, just as he had been doing for years in her photos. She put down the box of pasta and grabbed another. After a moment, she noticed him gazing, and her reaction was nonchalant; she was used to it, he was sure.

Perhaps it was precisely this lack of a reaction that filled Harry with the greatest desire to act. She wasn't repulsed, frightened, or intrigued. He was nothing to her, less than a threat, even a curiosity. She didn't respect the desire that dwelled within him, the longing that had filled him for years at the sight of her incredible figure. "I wish she would flirt with me," Harry said softly, clutching the small, black stone tightly in his hand. It was the size and shape of four quarters stacked on top of each other, smooth and strangely cold – until suddenly it wasn't. It became hot in his hand, almost scalding, like a shower that was pleasantly almost too warm.

But nothing happened. She continued on, her magnificent form swaying from side to side.

Every wish has its price, and you have to specify it. That's what the stranger had told Harry. Your soul, your life, or the soul or life of others. It worked in pieces, she explained. The bigger the wish, the bigger the piece.

And, well, here was the peculiar part.

With the stone in hand, Harry Potter could somehow sense the size of the piece it would take. It wasn't large – a fraction of a fraction of a fraction. Arousing a woman enough to make her flirt didn't seem like too great a challenge for a stone that could change reality.

Harry had no intention of sacrificing any part of his soul, and certainly didn't want to take others' lives. So, only one choice remained. And it seemed to be just a few weeks.

"My life," Harry said. "I'll pay the price..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. He felt something leave him, a distant emptiness that vanished into the shadows on the wings of the breeze, something only he could feel.

It was a mistake, Harry immediately realized. It was foolish, inappropriate. What was he thinking? Just so a pretty woman would notice him.

Then Fleur stopped, turned, and smiled at him.

It was the sexiest smile he had ever seen. Aware, inviting, and filled with desire. Totally worth it.

They introduced themselves and engaged in a short conversation. Harry was wrong all along. From a distance, she wasn't beautiful; she was flawless. Up close, she was even hotter than he had imagined after years of staring at her high-resolution photos. And now she was smiling at him, touching his hand and arm, playing with her hair.

"It's so funny that we bumped into each other right here," she laughed, and her voice was lightly dusted with the beauty of her French homeland. "I can't believe we're almost neighbors!"

It was highly likely that people living nearby would shop at the same grocery store, but Harry didn't want to spoil her mood. Perhaps – just perhaps – he had decided to live in the area, hoping for a chance encounter where he would see her in person.

Maybe.

It might sound like he was some sort of crazy stalker, and maybe he was. But before gaining the ability to wish his way around the planet, he didn't plan to escalate matters beyond living near her (which sounded wrong when put that way).

A conversation with her would almost certainly shatter this fantasy. She was the wife of a Quidditch star (even if he was an adulterous jerk), and Harry was a pudgy rune researcher.

Why would he ever want to see such disdain on her face if he tried to talk to her? He had witnessed how she could mock other cheerleaders on her team or men at loud parties whom she found uninteresting. He would do anything to avoid her looking at him that way. It would be heart-wrenching, undoing years of study, attention, and affection.

Besides, they weren't neighbors. She lived in the most exclusive part of the magical neighborhood. Harry lived one street over, in a run-down apartment complex surrounded by people who lived in fear that the wealthy residents would decide they didn't want inexpensive housing nearby, leading to evictions and the demolition of the complex. It had happened before – poverty didn't pay off in this city.

Her wealth was evident – a diamond bracelet on her elegant, slender wrists, pearl earrings and rings adorning most of her fingers. She wore designer yoga leggings from some ultra-luxury boutique in New York, and her leather jacket seemed to cost more than six months' worth of Harry's income as a reasonably employed curse breaker.

"What do you do?" Harry asked, trying to sound suave. It seemed like a cool and appropriate thing to ask an attractive woman, right? What they do for a living? Harry wanted to know.

"Oh, I'm a cheerleader," she smiled, once again grabbing Harry Potter's biceps before giggling. "Well, a coach for athletes? I'm a coach for the Queens. Have you heard of them?" Harry struggled to hold back his laughter and settled for a barely controlled chuckle.

Damn, did Harry know the Queens? He had followed Fleur's entire career since she turned eighteen.

Hell, he probably would have known about them even if he weren't pathetically fixated on Fleur. The only thing the stupid magical society invested in was their Quidditch team, and they poured all their money into it, as evidenced by Fleur's outfit.

They named their cheerleader team the Queens, probably because someone thought it was super clever. Each of the Queens was insanely hot, and every few months, one of them would get into trouble for causing too many fights at the local nightclub. The latest troublemaker was their newest recruit, Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle.

"Oh, wow," Harry said, unable to tear his gaze away from her undulating, perfect breasts encased in a tight bra. He tried to think of what a cool character in a movie might say. "I thought you had to be... you know, older to be a coach."

She smiled and playfully nudged his arm. "Flatterer." It was awkward, obvious flattery, but also quite sincere. If Harry didn't know better, he wouldn't guess that Fleur could be a maximum of twenty-nine years old. Maybe even twenty-five. Her skin was radiant, flawless, seemingly devoid of pores. Harry felt embarrassingly hard, his erection pressing against his jeans, attempting to join the conversation.

"Listen," Harry said, taking a risk. It was the bravest thing he had ever done, and he commuted to work every day in a forty-year-old car on a four-lane highway.

"You know, I'm the most attractive guy you've ever seen, right?"

She shivered slightly, and Harry stood at full attention. He couldn't believe he had made such a perfect creature moan in that way.

Her voice lost its flirtatious facade and became very low. Her eyes were lowered. "...yes. Yes."

"What do you want to do about it?"

She bit her lip, those plump, soft lips that Harry wanted to sink into. "So many things, Harry. But..."

"But what?" Harry asked, leaning in, wanting to hear her thoughts.

She lifted her left hand, showing several rings adorning her fingers. Her fingers were long, soft, and hypnotically delicate. One of them was her wedding ring, but Harry honestly couldn't tell. All of them were ice. He knew her husband was obscenely wealthy thanks to his Quidditch contract.

Harry hoped, perhaps foolishly, that his attractiveness would sway her loyalty to her marriage. Honestly, it was admirable that it hadn't happened yet, especially considering her cheating husband. Her unwavering principles in the face of magical debauchery made him desire her even more.

He longed for her principled lips wrapped around his cock, her unwavering loyalty to someone new. "Right," Harry said. 

"Of course."

"But," she continued, catching her breath, "it means... I don't know how to put it." Her hands slid over his, intensifying the desire that engulfed him. She drew his hand to her body. "I really wouldn't want to worry about that right now."

"I wouldn't either," Harry said, and his words slipped out without much thought. Damn.

And there it was again in his mind – the sense of different prices, the amount each would take. It wasn't entirely visual; it was hard to explain. You know how when you pick up a can of soda once, you know how heavy it will be in your hand every time? It was like that.

"My life," Harry thought. "I'll pay..."

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[bellveela]

On cue, the crowd erupted in wild cheers for Daphne. For her part, she seemed to be doing her best to appear pleasantly overwhelmed, although, of course, Harry knew she had been expecting this. Narcissa held out a crown and flowers for the young enchantress to take—Daphne did, pushing Narcissa aside haughtily once she had the items in hand. She placed the crown atop her perfectly styled hair, where it sat as though it had always belonged.

So engrossed in her newfound status, she didn't even notice that the king of the ball hadn't been announced yet.

With a smile, Harry joined her on stage. He paused for a moment to check his manuscript - damn.

His manuscript was only half-charged after today's work.

Well, in earlier times, Harry would've taken this as a sign to give up. But now, brimming with confidence, he only knew it meant he'd have to work a bit harder. That didn't bother him in the least.

As he stepped onto the stage, Daphne cast him a dubious glance, arching a perfect eyebrow. "What are you doing here, loser?" A collective gasp echoed from the crowd.

"He's the king of the ball," Narcissa chimed in, "He's our king now. And he's your king, too."

Daphne looked at Narcissa incredulously. "Are you sure about that?"

"It was a unanimous decision," she responded firmly. "He chose, and we all agreed."

Harry approached, holding his manuscript. Glimmers of comprehension danced across Daphne's face, as if she somehow sensed what was transpiring. Maybe she saw the sea of blank faces in the crowd, all eagerly waiting for Harry's every move and word. Or perhaps she detected the fervor radiating from Narcissa. He had no idea how much zeal a half-charge would provide her. Would it put her to sleep for half the time? Would she be only half as entranced?

He realized it didn’t matter. He had to take the risk.

"Forget it!" Daphne raised her hands, throwing the flowers on the ground and advancing towards Harry. "Do me a favor, darling, and get lost. Alright? Otherwise, I'll never let you fantasize about me again. You need to leave the stage because, you know, I want to go back and dance with my date. You know... the real king of the ball." She cast a mocking gaze at the manuscript in his hand. "If you think for a second that whatever's in your book will convince me that you don't owe me..." she trailed off. Zap.

Daphne's eyes widened, filling with runes. But not entirely - behind them, he could still see the vivid green of her irises. It was as if bright, swirling green runes had engulfed her vision. Slowly, methodically, her words dwindled to nothing, leaving only heated moans.

He pulled her into his embrace, savoring the feel of her soft, flawless skin.

"You love me more than anything."

She echoed obediently, "I love you more than anything."

"You worship me."

He smiled, "I worship you."

"You'll do anything for me." "I will do everything for you."

"I am your possession."

"You own me."

Harry didn't miss the way this induction mirrored what she had tried to do to him not long ago. He gripped her hair a bit tighter. "I am your prom king." "You are my prom king."

Continue reading this chapter

[bellveela]

Rose wanted nothing more than to give Harry the satisfaction of waiting for him in her own home, as if she were his secretary or some terribly demeaning, objectifying thing.

Harry was no mystery to Rose. Not at all. No man was. They were all brutes, solely focused on sex and hurting, organizing senseless pissing contests, and engaging in lengthy philosophical debates about the size of their members. They were her assistants in every sense except that somehow, they had smartened up enough to know they needed all the money and power in the world to continue their stupid pissing contests and discussions about genitals.

She pushed that thought aside. Rose usually picked up random old portmanteaus during storms, but it wasn't urgent now.

Because she didn't want to give Harry the luxury of waiting for her, she made a list of things she suddenly needed from the grocery store at 1:45 PM, even though she was supposed to meet Harry at 2:00 PM. This should show him.

Of course, the grocery store was also full of pigs. It always was. Rose wasn't even dressed to attract their swine-like attention, but it didn't matter. She knew all too well that she was too attractive to be ignored by their hellish stares. She wore tight jeans and tall suede boots, along with a snug flannel shirt to combat the pervasive cold. And she wore it all for herself, not for them—even if the jeans made her rear end look fantastic, and even if the snugness of the flannel around her perky young breasts made Fleur drool all day.

Rose and Fleur mainly worked from home. They worked at the local charity center twice a week, and while they were on the payroll and earned a few extra gallions each month, the real reason they did this work was to give back to the community. They had made it their mission to reinvest any profits they earned from this place back into the community—supporting small local businesses, making donations to charitable causes in city magazines and newspapers, and doing weekend shopping at the markets.

Returning home nearly forty-five minutes past the scheduled time with Harry, she had a smile on her face. This would show Harry that he tried to take her somewhere just because he asked.

But inside, there was no one to be found. Rose put down her bags, slightly surprised. “Had Harry already left?”

The faucets in the main bathroom suddenly turned on. Fleur emerged from the master bedroom, drying her luscious lips. Her face brightened with a smile. "Hi, honey!"

Continue reading this chapter

[bellveela]

His eyes opened, and the first thing he registered was the heavenly feeling embracing the length of his penis. His initial thought was that his mom had awakened, aroused and risen to its morning glory. Then he felt the soft warmth at his side and moaned as he realized who it must be.

"Daphne," he moaned, sensing his tester move in her sleep.

"Mhmm," she moaned around the shaft of his penis.

With a wet sound, she slid off him and, pulling back the covers, smiled at him. "Good morning, darling... I thought I'd come for breakfast while everyone else is still asleep."

"Daphne?" his sleepy mom's voice spoke up as she lifted her head.

"Good morning, Miss Black," the girl murmured before clamping her mouth back onto the head of his penis.

A single glance woke up his mom, and she stared at him with intense eyes as the girl sucked and licked his penis with deliberate slowness. Teasing every centimeter with her fingers and tongue, she watched his momer. After a few minutes, he placed his fingers on the back of her neck and gently pushed her down. Her eyes turned to him, desire mixed with embarrassment visible in her expression as she slid off the bed. Daphne made way for the mother, not saying a word, just gazing at him with eyes full of admiration. Her hand wrapped around the base, keeping him upright so she could lick and suck, and without hesitation, his mom's hand slid onto the girl's hand, and her lips pressed against the side of the large head.

He watched as the woman and the girl locked eyes, exchanging gentle kisses on either side of his penis. Occasionally, his erection pulsed, momentarily breaking the connection between them but intensifying when they reconnected. Until their mouths met the head of his penis, he felt his mom tremble.

"Kiss her," he commanded.

His mom looked at him, obediently nodding, and turned to Daphne with a fluttering chest. The girl didn't wait for another chance and pressed herself against the mom's lips. He saw Daphne's pink tongue slipping between her thick lips, and the faint sound of pleasure he heard from his mom nearly sent his sperm onto their faces. Their fingers gripping the base of his penis felt the surge of blood, and he saw their lips curling at the corners, but neither of them broke the kiss. They simply shifted downward, embracing his penis, their tongues and mouths passionately pleasuring him as the passion between them grew.

"Finish what you were doing," he growled, unable to bear another moment of sweet torture.

The sight of trembling thighs and ample breasts as Daphne's talented tongue delved into her dripping sex was almost as hot as the sucking breath she let out, causing her cheeks to hollow around Harry's penis. The mom's eyelids fluttered open, and he saw her pupils dilate as hungry gasps emanated from her dripping pussy.

Clamping her mouth around Harry's penis, she sucked hard, but her attention drifted when his hands reached down to cup and massage her breasts. As Daphne slid her hand up and her fingers teased the mom's two holes, he convulsed, his back arched, and his hands gripped the bedsheets as she came hard. "YESSSSS!"

Her cry of pleasure echoed through the room as her body slumped back onto the sheets, limp and lifeless. Harry's penis still throbbed, and Daphne gazed at him greedily, licking her lips as she crawled up the mom's body. But Harry had other ideas. He turned her over, pulled her to the edge of the bed, and hoisted her slender legs onto his shoulders.

With Daphne's petite body stretched out before him, he entered her. She was so wet that he penetrated her pussy with a single thrust. Her eyes widened, and a "oof!" escaped her throat, but moments later, her eyes crossed, and a look of sleepy exhaustion settled on her face as Harry fucked her with gentle, shallow thrusts.

"You two look beautiful together," the mom murmured, rolling beside Daphne.

"This is... so... good... I'm... I... Kiss me!" The mom leaned over the petite minx, their mouths meeting as Daphne's pussy clenched around Harry's penis, drenching him with moisture. Harry didn't stop fucking her, and Daphne's orgasms rolled into one another as the mom kissed her all over her body. Continue reading this chapter

[bellveela]

He didn't even have time to examine the contradictoriness of that thought before his eyes snapped open and his worst fears—whatever they were—were fully realized.

Fleur was dressed in a soft silk robe and lingerie, the robe split in a way to showcase her dynamic figure and stellar bust. Long waves of hair cascaded to one side, styled as if she were going to a gala to celebrate her beauty. Herbreasts jutted out towards him, the neckline adorned with an array of jewels—just like her hands, wrists, and ears.

Shimmering and sparkling everywhere. She looked like a dream; he had trouble keeping himself together just looking at her.

It was something different from Narcissa, Bellatrix, Luna, Padma, or any other woman parading around the city—it was goddess-like. She was worthy of his attention, and by God, she had it. His cock plunged into her depths, and she began stroking him deliberately and obediently right away.

At her feet lay Gabrielle, straightening up in a child's yoga pose. Her slender, magnificent body on display solely for Harry. She was dressed in a version of her older sister's attire—heels slightly lower but the dress even more exquisite. Lower neckline, higher hem.

"We were longing for you all day, though, of course, that's nothing new. But when you didn't come home last night, I was so worried you wouldn't be fraternizing with whom you desire."

"Yes, well, that's understandable—what?"

"There were so many girls here yesterday that I was desperate for you to fuck. I cultivated such a pristine arrangement of virgins and vixens for you, each one specially chosen for—"

"Why would you do that? Why would you orchestrate a harem for me?"

"You didn't intend to collect them all. You said it would be too much work. You told me to do it. But honestly, I rather enjoyed it. Each one was prettier than the last, although, of course, none were as beautiful as me." "I believe that."

She smiled cunningly. "That's better. It's more like the reception I'd expect from my beloved caretaker husband when he hears about his assembled harem. I sent them all home. We didn't know where you went. Will you not leave us a message next time? Narcissa is just too thrilled to be obedient to you. I had to hear from Hermione that you were behaving oddly. Are you still behaving oddly?" Gabrielle licked his feet. God help him, he might have to kick his wife's sister in the face.

"I don't mind it, as you see fit. Of course not, my love. I love the girls you found for me. I just hate seeing them disappointed when they can't touch you. Fuck you. Stroke you."

She emphasized the point, quickening her own thrusts on his cock.

Harry, his mind suddenly back on track, yelled and pushed her away, holding the totem as if it were some kind of weapon.

"I have to end this," he said. "It's over."

"Over?" Fleur raised an eyebrow.

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[bellveela]

Harry struggled in vain to find a back way through the suburban maze that surrounded his house, each time encountering carefully orchestrated women eagerly awaiting him. They were meticulously arranged, smiling, shouting his name, and often begging to pleasure him orally.

Each woman embodied a sexual fantasy with angelic faces, long legs, tight bodies, and breathtakingly ample bosoms that defied reason. They were dressed like insatiable dynamos.

On one street, every woman was in lingerie, their stockings shimmering in the sunlight. On another, each woman was a cheerleader, waving pom poms and jumping up and down to cheer his arrival. Yet another street was populated solely by tall, dark-haired women in evening gowns with seductive glances from beneath heavily veiled eyes. Through the large windows of each house, he could see freshly prepared dinners awaiting him. They sucked him, caressed him, rode him, making him feel like a king.

On a street that seemed to be populated by barely legal teenagers dressed in fashionable miniskirts and t-shirts, some of them held hastily written signs: "Teach me, please!" "Let me help teach Gabrielle how to suck you!" God, these women really knew how to please him. Precum stained his pants. He looked like he had been through a flood.

Finally, he found a side path leading to an abandoned lot. It didn't lead anywhere, but he could use it to abandon his car and continue on foot.

Using the charm "Point Me," he ventured through the woods until he reached a semi-developed neighborhood. He wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed like he was just a few miles away from his own district. Harry had never been too subtle, but with the waves of eager women filling the streets, it wasn't that difficult. He simply had to listen for sounds of begging, commotion, desire, and pain, and steer away from them.

He approached a nearby fence, hiding behind a small oak tree while a gaggle of bimbo nurses moaned and clicked, squeezing their heavy, breastfeeding breasts. The scent was almost unbearably arousing. They were just around the corner, and if he stepped out now, they would surely see him. He had to wait.

Close by was another fence. When those bimbos moved on, he would hop over it and make his way from one backyard to another. He had read about someone doing this in a story once.

He wondered if, with all this new construction, these houses would ever be finished. When they started this development, Fleur originally wanted to buy one of these houses, which was much more expensive and luxurious than their own. He was convinced of it every time he rode with her and she asked to "just drive by and take a look." He either denied her or drove past, pretending not to hear, or the one or two times he actually managed to persuade her to take a look, it was just terrible. Whining and complaining the whole time.

Truth be told, Harry had always been a terrible father and an even worse husband. He resented Fleur for reminding him of the money he couldn't earn because he was too busy drinking. He especially resented her desire for a new home because it meant she was looking towards the future, seeking a way to improve their family, while he only wanted to drown himself in alcohol and forget about the war. And he couldn't respect her when she could never see that.

Whatever changed when the totem was destroyed, he hoped he could maintain this resolute, passionate lack of need to drown himself in alcohol every waking second. It had been nearly two days since he needed to get drunk, and he felt amazing.

Finally, the group of bimbos on the corner moved on, and he watched them walk for a moment, indulging himself, before continuing on and according to plan, entering and crossing the fence.

As he walked through the yards, occasionally using the rare street, hopping over fences and gates, he kept his mind off the insatiable urge that his cock sent to his brain every time he heard the distant recitation of transformed beauty professing their love for him.

Engaging in this kind of physical work was a significant change for him. He had never been outright overweight, but he certainly wasn't in shape. The changes experienced—or enjoyed—by the girls seemed to have transferred to him in some way, and he still couldn't imagine why. Becoming some kind of accidental vampire of masculinity was the best explanation he could come up with.

He was stronger now than ever before—strong enough to kick a door off its hinges without using magic or toss a young, finger-sucked beauty without breaking a sweat. And his endurance and stamina seemed astronomically high as well, having energy to spare even after spending most of the last two days in a voracious orgy fueled by angel porn. Working on his body cleared his head, especially now that he wasn't ogling the street full of living fantasies begging to be impregnated and enslaved.

The women had changed due to the tattoo. He surmised they were taken to the Auror station for some "interrogation," using their authority to coerce innocent women into compliance. Then they were tattooed, likely against their will, turning them into finger-sucked slaves for Harry's enjoyment or lack thereof, depending on his satisfaction.

It was all rather fucked up, to say the least.

But how had all this changed him? Was it a curse, and if so, what powered it? Something transferred to him from holding the totem? Why would it affect all men? Were they all tattooed, and he just couldn't see it?

Continue reading this chapter

[bellveela]

Almost immediately, Luna turned to Padma. "You stupid bitch. There's another one for me. Can you imagine how quickly I'll get pregnant compared to you?"

Harry knew he had to retrieve the artifact and reverse its effects, and if that didn't work, destroy it completely. It was the right thing to do. He couldn't just go on living the rest of his life, sexually ruining every woman he encountered. That was wrong. Without Padma's command, she lowered herself to Luna's pussy and obediently began licking the cum from her pussy. The way she was positioned exposed her entire ass, and Harry groaned. Was this wrong?

He was hard again. Padma's ass was high in the air, her pussy wet, pulsating, and exposed. He could fuck her right into Luna's pussy while Luna continued all those hot, dirty talks about his daughter. He sat down, his cock pointing straight ahead, urging him towards the perfectly formed entrance of Padma's slippery pussy.

He had to do the right thing. And he did. Right after their last fuck.

"Luna," he said. "What were you saying about my daughter?"

THREE TIMES LATER, Harry drove back to the city alone, in a partially wrecked car that he almost destroyed when he first took Luna.

He had a long inner debate about how to deal with leaving. Would he be able to keep his composure if he couldn't fuck Luna or Padma at will? The novelty of all the newly available pussies in town unsettled him. He wasn't bored with the girls in the cottage, but at least he knew them already. Fucking them and basically continuing his mission seemed easier than getting distracted by some new hot thing.

But he was serious—or as serious as he could be—when he told himself he would do the right thing. And if he managed to find the totem and reverse the effects of that spell, ceremony, or whatever it was, he didn't want to be anywhere near Luna, especially Padma.

Luna took the news of his absence better than Padma. He was certain she would follow him, and he didn't feel good about forbidding her and forcing her to stay in the cottage. What if he didn't come back, and she stayed there and starved? But she smiled and said she lived to obey his will, and she knew he would soon bring her home to Gabrielle.

Meanwhile, Padma fell to the ground, begging him to stay.

Continue reading this chapter

[bellveela]

Luna slapped her again, leaving a burning red mark on her cheek.

"Who is this, bitch?"

"M-Master," Padma's voice turned into a whimpering whisper. "D-Daddy. Daddy has control over my pussy. I w-want him. I want his control. Please."

Luna held her tightly by the face, mocking her cheek and ear. "Do you feel clever now, bitch?"

"No. No. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid."

From this display, this dominance of one beautiful slave over another, Harry found it harder than he knew how to handle.

Right in the middle was a bed. He tore the door off its hinges and tossed Padma into the cabin and onto the bed. Luna circled around them both, tauntingly holding Padma's arms.

"Please, Daddy," Padma pleaded, spreading her legs wide for him. "I'll do anything you say. Please, make me regret being so stupid."

He would do it.

Harry decided to do what was necessary.

Beneath him, an eighteen-year-old freshly baked Hogwarts student and his fiercest rival intimately competed with their mouths for the thick, heavy space of his constantly hard cock. Luna and Padma, respectively, did everything to please their Master.

"It's so big," Padma murmured in delight, probably for the hundredth time. Her plump lips were engaged at the tip of his cock. "I can't believe how big it is."

"That's because you're a stupid bitch." Luna pushed her aside and slurped Harry down, showing Padma how it's done.

Both girls were naked. Their clothes were in tatters. One thing they seemed to agree on was the regret of not being in sexy outfits for their Master; both were extremely distraught that they didn't have high heels to wear for him. Everything else, however, seemed to be an excuse for Luna to find fault in Padma, and Harry only fueled it.

It was the morning after the day he woke up to find that nearly every woman he encountered in his town wanted to sexually serve him. The day started with his much younger sister-in-law giving him a blowjob, directed by his wife. At work, his secretary served up her barely legal stepdaughter on a sexual platter, strongly encouraging the girl she raised to be a "good girl" and receive skullfucking from an aroused Harry. When he sought help from his closest friend, Hermione, she seduced him into fucking her brains out.

That was the first piece of the puzzle. Up until this point, it felt like he had been transported into some bizarre pornographic film with an obsession with training barely legal teenagers to serve his cock. But Hermione clearly dominated the men who came to her office, even going so far as to legally consider them women's slaves, divorcing them in completely frivolous arrangements. Strangest of all, she had a special tattoo just above her pussy.

He wouldn't think much of it. Too much to think otherwise, when every woman - apart from becoming his seductive playthings - transformed into a true superheroine bombshell with magazine cover-worthy wardrobes. But then, through a turn of events, trying to escape the madness to clear his mind, Harry managed to end up in this cabin in the middle of the mountains with two other girls - his worst enemy and a random teenage hitchhiker they picked up - both begging, whimpering, and working to please his cock.

And both, just like Hermione - and he could only imagine, just like Narcissa, Fleur, and the rest of the women he had seen - had the same tattoo just above their pussies.

Luna was a jealous plaything, even though his cock had significantly grown in girth and length over the past thirty-six hours. She often pushed Padma to the side. When Padma managed to kiss, lick, and bob to take over the plaything duties, Luna choked her - stroking Harry's head, gripping the bulge he made in Padma's throat - until Padma turned purple and had to yield to Luna. Padma, surprisingly submissive, only whined and begged, kissed and licked in return for her own turn.

Much of the venom had disappeared from Luna's attitude towards Padma, but it was no less toxic. She still incessantly judged her for ever being against Harry; he suspected it was for the same reason both girls constantly called him Master, especially Daddy. Luna called Padma a stupid bitch because it really, really turned him on.

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[bellveela]

Luna slapped her again, leaving a burning red mark on her cheek.

"Who is this, bitch?"

"M-Master," Padma's voice turned into a whimpering whisper. "D-Daddy. Daddy has control over my pussy. I w-want him. I want his control. Please."

Luna held her tightly by the face, mocking her cheek and ear. "Do you feel clever now, bitch?"

"No. No. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid."

From this display, this dominance of one beautiful slave over another, Harry found it harder than he knew how to handle.

Right in the middle was a bed. He tore the door off its hinges and tossed Padma into the cabin and onto the bed. Luna circled around them both, tauntingly holding Padma's arms.

"Please, Daddy," Padma pleaded, spreading her legs wide for him. "I'll do anything you say. Please, make me regret being so stupid."

He would do it.

Harry decided to do what was necessary.

Beneath him, an eighteen-year-old freshly baked Hogwarts student and his fiercest rival intimately competed with their mouths for the thick, heavy space of his constantly hard cock. Luna and Padma, respectively, did everything to please their Master.

"It's so big," Padma murmured in delight, probably for the hundredth time. Her plump lips were engaged at the tip of his cock. "I can't believe how big it is."

"That's because you're a stupid bitch." Luna pushed her aside and slurped Harry down, showing Padma how it's done.

Both girls were naked. Their clothes were in tatters. One thing they seemed to agree on was the regret of not being in sexy outfits for their Master; both were extremely distraught that they didn't have high heels to wear for him. Everything else, however, seemed to be an excuse for Luna to find fault in Padma, and Harry only fueled it.

It was the morning after the day he woke up to find that nearly every woman he encountered in his town wanted to sexually serve him. The day started with his much younger sister-in-law giving him a blowjob, directed by his wife. At work, his secretary served up her barely legal stepdaughter on a sexual platter, strongly encouraging the girl she raised to be a "good girl" and receive skullfucking from an aroused Harry. When he sought help from his closest friend, Hermione, she seduced him into fucking her brains out.

That was the first piece of the puzzle. Up until this point, it felt like he had been transported into some bizarre pornographic film with an obsession with training barely legal teenagers to serve his cock. But Hermione clearly dominated the men who came to her office, even going so far as to legally consider them women's slaves, divorcing them in completely frivolous arrangements. Strangest of all, she had a special tattoo just above her pussy.

Continue reading this chapter