Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 are already on Pa tr eon

If you would like to read the next chapters faster, see exclusive content, or support my work, please visit

Pat re on. c om(slash)belleveela(delete spaces)

Someone experienced and willing had their mouth wrapped around Harry's cock. He was in bed, covered with sheets and blankets, and underneath those blankets, someone with a spectacularly talented tongue was positioned with most of their body. This wasn't how most mornings started, and considering the disastrous state of affairs with his wife, it wasn't how he expected to spend his time in the foreseeable future.

Instead, he trembled, moaned, thrust his hips, and the happy mouth under the covers moaned in return and sank deeper. His cock hit the back of her throat, dispersing juicy sucking body, and he gasped and rolled slightly, hitting the other girl. The other girl?

Yes, there were two of them. He hadn't opened his eyes yet; the dream was far too pleasant to spoil. But there was clearly a face on his cock - no mistaking that - and his thigh had just rolled onto another face, which immediately began kissing his skin and whispering softly.

"That's it, baby. See how much he likes it? I told you you'd be so good at this."

Whoever this was, had the voice of an angel. So far from the kind of female voices he'd grown accustomed to hearing - angry, accusing, offended female voices that had plagued him for months, culminating in the delivery of divorce papers from his wife and a round of sexual assault accusations at work.

How did he get here? Where was this? Did he dare open his eyes to find out? Two angels were sucking his cock - he could feel the second girl leading the first, her hand gripping the first's head and showing her the exact pace to drive him mad - and he felt completely out of place interrupting their spell. The last thing he remembered was being brilliantly, apocalyptically drunk - drunk enough to end all drunks - and now, though he was enjoying an incredible amount of warm, wet pleasure, he felt no euphoria brought on by alcohol.

He didn't have a hangover either. Did he die? It was like he wanted to. You don't drink that much and not consider the possibility of death. It was several, dozens of shots of fiery whisky in a row, interrupted by tall beers and many other shots of other spirits, including goblin's cleaver.

Slowly, finally, he opened his eyes. The clock told him it was late morning - much too late to be indulging in this kind of thing on a Monday. But the clock wasn't his, neither were the sheets, and he didn't recognize the ceiling or nightstand. They were all much prettier than anything he could afford on his meager earnings at the law firm.

Most of his clients were fraudsters and deserved the sentences they got, but that didn't make him feel any better about never being able to negotiate good deals. He was a "good enough" defender, which meant in other words, that he had a pulse and a law degree and that was it. Harry hated confrontation, partly why he still hadn't pulled the covers to see whose bed he was in.

Two girls, that much was clear from the height of their voices, the weight of their heavy breasts pressing against him, and the warmth of their pussies grinding against his legs. God, he hoped they were pretty. They were definitely slim, and from the glimpse of calf and high heel protruding from one of the coverings, they were at least in decent shape and healthy. Her skin was radiant, practically glowing with a tan as if she spent most of her days swimming. His wife Fleur allowed herself that kind of life, even though as a family, they couldn't afford it in the slightest.

Something wet and creamy dripped from the girls' breasts, smearing their bodies and his. Milk. Somehow, they had lactation, even though none of them felt pregnant. Their bellies, occasionally sliding over his thighs, were completely slim, as far as he could tell.

He didn't know how something like that was possible, but it only made him harder in the mouth of one blessed girl, performing a perfect job of loving his cock with her tongue, mouth, and throat.

How did he end up with two girls? Why couldn't he remember any of it? The last thing he remembered was going to bed alone. He must have been on some sort of divorce-inspired bender...

The leader of the two - the one leading the girl on his cock - seemed to notice that he was more aroused. She sat up straight under the heavy covers and began working even faster on the second girl's head.

"He needs this, baby." Her voice was pure sex. "You can't tell me he doesn't need this? Give daddy what he wants." "Oh God," he moaned. "God...God..." Calling him daddy was a particular kink of his that he could never shake, despite Fleur stripping most of his other intimate desires from him. "Take his cum, baby," the leader said. "You can do it. You can take daddy's cum. You can take everything..."

He bucked, his hands reaching across the blankets and sheets and squeezing, searching for anything at all to hold onto. His legs wrapped tightly and he twisted, fucking the girl's face hard into the bed while he shot load after load into her throat. She was there for him, eagerly grabbing his ass and moaning. Honestly, she sounded like she was coming herself.

In all this twisting of bedding, the second girl - the one leading the show - was revealed. An absolute smoke show with blonde hair, big bright blue eyes, and an absolutely built body clad entirely in show-stopping lingerie. She looked like she belonged on a runway, not in the bed he was in.

Fuck yeah, man, everything's fine. Good job, good job. She looked at him with absolute adoration in her eyes and a deep intimacy that made him feel a bit uncomfortable as her recipient. After all, she was just some girl he probably picked up somewhere. But it didn't matter. If she wanted to lead her roommate onto his cock, he was all for it. "Was that good, baby?" she asked him. "Did you like it?"

Something about the way she called him "darling" struck him as familiar, as if he should know her. But he didn't know any such beautiful woman, certainly not one he had slept with.

"Hell yes," he said, sitting up in bed. "Of course I liked it. Hell, yes."

She clapped her hands excitedly. "That's so cute. I told Gabrielle we can do this every day if you satisfy her."

He laughed, a little crookedly. "Oh," she frowned. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Really. It was amazing. Just...that's my wife's sister's name."

Gabrielle, of course, was Fleur's barely legal eighteen-year-old sister. Under the sheets, the girl giggled. He could hear her lips smacking against his cum. The woman on top tossed her hair back and smiled.

"Of course, that's her name, my darling." Everything felt like it had slowed to a crawl. He took a closer look at the woman before him.

Nothing about her was like his wife - cold, mean, severe woman raised to scorn pleasure in all its forms. Sex was for procreation and holding others in contempt. Harry had met her to secure a job with her father, away from the British Ministry, then started drinking her when it became clear that his wife didn't love him and the business collapsed when her father had a massive, hate-induced stroke.

Fleur had light almost platinum hair, but those weren't those blonde locks. Not silken smooth, long, and effortlessly sexy in tan and waves.

His wife had cold, sharp blue eyes, but not those blue eyes. Not alive, full of love, warmth, and promise - sparkling with intensity and need and the promise of her service for years.

His wife had a shape, but it was a utilitarian shape. Sturdy, almost. Rectangular. This siren before him had curves and angles, a rhomboidal shape of sexual desire, sharp around the face and collarbones and curving in at the waist just so.

And yet there was something in her face... something there... that was entirely familiar. Belonging entirely to Fleur.

And that meant... that meant...

Terrified, he ripped the sheet completely off the bed and saw what he already knew to be true - his sexy sister-in-law Gabrielle was there, smiling and drunk, reaching for his transformed wife's waist and working to insert her beautiful, young, barely legal face into her mother's pussy.

THE NEXT FEW MINUTES were a blur. Somehow he found enough clothes to make it to the garage.

He put on pants and rushed with his shoes and shirt, cursing as he buttoned and tied each item wrong twice, panicking. He was sure someone was on their way to catch him, imprison him, expose him.

Even worse were Fleur and Gabrielle, who followed him up the stairs in their high heels - he could hear each characteristic click-clack painfully - and called after him.

"Darling, don't you want breakfast? You have such a big day today."

Gabrielle chimed in. "Can I suck you again while you eat, Father?"

And when that didn't work:

"Can I watch, Daddy, as Mommy sucks you off, so I can do it better? I must have missed something in that video I was studying. Please, let me do it better? I promise to finger myself like a good girl! Daddy?"

Somehow, the sex-crazed nymphomaniacs had possessed his wife and her sister. Or at least, they claimed to be his wife and her sister. Yes, yes, that was it, maybe they were just weird impostors playing some ridiculous, sexy, Jesus-rich game where they were both so hot. His real wife and her sister were somewhere trapped or held against their will. Maybe he had to go save them?

If it was just Fleur, maybe he could believe it. But it was Gabrielle too - sweet Gabrielle, cute Gabrielle, perfect Gabrielle who absolutely hated his guts ever since he only - only! - hit on her best friend at a quidditch match after drinking some liquid courage. And Gabrielle hadn't changed like Fleur had. Sure, she looked fuller, and certainly any female form would be enhanced by lingerie, but she was still definitely Gabrielle - not some hyper-sexualized version of herself like Fleur.

That was because Gabrielle was already hyper-sexual, and one of the reasons Harry hit on her best friends was that Gabrielle was really pretty and the type of really pretty girl who only had really pretty friends. And Harry couldn't hit on his only family even if it came from his frigid wife's side - where would he hide if she rejected him? - and so, feeling utterly dejected after another failed couples counseling session with Fleur, he noticed how well Daphne's swimsuit bottom fit her ass.

And of course, the whole situation didn't get any better when after that rejection he got a little tighter and seduced his stepmother Daphne, Narcissa. He thought it was a sure thing, that she was unhappy in her marriage too and always complaining - but then suddenly it was suing this and discrediting that and it all just got out of control.

All of that was last week.

So why was Gabrielle sucking his cock, for God's sake, and what was Fleur doing, showing her how to do it? Gabrielle had barely turned eighteen.

And that - that wasn't even all that was wrong. He tried to take stock in the garage, steadying himself on the workbench filled with shiny tools. It was all wrong. His workbench was right here, in the garage, but his tools were dirty and used incorrectly, and the edges of everything sharp were mostly dull - a side effect of trying to use them while drunk. Thinking back now, he remembered other similar differences. Wherever he looked, it was his home, but it wasn't.

Everything was twisted and crazy. The creaky, cracked wooden stairs that always reminded Fleur she was coming home too late from the bar were now smooth, carpeted, and pristine. The dreary entrance with curtains so thick and dusty they might as well have been tomb rugs was now bright, spacious, and shining white, immaculate in its cleanliness.

Even his clothes! What were these clothes? He had never owned a pair of pants that fit so well-and yet they were clearly tailored and tailored specifically for him.

And that car! The car in the garage-what was that even? Without thinking, he clicked the keys to turn on the lights and saw one of those fancy, top-of-the-line self-driving cars that cost twice his net income for the year, and was additionally enchanted with expensive runes as soon as he approached it.

These were his keys. Attached to them was a small rubber logo of his favorite quidditch club, a silly memento he kept because he liked to fidget with his hands in his pockets. Restless personality. It was even worn and torn at the same end as his.

"Darling? My love?" Fleur knocked on the door. "Darling, won't you come let me suck your cock on my sister?"

His wife's voice ignited something deep and impossible in his soul. It made him burn with need, and even though he had just come to his senses a few minutes ago, his cock stiffened again. His erection was angry and lightning fast, the fitted pants easily accommodating it, and she demanded attention and satisfaction. His legs pulled him towards the door, towards her voice. Oh my God, she looked so sexy. The way she said "daddy." The way she tossed her hair and smiled and looked so warm and inviting, oh God, oh God...

"Please, husband? Your daughter is just very upset. I think she might start crying if you don't tell her what a good job she did, and-"

He couldn't take it anymore. Harry jumped into the car and sped off to work.

The car tried to drive itself and Harry struggled with it for a few minutes until finally taking control and asserting his authority.

The whole world had gone mad and was out of his control.

Control, for God's sake, but at least he could control the car! He drove consciously, focusing only on the street and the machine. Only the feeling of the steering wheel in both hands, eyes attentive to approaching lights, ears listening to the sound of the engine.

Eventually, it calmed him down. But he was so focused on these small sensations that about halfway to his office, he began to notice other perspectives.

Firstly, he was hard.

He was really hard. Just came - God help him - deep in the throat of his spectacularly beautiful sister-in-law. His resistance period worsened with age, as he supposed for every man, and drinking certainly didn't help. In fact, hardness was a rarity, usually once a week or even twice a week.

Now his cock was tensing, pressing against his pants. Alert, diligent, needy. Beads of precum soaked through his pants. Every time he stepped on the gas or brakes, his leg shifted, and the sensation of clothing against his suddenly sensitive, pulsating cockhead made him moan in a wave of need and pleasure.

Trying to distract himself from this thought, he looked around the city surrounding him once again. What he saw was at least strange. Mostly, the streets were empty. That in itself was strange, because usually at this time of day he had to fight through traffic to get to work. But instead of busy streets, he saw bustling cafes and parks, particularly occupied by women. Beautiful women.

Women, beautiful women, dressed in tight little dresses and skirts, sweaters and blouses and high heels, with long, gorgeous, shiny hair, smiling and giggling.

A group of them saw him in a small ice cream shop and waved. One winked. Their smiles were beautiful.

Of course, he assumed they had mistaken him or someone else they were waving at. He didn't even suspect that these women lived here. He had a general sense of the overall level of attractiveness of the city, both men and women, and it was a constant four, four and a half maybe, out of ten. All these women were colossal beauties, each one of them, regardless of complexion, hair color, and height, easily reaching thirty-five out of ten.

He stood at the traffic lights, just staring. His cock was twitching. His hips began to involuntarily twitch, and conscious attempts to hold back brought limited effect. A dark city car pulled up to him, driven by a sickly-looking man in a chauffeur's uniform.

That in itself was strange, but not as strange as the fact that the rear window opened to reveal a woman in fur and diamonds. She winked at Harry and licked her lips, and he, surprised, hit the gas and drove through the lights.

Fortunately, no one was coming. Her tits. God, her tits. They were almost popping out of her tiny dress.

When he entered the garage, the normality of his gravity relieved him. It was just a huge, brutalistic piece of stained concrete. Nothing strange, nothing extraordinary. Regardless of what else was happening in his life, he could at least rely on his empty office, full of his own quiet desperation, to do something that mattered to the world.

It wasn't a great comfort, but that desperation was his, damn it, and upon awakening, he wanted to recognize the characteristics of his world as they were.

All of this was, of course, destroyed when he opened the door to his fourth-floor office and saw Narcissa waiting there with a cup of hot coffee right next to her. The office was small. There was a front room with Narcissa's desk and a small waiting area, and then the back room where he worked - or, more recently, where he would nurse his hangovers - and that was it.

Seeing Narcissa made his heart sink. For one thing, she shouldn't even be here. She had threatened to sue him. Several lawsuits, ranging from sexual harassment to withholding pay. And yes, he had done all those things, but at the time it seemed like he had very good reasons.

"Narcissa?" he could barely believe it. The last time he had seen her, the only reason she hadn't slapped him stupid was that she didn't want to get sued for assault.

"Oh, wonderful!" she clapped her hands. "Fleur called up front. We weren't sure where you had gone. She was very concerned about how upset you were after that terrible blowjob this morning. Would you like me to have Daphne talk to Gabrielle?"

This Narcissa looked twenty years younger than the one he knew; she looked much closer to her actual age, or her daughter's, or Gabrielle's, for that matter. She smiled at him radiantly, blue eyes shining, dressed in a tight pencil skirt and blouse that threatened to burst open from the pressure of her heavy, perfectly formed breasts.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I mean, it wasn't terrible, it was-"

"Oh yes, of course, we don't want to offend the poor girl," she nodded sagely. "It was her first time and everything, just so fresh out of eighteen. And who could blame her for being as good as her mother? Do you think she'd take advice better coming from me?"

"From you?"

He tore his eyes away from her sumptuous cleavage with difficulty. Narcissa was now so decidedly filled out. Her breasts were practically begging to be stared at. She noticed and played with her jewelry there.

"Yes! I mean, it might hit wrong coming from a friend or her mother, but from her friend's mother, it might be a little more formal and a little less invasive, you know? She'll be sucking you right in no time."

"No, the blowjob was amazing. I mean, no, not-" Harry threw his hands up and rushed into his office, closing the door behind him.

This was madness. Narcissa was madness too. What the fuck was going on?

Maybe there was some clue on his desk. Surely some time had passed of which he was not aware. He suspected again that this was the end of all binges. Like most alcoholics, he danced with the idea of getting suicidally drunk from time to time, though usually after tying one on he felt well enough to just go to sleep and be done with the night. But today he felt like his life was drunk.

And it was hard. All the time. Oh God.

He had been hard ever since he heard Fleur begging for a blowjob, and now with Narcissa standing there, his cock was even more insistent. She offered to teach her sister how to suck his cock! What was the appropriate response? Outrage? The police?

His cock decided that the proper response was to demand more, harder, do it now.

Feeling exhausted from the day, he sat on a pile and turned on his computer. Immediately, a pair of agile young hands unzipped his pants and started stroking his shaft and delicately sucking his head.

"What the fuck...?" he groaned.

He pulled away from the desk and the girl followed him, obediently crawling and sucking and slurping as she went, moaning softly as he continued to push himself out of her eager mouth.

"Daphne?"

It was Daphne, Gabrielle's best friend. The one he clumsily tried to pick up, the one who ratted him out.

Narcissa walked in just as he had his hands all over Daphne's head. Originally, they were there to push her away. But seeing Narcissa, Harry yelled and instinctively felt the need to hide, and pulled his hands to his sides. But he still held onto Daphne's wonderful head, which just meant he was fucking her throat harder than before. His cockhead pressed against the soft meat of her throat, suddenly fucking her deeply, as if her face were a pussy.

"Fu-oh fuck..."

Narcissa's eyes lit up at what she saw. "I just noticed you left your coffee outside, sir."

She sauntered towards him, intentionally swaying her hips. God, she looked incredible in that skirt, the way it hugged her long, long legs. Her hair, light brown and shiny, hung on one side of her face in a thick, gorgeous curtain. To Narcissa, what was happening was no secret, and certainly not scandalous. Her juicy lips parted, her eyes glistening with desire. She walked all the way over until her hand clenched on top of Harry's hand on the arousingly hot head of Daphne.

"I was wondering where you went," she whispered.

She pushed harder, her crotch clenching tightly around the back of Harry's hand, and therefore Daphne's head.

"Is she doing it right, sir? It's so important to me, I raised her on high-quality Daughter for you. I have to train her properly."

"Properly...?"

He groaned, feeling trapped. One beautiful woman on his cock, and the other - apparently her mother, but looking grand enough to be her sister - pressing in and eagerly encouraging him to do more.

"To suck your cock." Narcissa's voice was a breathy whisper. "A good girl must serve her man properly. It's so important. And you're her man... if she's good enough, I mean." She smiled, biting her lower lip. She looked at him like a teenager trying to get her crush to ask her to the dance. "I don't want to assume. I just want my Daughter to impress you."

"Impress me..." he swallowed, struggling to stand. Daphne hummed in pleasure on his cock. His eyes feeling like they would roll back in his head. "Impress me..."

For a moment - well, honestly, for several moments - he simply enjoyed the moment. His cock was in charge, demanding that he take more and more from the eager, wet Daphne. The thought of her in that tiny quidditch team outfit flashed before his eyes. She was so damn young.

But...no! Christ, no. This was wrong, all of it was wrong. He had been drunk when he made those idiotic comments, and he was bone dry and couldn't blame anything but himself for his lack of willpower. He had to stop this.

He straightened up completely, but Daphne still sucked, and Narcissa pressed harder against them both, rubbing her hands up and down Harry's chest. He backed up towards a nearby bookshelf. His heels clicked against the wall. Daphne's skirt and heels rustled as she leaned forward. For the first time, he noticed that she was fingering herself with her free hand while she sucked. There was a puddle on the floor behind her.

For an alluring experience, make sure to follow my mesmerizing Instagram profile!

instagram. c om(slash)belleveela

Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 are already on Pa tr eon

Pat re on. c om(slash)belleveela(delete spaces)