Chapters 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 are already on Pa tr eon

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

"Yes, that's it, darling," urged Narcissa. He wasn't sure if she meant Daphne or him. "What I mean is, she's been wanting you for so long. It would break her dear little heart if she disappointed you now, you know? All those times when she wore those skimpy, tight Quidditch costumes, she was only thinking of you. She and Gabrielle had all those late-night meetings, and all the while, she only wanted you. Both of them needed you, dreamt of you, wanted to please you somehow. Look at her, darling."

All he had to do to look at Daphne was glance down, but that would be acknowledging the level of reality of this situation that was hard to accept. He would have to look at the way Narcissa ground her hips into daughter's head on his cock, guiding her as she sucked him dry. Narcissa's lips, so glossy and plump, were inches away from his own. The only thing stopping him from a wild kiss was the resistance of the air and his steaming willpower.

But he didn't even have to look that far down. Narcissa brought her phone over, showing him preloaded photos of Daphne in a bikini. Select photos, professionally taken, showcasing her own surgically enhanced body in provocative poses.

"I took them myself," she whispered. "Only you, me, and she have seen them. Not even Gabrielle knows." She giggled. "Daphne wanted to have a competitive edge over her. She imagined that Gabrielle would be on your mind all the time, living with you and everything." Her hips now rutted persistently into Daphne, into him, skull-fucking her own daughter against her boss's cock. "Does it work? Do you like it? Do you like her?"

Daphne moaned, needing to know that he thought she was pretty, even as he fucked her throat with his harder than ever cock.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Narcissa asked. Her lips now grazed his chin. "Does my daughter make a good fuck?"

She showed him a photo of Daphne in a tight red Quidditch outfit that had so many cuts that it showed more than it concealed.

"Won't you fuck my pretty, pretty daughter?" Daphne in a pink bikini, her eyes smoldering.

"She's pretty only for you."

Pink bikini, biting her lower lip, squeezing her breasts.

"She must be fucked only by you." She kneels, her hands holding onto her heels tightly, breasts jutting out. Topless with a white bikini bottom.

"Please, won't you show her how pretty she is and cum in her throat? She won't know any different." Gif of Daphne saying "please." "There's no way to know for sure unless you cum in my daughter's throat."

Close-up of Daphne's profile, eyes full of desire. "Look how pretty she is. She told me she thinks of you in every photo. Thinking of her new Daddy and his big cock and how much she needed it-"

That was it, that was too much. Calling him her new daddy.

As the heat built up, he grabbed both of them - taking Narcissa in his arms with a long kiss and wrapping one leg around Daphne's slender back. He came harder than he ever had before, losing himself in the sensations, releasing load after load of hot, male cum down nineteen-year-old Daphne's throat. She was so wet, willing, and capable, taking him with orgasmic delight. As his pulsing slowly subsided, she also became gentler - slowly sucking and kissing to make sure she milked him of everything.

His thoughts returned to him. Holy shit, what had he done? This was madness. There was no way to explain this to Fleur or Gabrielle. He had to run.

He withdrew slowly. As soon as he tried, they were back on him - Narcissa leaning in to kiss Daphne.

"I want to taste him," she murmured, licking Harry's cum off daughter's lips. "I want to taste daddy with you..."

Their lips met, sharing his cum between them in thick, sticky trails. They giggled and wiped the excess on their necks and cleavage, making their skin even more glossy than before.

Holy Christ, he couldn't watch any more of this. "I need to get out of here."

IN THE CAR, NOT KNOWING where to go or what to do, his cock compelled him to act. He sat with his fly open, freed, erect like a majestic totem, oozing precum and harder than ever before.

Before - between the loud wake-up call, the escape, the arrival at the office, and the escape again - he didn't have a chance to really look at his cock. He felt it was big and hard, but he thought it was particularly exciting because beautifully crafted supermodels worshiped him with their mouths and begged for more.

But now, in the dim light of the garage, he looked again. It was bigger. Much, much bigger - at least three inches longer and half an inch thicker in diameter. How the hell did he grow such a monster? What the fuck happened?

Gently, groaning, he wrapped his hand around it and stroked it lightly. It was so hard. Precum shot out like a cannon, flowing up, then splashing on the steering wheel, his hands, and the shaft.

He realized it was entirely possible to bring himself to orgasm. There was plenty of material to work with from his memories of today. Daphne's lips. Narcissa's begging. Fleur's begging. Gabrielle... fuck... Gabrielle...

Why couldn't he get the thought of Gabrielle sucking him out of his head? It was so spectacular. And like a drunk who had thrown half a liter of vodka on the way to rehab - he couldn't help but regret not having the courage to go further before he found out it was her. God, if he had a daughter of Daphne's age, or rather Gabrielle's. She smiled at him radiantly, her blue eyes shining, dressed in a tight pencil skirt and blouse that threatened to pop open from the pressure of her heavy, perfectly shaped breasts.

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

"No, no, it was wrong."

Feeling of wrongness only intensified as he touched himself while thinking about it. Something was holding him back from jerking off - it was downright repulsive. It wasn't just the invasive thoughts of Gabrielle and the team of engineers drilling their way into his brain that made him feel bad; it was the fact that he was even touching himself to begin with.

As if he needed - and deserved - a great woman who would take in all his sperm.

What he really needed, perhaps even more than sperm if that was possible, was someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't want to fuck him. Someone he could trust to tell him the truth.

In the middle of the afternoon, he walked into the office. It was windy, and he wished it wasn't - every time the warm wind blew against him, his overly-sensitive cock mistook the feeling as someone trying to seduce him. So, swaying with desire and fighting not to stop and rub his hand against his hard shaft, he entered Hermione Granger's office.

She was his oldest friend; they had gone to law school together after Hogwarts and led the most successful study group in their year. After graduation, they both ended up at the same law firm - under the "old, crotchety Notte," as they called the old, mean bastard who paid them next to nothing to grind their fingers to dust writing briefs for him - and had long talks about opening their own firm. Harry and Hermione always had an easy, friendly relationship, because she was a self-proclaimed lesbian and made that clear to him from their first meeting with Ron Weasley. They quickly became best friends and relied on each other for help with their growing client list all over the city.

However, years ago, they had a fight when he awkwardly hit on her while drunk at a party. It was some pattern. Maybe he should look into it. No time for that now.

Inside, a young person was bent over a desk in a small white skirt and high, high white heels. Her exquisite butt, perfectly sculpted into a heart-shaped bubble, moved back and forth as she searched for something in a drawer. He groaned audibly. It was the last thing he wanted to see. He had to grab the door frame to keep himself from lunging forward and molesting the poor young woman whose only transgression was dropping a pen.

Harry's office was small; Hermione's office was practically a coffin. They had a similar layout - a small waiting area and an office in the back - but Hermione never, to his knowledge, made enough money to afford a secretary. He heard she had recently taken up divorce law. In the lobby sat three men, all staring helplessly at the show of the gorgeous brunette in front of him. Harry looked at them, and they immediately averted their gaze - not from the brunette, but from him. It was strange, like they were intimidated. It wasn't a reaction he was used to; Harry had been beaten up so many times during his adolescence that he developed his argumentative skills specifically to respond to larger, stronger men who bullied him.

The brown-haired woman in front of them learned even further. Her panties, or lack thereof judging by the complete lack of lines in her skirt, were soon to be visible.

He swallowed hard, hoping to encourage her to stop what she was doing. Instead, she arched her back, giggling, flashing her pink, wet slit, before rising up and tossing her thick brown hair back in a graceful, sexy flip.

"Oh my God! Harry! Thank goodness you're here!"

The brown-haired woman - only more stunning now that she had turned around - smiled and jumped towards Harry, giving him a long and intimate hug. Her breasts, plump and full in her tiny sweater, pressed seductively against his chest. She smelled of fresh strawberries.

Harry's cock pressed against his pants, sliding against her thigh. The way she chuckled and pressed against him made it unclear whether she was just friendly and cheeky or actually flirting with him; either way, her nails dug into his shaft, eliciting a long, hot sigh from his lips.

She strengthened her arms. "And now, how are you holding up? Did that bitch make any more demands?" "Bitch?" He blinked. "Demands? You mean Fleur? No, I mean...I think our marriage might be okay..."

Her laughter was intoxicating; he felt like laughing because she was so pretty when she did it.

"No, no," her smile froze after a moment. "Bitch! You know, Padma! I couldn't believe it when I heard they picked Percy to be the judge and you? I mean, she doesn't have a prayer when that case goes to court, but..."

"I'm sorry, stop."

He raised his hand and the blonde beauty immediately listened, mid-sentence. Padma Patil was the lead partner in his rival law firm, Hanson & Hanson. They had been competing for clients for years. Did she sue him? For what?

What is happening?

Before him, the brown-haired beauty waited patiently, happy to stare at him and absorb him with her bright, sea-green eyes.

It was her eyes that gave her away. "Hermione?"

"Yes, sir?"

Sir. What the hell was she doing calling him that? No, no, that was the second question. The first question was, of course, what the fuck was Hermione doing looking like that?

"Hermione..." he shook his head. "We need to talk. Privately."

She nodded, taking his hand and leading him to the back room. Her fingers were soft and long, far from the stubby, utilitarian sausages that the Hermione he knew had. This woman - this girl - looked barely legal, just like Narcissa.

Just like his wife.

Oh God, did they get to her too?

"Hermione," he said again. "This is important-„

"I know," she nodded, pushing herself onto the desk. Her hand pushed him up her flowy skirt. He could suddenly see and feel that his assumption about her lack of panties was correct. Her pussy was tight, wet, and beautiful. Perfectly waxed, glistening, waiting for him. Somehow, his cock finally left his pants. Did he undo himself, or did she? Did he care?

Chapters 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 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)