The end of the war brought with it an end to a lot of overt, open attitudes. As Death Eaters were tossed into prison and the damage of what had been done to the Ministry was undone, a hard correction followed up and down wizarding society in Britain. For a brief period as the Death Eaters took over, it became very normal for open hostility to muggles and people with muggle heritage. Things had become so extreme that being freed from that grip brought with it an intense, aggressive realization that people really needed to pull back from their bigotries and to escape the worrisome, ugly ideas that people had become so engrossed in. That all, thankfully, extended to Hogwarts.
At least, the students who were left did.
Tables had turned after a year of incredible dominance and power for Slytherins. The worst bullies in the school had found themselves holding an incredibly potent power all over the school, and had the freedom to do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted. It had been a nightmare, one that was encouraged by the school's new faculty members and all but ensured that nobody was feeling good about this. But it had finally taken some turns around for the better with the war's end, and every student, whether continuing their next year or pulled back to retake their seventh without the cloud of nightmarish war looming over them, had to deal with a Hogwarts that was suddenly hostile to the very idea of blood supremacy.
It made people shut up real fast. Nobody wanted to be the one to keep spewing some racist bile out of nowhere if it was going to be as wildly unpopular as every word of it all proved to be. Nobody wanted that. Nobody wanted to deal with the worry that the outward hostility toward blood-related bullying and toward unkind remarks to muggleborns would lead to backlash. Especially with Harry Potter back, now treated as more of a hero than ever before, someone who had gone so far to change things and who was ready to stand up to bullies now more than ever. He had peoples' support and respect, and there was nobody who was willing to speak up and run their mouth against him now.
Except for Daphne Greengrass.
"It's such a shame that Potter decided to align himself with mudbloods," was something that Daphne had said very loudly right in the middle of a class the seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors shared. She said it to a very uncomfortable classmate, whose eyes were wide with a mortifying shock given just how loud she was being, the entire class having come to a total standstill. "Imagine how much we could have won if he realized his value. He could be second in command to the Dark Lord and ruling Britain right now if he didn't do what he did."
The girl beside her silently got out of her chair and changed tables.
The stunning discomfort that the words inspired left everybody awestruck and embarrassed, but Daphne didn't care. "Fine, whatever. Everyone's too much of a coward, I guess. I don't know when you all turned into muggle lovers, but it's embarrassing."
Harry finally turned himself around, staring with a bit of awe at the sheer audacity behind what Daphne was so loudly proclaiming. "Are you done yet?" he asked.
"What if I'm not?" Daphne asked. "Are you going to kill me too? Are you itching for another war already, Potter? I'm sure you are. People are going to run out of respect for you before long and you'll need some new victory so you can keep being the champion of the mudbloods. Keep picking wars so people love you; you don't have a single thing about you that's worth respecting outside of it, but one day you'll run out of people to fight, and everyone will realize how hollow you really are."
Harry stared at her with a cold contempt, knowing that arguing with her would only be giving her what she wanted. He didn't want to play her games, knowing the dangers it offered, but he also knew that there weren't exactly a lot of other ways to deal with all of this. He was stuck having to consider the situation before him. She wanted him to fight, and she wanted him to lash out. Why? To what end? It didn't matter. "This is enough," was all he said.
"And you get to decide that, right, King Potter?" she asked, standing up from her seat. "You get to decide what's 'enough' and control people. You get to decide who's a bully, and who's a 'good wizard standing up for what's right'. You're just an entitled control freak who's mad mommy and daddy aren't around any more and you--"
"Oh do you want to talk about 'mommy and daddy'?" Harry asked. "How is Azkaban this time of year? Are you visiting them for Christmas? I hope they get you something nice."
"My parents are not in Azkaban, but I'm sure you'd love to put them there for having such a 'bully bitch', right? Come on, Potter. Find something to blame them for. Be the sanctimonious prick everyone knows you are and is too afraid to admit."
"That is enough from both of you," said the Potions teacher, who slammed a hand down onto his desk, ready to regain order. "You can behave and get back to work, or you can take this argument somewhere other than my class."
"Yeah, that's fine," Daphne said, rising up from her seat, leaving her potions work behind and marching off. "I'll just go yell somewhere else about how much of a controlling loon Potter is, and how nobody here is willing to stand up to him!" She stormed out of the class room, yelling behind her, "Even if your mom was still alive, she wouldn't be proud of you for this!"
"Don't do it," said several of Harry's friends at once. But he was up to his feet, too. He was marching off without even a semblance of hesitation, marching off to deal with her and leaving his potion work behind, not caring about anything else. He wasn't going to be stopped, marching off with the burn of aggression and fury, clearly ready to lash out at Daphne and ready to give her a piece of his mind, no matter how much he should have avoided doing so. There was just something impossible to stop about the way he got moving, and nobody tried to.
"What did you just say about my mother?" Harry asked down the hall, yelling after her.
"Oh, you're giving chase, now! Great, Potter, keep intimidating me," Daphne yelled down the hall without even turning her head to look at him, relentless and forward, unable to deal with the utter frustration behind all of this.
"You're the one picking fights, don't go playing the victim now." He continued to follow after her, not breaking into a run, but holding the same pace she did, refusing to let up on her. "You want this fight, so go on, say your peace and stop acting like this isn't what you want!"
"Don't tell me what I'm doing and what I want." Daphne threw open a door, finding an unlocked, unused classroom and walking into it. "Just fuck off." She closed the door behind her, slamming it shut and distancing herself harder from Harry.
But Harry wasn't letting that stop him. He fished his wand from his pocket and cast an unlocking charm on the door, stepping into it without a care and slamming it shut behind him. "No, you don't get to pick a fight, yell about my dead parents, and walk away," he said, refusing to yield as he cornered Daphne. The classroom was a small one, cramped and with dusty desks and chairs everywhere. Ancient posters on the wall implied it was an Arithmancy classroom, but one that had fallen out of favour and simply hung in disuse now in the vastness of a castle with too many secrets to keep track of. But this one was to Harry's benefit now.
"Come closer. Act like a thug. Intimidate me. Come on, Potter, prove you're just a control freak jock who thinks he runs this school. Scare me off from being mean to the mudbloods just like everyone else in my house you've turned into cowards afraid to speak their minds. I'll take it. I'll say what nobody else wants to. I'm fucking ready to strand up for my beliefs even if nobody else will, and if you want to push me around and threaten me then you'll only prove that you're everything I know you are." Daphne wasn't fucking around, holding firm and stubborn to a very insistent take on this whole situation, resolute in how she faced him and refusing to fall back in the face of this.
Harry stared daggers at Daphne, wondering how to deal with the challenge, wondering what his 'worst' was. He had charged in to confront her without knowing what he was going to do, and he didn't really act with a particular hint toward clarity when he reached forward to slap her across the face hard enough to make her knees buckle. "Shut the fuck up," he said, a direct and sharp rebuke of everything she was on about, one intensified by the way he seized her hair and dragged her over a desk that had not seen use since before their parents were born.
The strike across her face was enough to stun Daphne into silence; she'd never been treated like that, but Harry didn't care enough to slow down there; he grabbed hold of her robes and yanked them up, grabbing a fistful of her dress next and doing the same to it, burning forward with single-minded and hateful intensity. Driven by an anger probably disproportionate to the amount of danger posed to him by Daphne Greengrass of all people, Harry moved to rip her panties right off of her, throwing their tatters aside, and it was only at that moment that the reality upon Daphne truly set in.
"Wait, you're not--" Daphne shook her head. "Don't!"
But Harry was ready for it. He pinned her down under his body, holding her in and restricting her ability to fight him off while fishing out his cock. "No. I'm done listening to you. If I need to fuck some sense to you, then I'm going to do it, and I'm going to break you." He shoved forward, and he drove his cock deep into her, prepared to deal with the harshness and the fire of taking her down. All it took was one thrust to make her feel every inch of him, and to learn the lesson.
Daphne shrieked as she took his cock in. He was brutal, wild, driving on wickedly without a care for anything but the pressure of breaking her down. Senseless slams forward brutally sought to ruin Daphne, and she howled out in pure worry. His thick cock took to battering into her, fucking her without a care and seeking to break her down, bringing on something that she was powerless to deal with, the chaos and the worries that she was opening up to stranger and weirder. "No! How could you? What the fuck is--what are you proving here?"
"No, don't speak. I don't care. I'm done with caring, and I'm done playing nice." His hands found her hips, and he worked to keep his body firmly down upon Daphne, relentless and brutal in the way he sought to ruin her, to ravage her in the hazy, sloppy, greedy chaos he offered. The pleasure was all so weird, the sinfully wicked excitement of holding her down and fucking her into oblivion, seeking to deprave and violate her body, out to take her to the limit and to make her feel all he could. "Bullies thrive on making people feel powerless; let's see how you like it."
Howls of rage and panic fell on deaf ears amid Harry's continued aggression and the burn of senseless aggression, a spectacle leaving her less and less sure of how to make sense of this all now. "You fucking asshole!" What did it matter if she yelled out? Harry didn't care, and his continued brutality was all made to drive that point home, making her churn in shame and disgust while he got what he wanted from her body, using her for rank disrespect and a brutal speed too feverish to leave her with nay time to register things that weren't her own humiliation.
"I'm fed up of you," was Harry's only response, a remarkably empty comment doing little to convey the mess of feelings and chaos that kept him pounding madly onward. This was about the hateful indulgence he could carry on with, and the burn of pure wickedness kept him active, forward, driven by a ferocious need to wear her down. "I'm fed up of the attitude, I'm fed up of you clinging to bigotry even while everyone tries to move on. And I'm tired of having you act like a huge bitch who thinks she's better than me!" As he let loose his anger, Harry felt himself settling into a groove of pure aggression, the mad dominance of pushing Daphne to fall into deeper shame into a maniacal throb of pleasures and pressures all made to overwhelm and defile her. he wanted to keep this up, and he knew exactly how to move within these pressures to keep her falling to pieces.
"That doesn't justify rape, Potter!" Daphne yelled. It meant nothing. Nobody heard her. Clearly, nobody was even barging out of class to check up on her and see what was going on. There was simply no justification for this treatment, but Harry moved with the harshest and most relentless of indulgences. There was no restraint behind the harsh, brutal speed Harry took it all out on her with, seeking to ruin Daphne and to make her fall to pieces under his touch. It was too much for her to take, the insistence and the brutality of feelings she was powerless to deal with, and it was all proving a more and more potent threat by the minute.
A threat she was powerless to fight against.
Daphne didn't have the strength to push him off, and as Harry's cock reamed her cunt without hesitation, she felt the worsening ache of embarrassment. The disproportionate brutality behind his efforts, taking cruel words and plunging things into this brutal spectacle. She felt so much. His cock was so big, and he moved with such hateful intensity to fuck her back into her place. All of the revulsion and the shame churning through her felt like something that she was lost to, unable to articulate the damning plunge into shame and worry now, the throb of heat carrying her to suffer more and more, driving her to fall to ruin in the face of inescapable embarrassment.
"Finally running out of attitude?" taunted Harry. "It took long enough for you to stop being such a cunt, but I'm not going to stop. I want to see how far I can push you, and what it takes to make you fall into line and show me some respect." Harder thrusts and a truly brutal, truly senseless speed kept Harry moving without restraint or care, knowing he could wear her down, knowing all the power was in his hand, that he could simply despoil and defile Daphne all he wanted, that she was hopeless in the face of his desires and his lusts. All control was his, and he was eager to see how far he could take things now.
Every thrust sickened Daphne, who could feel the disrespect to her body and her dignity, the burning aggression of Harry's worst impulses wearing down upon her, seeking to unravel her and to break her down to her most base level. She didn't know what to say in response to this mistreatment, the abusive spectacle of his worst impulses all wearing upon her. She was being debased to a degree she couldn't handle, and that pressure forced her to feel worse and wilder, the churning shame of pure insanity wearing at her thoughts, reducing her to a mushy panic unable to process the ways she was falling to pieces now. It was just too much, and with each passing second she felt worse, felt weirder, felt like she had no way out of this.
Harry didn't bother to warn her when he was about to cum. He didn't care. Daphne got to find out with a hard slam of his hips forward, the burn of confidence and passion tearing across him as he held her down. "Maybe if I knock you up, it'll teach you something about family and blood," he growled, holding her down firmly and making sure he pumped every drop he could into her snug cunt, making Daphne shudder in utter disgust, the throbbing, wild weight of pressures all meant to be her undoing.
Daphne was near the point of tears, stuck stammering just on the edge of it as he fucked an orgasm out of her. She felt no pride or satisfaction in that, trembling under the misery of this as he loomed over her. "That what you wanted? Feel like a big man now, Potter?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Harry ground against her firmer, hotter. "Tell me how big I am, Daphne. What does this feel like?" He worked his cock into her while she whimpered and squirmed under him. "That's what I thought. Maybe I can fuck you hard enough to make you want to cooperate just to get more of this."
"You're sick!" she hissed. "Sick, demented, and full of yourself in ways I didn't even think you would be. I've given you too much credit for thinking you weren't this vile."
That earned Daphne another slap across the face, and this time, Harry seized a fistful of her hair, dragging her back against him and twisting her around to face him, her back shoved up against the front of the desk to hold her in place as he forced his cock right down her throat, affording Daphne no mercy or warning for it, leaving her to simply choke him down and learn that the lessons would keep coming. "I'm going to fuck the attitude out of you. It's just a question of how." His potent slams forward railed without restraint against her hole, using Daphne without calm or care, just seeking to demolish her focus and to wear her down to something that he could work with.
Disgust throbbed through the Slytherin, punished for her beliefs and her words now in ways that seemed completely deranged, divorced from any semblance of reason. The burn of bubbling chaos and heat made her feel weirder, hotter, more panicked under the weight of embarrassment and frustration, the relentless throb of passion she couldn't deal with. The pleasure was unrelenting, the senseless chaos of needing to do something to make a bit more sense of this. It wasn't right or sensible, the burn of throbbing chaos that she had no choice but to take.
The pulls on her hair and the harsh slams forward brought on pulsating greed, the chaos and the fire of making her suffer down under him. Plugging up her throat with his cock and violating her as hard as he wanted. His singular goal was to indulge in this, to keep using her, worsening her, pushing her to fall into these pressures. It was a burn of senseless chaos that kept coming o, kept building. It was all too wild to handle, and he was eager to deal with these relentless lusts. He was reckless, forceful, ready to wear her down and push her to fall apart utterly.
Drool dripped down her chin, and the reckless, panicked noises she made came on with a desperate, scrambling worry, gagging and sputtering on his meaty cock, lost to the shameful pressure and chaos of giving in to all of this. The pleasure was senseless and wild, the insistence and frustration of crushing embarrassment, the wickedness of falling in to weirder throbs, a senseless frustration that kept her falling in deeper, worse and worse heat pushing her to fall hotter apart. It was humiliating and delirious, a burn of embarrassment she was falling deeper in to. It was a hopeless panic, a throb of burning and senseless frenzy she was giving in to deeper, lost to pure shame.
Harry lost himself to all of this. It was unrelenting, the shame and the worry of delving into weirder places, wishing he had a good way to process all of this while faltering more and more under the chaos behind it. "So good," he groaned, letting powerful slams forward impose upon her a moment of senseless chaos, the greed to carry on with, continuing to prove himself and continuing to force her to fall to pieces. The pleasure was a burning wreck of fire and frenzy, of excitement to keep pushing for more of. "Maybe I needed to take a trophy of war. A perfect, pureblood little whore I can keep as a treat. That's how you see me now, right?'
She did now! The burn of pure hatred and embarrassment tore across Daphne continued to brutalize her, wearing at her focus and keeping her in a state of pure delirium, the hopelessness surging across a body unprepared to deal with his hateful efforts. It was madness, and she felt like she was lost to this mess, the burning ache of worry that continued to ruin her, delirium and chaos keeping her falling to pieces. The chaos and worry of pure insanity continued to push her to feel like she was powerless now, all these senseless sweeps of spectacle and greed making her feel worse. She saw Harry now as nothing more than a brutal monster.
Harry didn't care. His hips were relentless, keeping up the pressure, keeping up fiery thrills and hungers that kept on coming, the burning heat to continue to rule. The senseless pressure behind his every slam forward continued to ruin her, continued to push Daphne to fall in to utter surrender. Her panic burned right through her, the continued chaos and the pressure of forcing her to fall apart. This was a senseless brutality that kept growing, wilder out of control, as senseless and chaotic as could be. He felt the power in his hands, felt the greedy joy of subjugating Daphne and forcing her to fall into his touch, the burn of insistence to keep giving in to, the fire he couldn't lose help but give himself up to fully.
Keeping Daphne lost to the embarrassment and chaos of the wild pleasures brought on weirder heat, the insistence and the fire to keep giving in to, the pleasures that made him feel better, made him really want to lose himself to digging in to this, forcing her to fall to pieces under his touch. He was eager to see her fall fully apart, the senselessness and greed of keeping him wanting more. Racing toward his joy and letting the sounds of her sputtering and gagging on his cock made him feel powerful, made for a potent burst of fire and heat he could give himself in to fully, and he wanted more and more of these possibilities. The pleasure kept him wanting more, a burst of spectacle and madness greedily demanding that he wanted to go for broke with.
Cum flooded into her mouth and down her throat, with Daphne struggling and sputtering in wild disgust, unable to deal with the hopeless, crushing reality of these pressures. Harry was brutal and wicked in his efforts, and she felt the wear at her utterly, the churn of shame and panic that made her thoughts fall to pieces and made her feel like she couldn't escape the ugly situation upon her.
Harry pulled back, and his wet cock smacked Daphne across the face. "I'm not even finished with you yet," he boasted, looming over her with a continued, hateful joy, the insistence and glee of something truly horrible, something that made Daphne feel worse and worse about being there at all. "I have a trick I can show you, if you'd like."
Wheezing and spitting up strands of throat slop, Daphne didn't bother to answer Harry, mortified by the pulse of senseless shame continuing to grip her. She didn't want to give Harry the further satisfaction, but what good was any of that going to do for her? She knew he'd just do it anyway. She knew there was pretty much nothing that was going to stop Harry now from his brutal, misery-inducing efforts, and she decided it was best to simply go limp and let him do whatever he wanted to her, accepting it for the sake of getting it over with. "Just do whatever you want to me," was all she said, showing pure defeat.
Harry laughed that off. "Oh, you have no idea what I'm doing," he growled. But she would. "Turn around," he said, pulling his wand out. "Turn around, undress, and bend over the desk."
The sight of him pulling out a wand brought with it every implication of a hex or some torturous assault, but Daphne complied, turning herself around and starting to peel off her clothes, which were already out of place and clumsily arranged anyway. The burn of embarrassment across her body had Daphne painfully aware she wasn't able to do anything to deal with this, the struggle upon her that she was doomed to have to consider every angle of surrender to. There was no good way to process all of this; whatever he was about to do to her, she was letting it happen, going along with his demands, pulling her clothes off and opening herself up to the damning embarrassment soon to take her. Whatever madness was soon to sweep across her body, she had no control over it. She was opening up to the dismal brutality and shame of falling to pieces. All for him.
Harry muttered things under his breath while she loomed over the desk. Daphne didn't try to move or turn around, didn't want to know what he was doing back there, didn't care what she was about to be subjected to. She just wanted it over with, and the sooner it was over with, the better. She just had to let this happen, had to deal with the burn of utter horror and humiliation, ticking down the moments until freedom, and she knew there just wasn't any other way around it now.
With her clothes off and her body exposed, Daphne had little to do but wait. That waiting didn't make this much better, leaving her in dismal shame while wondering what was about to come around upon her, only for the suddenness of him seizing her hips and ramming back into her pussy to catch her off guard. "Wow, how creative," she hissed, some attitude flaring back up at the sheer frustration of this situation. Daphne was not in a good place here, and she felt the stubborn insistence keeping her tense, furious, doing everything she could to make even a little sense now of all these feelings. It was too much. His cock inside of her again was no easy issue to deal with, but what the hell was she supposed to think about these damning plunges into panic and heat now?
Harry didn't care. He continued to brutalize her, pounding into her tight hole with reckless greed, a fever and a fury carrying him to ruin her utterly. Thrusts continued to work at her without any warning or word, until Harry circled around her and grabbed her hair, guiding his cock toward her lips.
With just one problem: Harry was still fucking her pussy.
"Wha--gulk glurk gulk glug!" The rude interruption of a cock stuffing down her throat did little to make this saner, a relentless tremble of shame and heat panicking across her body. Daphne was being fucked at both ends, but it was only her and Harry in the room, wasn't it? She looked up at Harry in front of her, baffled, shaky, horrified, but unable to turn her head around while the cock was lodged down her gullet.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Harry asked. But it wasn't Harry in front of her. Leaning in against her ear, another Harry grabbed her throat and held onto her, gripping her tightly while she got taken. "Take more of my cock. You're going to lose. You're going to submit, you petty little bitch, and you're going to learn to respect me." As two of him hammered into Daphne at both ends, the original snarled, "Cloning spells. It's a complicated magic, but I think it's doing a great job at teaching unruly little cunts like you what you're good for." His snarl expressed the sheer contempt he had for Daphne and everything she was doing, the burn of pure hatred and greed carrying him forward. He expressed a stormy, bitter anger for everything about her.
Cloning magic. The thought made Daphne shudder in disgust, the realization that she was caught in the midst of embarrassment and terror, the worry of falling into worsening panic, into the sensation of throbbing shame that kept her worried and afraid. All of him. Harry was a monster, unruly and reckless and forcing her to learn the hard way what ugliness he was capable of. She couldn't do much about nay of it, struggling under the weight of pure hate and aggression, a wickedness meant to unravel hr, meant to break down the light inside of her.
But underneath all the misery and the churning shame, it felt good. She hated that most of all. Daphne didn't want this. She didn't want to feel anything like this, didn't want to deal with the persistence and the heat of pure misery that consumed her. She didn't want to feel good, didn't want to give him any of this satisfaction, and the ways it did filled her head with wanton, rabid shame. The disgust that Harry inspired inside of her was outrageous, and she wished only for an escape from these pressures, from the shame of these feelings and the ideas it invoked, from the idea that she was trapped here to receive everything he wanted to do to her. That was all getting worse, getting uglier, as he unveiled more and more of the darkness inside of him to her.
But Harry didn't care. Brutalizing her holes was all that mattered now, fucking the attitude out of Daphne and taming her. The chance to defile and disgrace Daphne was worth so much more now than any of this other stuff, and the pressures continued to escalate with damning efficacy, the efficient burn of chaos and heat and hatred that continued to work its magic. It was all about getting her to fall apart, about wearing down whatever was inside of her. The satisfaction and the power play offered up insistence and chaos. This was about hatred, about power, about wearing down Daphne until she was falling to pieces completely for him. He wanted to break her, ruin her, defile her body completely. That would settle their arguments.
The throb of endless insistence kept her hazy and sloppy. The weight of these shameful throbs brought on worse and worse heat, the continued hatred forcing Daphne deeper into his clutches. She didn't want to deal with any of this, and the continued shame of the weight coming crashing down upon her was all just a bit too much. Raw excess and shame did her in, and Daphne felt all sense collapsing out of her. The relentless ache of these pleasures kept her stumbling, and the weight of this all was a bit too wild to be able to handle.
"You fucking deserve this," he growled. "Keep doing it. Keep taking this cock you fucking whore; you're nothing. You're a bitch who I'm going to make sure suffers, and you're going to fucking give in to it. I'm done with your bullshit. I'm fucking tired of it!" He let his bitterness and his hatred carry him, a perpetual march forward, caring only about the chance to brutalize Daphne and make her feel the utter shame she had signed up for by stepping up against him. The brutality inherent in these pressures was too much, and she felt the weight of them continue to rule her, the churning panic and misery that indulged in tearing her apart, in making her thoughts fray under the weight of brutality and chaos that this offered.
This was a nightmare. Everything that Daphne wanted to do to stop this felt like a weak, ineffectual mess of hopelessness. She burned up too hotly, searing under the shame of what this could do to her, the ruin and the shame of falling to piece and letting him have the satisfaction of wearing her down. She didn't know how to save herself from it, letting Harry be a one-man gangbang, spitroasting her and looming over her to mock her body and her surrender, to keep her stumbling into despair and delirium. Harry was unstoppable now, knowing how to force her to fall to pieces for his touch, knowing how to make sure that she was in a misery spiral that seemed now truly inescapable.
The brutality weighed upon her heavier, forcing her to falter, forcing Daphne to struggle and ache under the sharp lesson of his touch. The miserable, merciless chaos behind all of this was made to destroy her thoughts, made to force her to fall to pieces for his satisfaction, and Harry knew he could keep chasing it, knew that with each passing second, he was in nothing but unquestioned control over the situation. The pleasure was a brutal fever, the weight of chaos and heat that kept her falling utterly to pieces. It was too much, and every second of its wicked intensity felt like a challenge to be plunged into, the shame and the embarrassment of burning up through and through.
Silenced, fucked, humiliated, and forced over the edge, Daphne felt another orgasm rock across her body. It was too much, another exhausting reminder of what she couldn't ignore, of the dismal reality of what consumed her. For the first time in the midst of all this, Daphne didn't feel revulsion or hate. She felt something worse. She felt like she wanted to let it take her. Like the pleasure was simply strong enough for her thoughts to fall apart and teach her to want this. It was horrible, the worst possible outcome to pleasures tearing across her, ripping her thoughts apart and forcing her to fall fully apart, the clumsy spiral down into shame tearing across her, making her body ache in the face of pure insanity. She didn't have a good argument against these pressures, didn't know how to stand up for herself or act against the weight of what hit her.
Was she starting to like this?
Harry pumped her full of cum, and didn't give her the time to think about it. Daphne got rolled onto her back, and the Harry who fucked her pussy climbed up onto her, grabbing her breasts and straddling her chest while the Harry who fucked her mouth got at her pussy. The original Harry, in turn, loomed over her, slapping her across the face and pulling on her hair. "Go on, Daphne. Let me hear all about the awful things I do. I want to know how much you hate me. Tell me everything.'
But she was silenced. In the throes of utter misery, the pressure made her feel the burn of pure shame, the revulsion and panic of falling into this. She stared into his eyes, her own but all over her lips and chin while she stared him, caught without much to say n her own defense, the burn of pressure and shame that she was powerless to deal with. The unnavigable sloppiness of giving in to this made everything feel weirder and hotter, a worsening storm of shame, of panic.
"Well if you're not going to say anything, then I might as well hold you down and--" Harry cut himself off and grabbed her throat again, but this time he squeezed. He gripped her tight and began his relentless push into trying to wear her down, forcing Daphne to feel the absolute worst of these pressures, the storm of utter insanity that he knew he needed to pursue, carried on through the chaos and greed and fire. He wanted to throw himself into all of this, the burn of pleasure and fire.
There was no refusing these possibilities. It was an enticing rush of pure joy, the pleasure to chase without care. He felt ready, power surging across him as he choked Daphne, as his clones fucked her tits and her cunt without a care. Her body was being roughed up and objectified, forced to deal with the burn of senseless spectacle, the greedy pulse of pure insanity. The greed carried him to keep wanting more, the pleasure to pursue hotter. This was an opportunity he wouldn't resist.
"It seems like you're better off as my whore than you were with any of those other time wastes," he snarled, keeping up the forward momentum and chaos that tore Daphne asunder. The pleasure kept up its mad pace, the greed carrying him further forward, burning with contempt and fire, lit up by the frenzy of wild chaos, the wickedness and the greed of taking this all deeper. He wanted to make her break down for him, wanted to force her to fall to pieces in the name of being taken to the limit. It was too much, all built on the singular insistence of making sure that she was put in her place, that she was unquestionably his. There would be no doubt, no sense. Just brutality. Just ruin.
But she was moaning. She was moaning like a fuck-drunk wreck learning the hard way what complete shame could tear her apart. She had no way of fighting it, no good sense in dealing with these pressures, the relentlessness of throbbing heat carrying her to fall to pieces and to learn the hard way what utter shame awaited her. It was too much, and she felt the burn of it tearing across her, the wicked persistence and greed of these most brutal efforts teaching her to fall fully apart now. There was no good way to deal with how far she was falling, and she was falling fast. Daphne struggled to make sense of all these feelings, lost to the collapse and plunge of giving up deeper, finding it impossible to shake these feelings. She just kept falling, sliding into disrepair and shame while these feelings tore across her so intensely and taught her place.
Harry's fingers around her throat only guided her to feel better, to lose herself to the sloppy spectacle of feeling and chaos. It brought on throbs of merciless fever and shame that did to her things she was powerless to make sense of. It was too much. It was brutality and heat and fire tearing across her, with the three instances of Harry all upon her, all worsening her focus, all teaching her to fall apart. There was no fighting off these pressures now. The inescapable shame of these pressures and the mad spectacle behind it left a feeling of pure revulsion and churning panic, the worry that tore across her now.
There was no escaping these shames, the burn of senseless chaos and spectacle that ripped across Daphne, but her moans were getting bolder and sloppier, growing more and more open to accepting the throb and danger in this all. She couldn't help it. The sinful spectacle of what Harry did to her just melted her thoughts completely, reducing her to a gooey wreck of shame and worry too lost to the panic to deal with this. She was one for, a twisting wreck committed now only to the pleasure of falling fully apart. It was a treat of utter madness, the spectacular wrongness of giving in to it all, falling to pieces underneath a pressure too hazy and sloppy to make sense or.
The Harry clones kept using her, and the grip on her throat didn't let up. The pleasure was unreal, and the idea of falling into his clutches felt warmer and hotter by the second, tearing across her with unbelievable chaos and a hateful panic she wasn't able to deal with. It was a lot, and the pressure became the worsening shame of this mess, the wickedness that forced her to fall apart fully. It wasn't right, wasn't sane, and she felt the weight of these panics tear across her now. She felt like she needed to accept this burn of pure heat, to fall to pieces in the name of getting exactly what he wanted out of her, and there was simply no good way to deal with it now. The unbridled chaos of letting it take her and tear her apart brought her to need more of this, and she didn't have any sense left in her head.
But it was good. It felt wicked. It felt perfect. Daphne was unraveling, unable to deal with the weight of pressure upon her and the burn of these pleasures, a chaos that made her fall utterly to the depths of shame upon her. It was too much, and she didn't know how to process it. The better it felt, the angrier she was at herself for letting these passions rip across her, but that joy only made her feel more certain of the pleasures it invited, knowing she was simply stuck in the depths of frustration and heat, the worry tearing across her until she was simply drunk under the chaos behind it. The idea of Harry's dominance just felt more and more like a reality to succumb to, lost to pleasure and stumbling into pure madness, into the joy of letting herself give in utterly.
The crushing weight of pure madness swept across her, and Daphne found it impossible to deal with the crushing reality of pure joy ripping across her. She came hard again, embarrassed by the swiftness behind it but so completely undermined now by the decadence of this surrender that she didn't stand a chance. She fell to pieces, howling out as she came again, as the cock in her cleavage and the one in her pussy bullied her into another orgasm, into another wonderful spectacle of surrender and depravity. She didn't know how to contain herself, falling to pieces under a panicked weight of chaos and worry, the pleasures she now needed to give in to completely. This was too much, and its beautiful excess burned her down and burned her through, leaving her simply a wreck giving up to this ecstasy and falling into pure chaos now.
The Harries held her down while they filled her up. It was too much for Daphne to take, the collapse of her focus and of her pride leaving her trembling and shaken, so thoroughly disrespected and humiliated now by what Harry could do to her and by the shame that it to offered. She was in over her head, falling into shame and disgust, into the panicked reality of what he could do to her and how doomed she was to make any sense of it. The pleasure was too much, and she felt it ripping across her focus, her pride, her ability to make sense of all these feelings. She was damned to this mess now, unable to articulate all the ways in which these problems crashed down upon her.
But finally it was too much for her, and she gasped out through the squeeze on her throat, "V-Voldemort!"
Everything stopped in an instant. Harry pulled back from her, the clones vanishing in a puff of smoke as his hand moved from her throat, then toward her body, caressing her arm and helping her level herself on the desk. "You went a lot longer than I thought you would," he said. "Way to go."
Daphne twisted around to find a position where she could settle in and begin to breathe, so completely spent by the shame and pressure behind all of this. She felt exhausted, run ragged and left gasping for air, trying to gather herself after it all. Hanging in pure confusion and shivering heat left her trembling and overwhelmed, but overjoyed to have given up to all of it. "Fuck, Harry," she finally wheezed.
"You did great," he said. "And you played tour part perfectly."
"Probably too well," she whined. "I can't believe I wanted this. We're really going to tell your friends you shagged me so hard I stopped being a bitch. We can't just be normal, can we?"
"I like it better this way." Harry kept up a smirk as he inched forward, caressing her body and feeling up Daphne, loving what they had just done and the utter depravity behind all of it. "That was fun."
"Are you going to start wanting to pretend to rape me more often?" Daphne asked.
"Do you want me to?"
"Fuck yes!"
Daphne pulled upward and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend. Their secret dating was something wonderful, the joyous mess of greed and chaos keeping him wanting more. There was little sense to any of this, the wild indulgence and frenzy of the chaos he wanted. This was going to be their excuse, a genuine push to make it okay to announce publicly their relationship by plotting this outlandish idea. They were going to leave his worst actions out here, of course. That was just for them for their dirty role play.
Harry kept her in close against him. "I didn't think this was going to be how I got you pregnant, but this was really special."
"It was amazing," purred Daphne. "And I'm glad we got to do it. Now, let's get our stories straight about the best hatefuck of all time so that when we get back out there, we can make up some good excuses for why I'm dating you now."
"A life time of having to pretend our anniversary is four months later than it was." Harry gave her a kiss on the cheek and helped her start to clean up the absolute mess that she was, all while they plotted their continued indulgence and the insanity of what they had cooked up together as a couple.