As a reminder, you can find MORE of this on my SubStar (dot adult slash KajaWilder), it's posted up past FWB2 Ch. 20 there... And if you guys haven't seen an update in at least a week, please let me know! I have a busy life, and I get distracted and forget things. This story(as well as ZpoW and PTaL) are supposed to be updated WEEKLY!

And if you're just interested in discussing things with other readers, of course, you can go to my DISCORD here: h- t_ t_ p-s -: -/ -/ -discord . g-g / N9yDA8t6Cw (taking out hyphens, underscores, and spaces of course).

Finally, you can also read my ORIGINAL FICTION on Kindle. If you've got Kindle Unlimited, they're all free. Here's my author page, h-t_t_p-s -:- /-/ tinyurl _._ com /- 4ffb7wph with links to everything published. (Remove all Hyphens, Spaces, and Underscores, of course... 'cause Ffnet.)

Two things: One, FFnet is still being dumb with the emails and alerts. It's still their issue, not mine.
The second, like the last 'interlude' chapter, this has no Harry PoV. All PoVs in this chapter are from other characters, just as an FYI.

Chap. 106: Interlude: Housewarming

Pansy Parkinson, could she even still call herself that rather than Pansy Nameless anymore (should she just change it to Pansy Indellise Potter, and be done with it?), felt a shiver of shame and anticipation, and a much larger tremor of desire, vibrate through her being as she realized just how many people were seeing her in the altogether. It was hardly the first time she had been naked in front of a group, of course. Even if half of this group had seen her that way before, there were a handful and more that had not.

People she burned with embarrassment upon realizing could see her body, see how her heavy breasts swung and swayed as she crawled on all fours, see her red face, and the arousal dripping down her legs like a flood.

At least the thought of taking the last name Potter was appealing. She certainly couldn't be turned on by being paraded around like a bitch in heat, crawling on her hands and knees like an animal. No, surely not, the daughter of a pure-blood House, all-but a princess, wizarding royalty. Hah!

In her heart of hearts, Pansy Parkinson sneered at the old her, which rebelled and recoiled. She sneered and laughed, jeering as her old self would have done. This new her, the one Harry had first sparked into being by his near-complete domination of everything she had believed, by making her love being ravished, and then fed to the blaze of desire now within her some healthy advice, knew better.

Knew she loved pleasure, loved even the shame. Knew she was a slag, a whore, a slut, meant for the use and pleasure of everyone else around her. Not in any sort of degrading way, even if some of the things that she loved were degrading or humiliating, but part of her felt she deserved to be abused, beaten, and berated for the way and ways she had treated Hermione, and Harry, and their friends. They didn't do any of that, of course, even if a part of her thought they should.

No, what really got Pansy off, and the new her could definitely admit she was getting off to this, was the utter subjugation of herself to everyone around her. She was not the pure-blood princess she had been raised to be. If anyone at this party was that, it was Daphne, or maybe Fleur, or even Ginny Weasley (another secret, if more recent, fantasy that had largely replaced her brother Ron). Pansy completely enjoyed the refusal of what she had once believed. She had once thought herself worth being considered above all.

Now, she relished being beneath all. Figuratively, of course, she very much found she enjoyed being everyone's slave, their personal toy.

But also literally. She liked it when Ron used her arse, treating her like a thing for his pleasure, to show the old her what she was worth: nothing more than a lump of flesh, and barely that. The new her found that while she greatly enjoyed the pleasure such a position brought her, the group as a whole...

Valued her.

They loved her, or at least liked her now. Even Hermione, smarter than anyone she had ever met, asked for her opinion on things on a regular basis, and listened. Hermione, who should have hated her. Who had every right to hate her. Had instead embraced her. And Pansy felt herself forever grateful. She loved that, too. Loved being beneath them in the bedroom, showing her old self, who would have whored herself out for position or prestige, what she really was... and taking all the pleasure of it for herself. She also loved being an equal outside the bedroom, included, valued, and listened to.

Once, she had even considered herself better than her best friends. Now, Daphne, Tracey, and even the Carrow sisters, who she had looked up to (a little) for their cunning and quiet intelligence, were joining in... and they considered her equals, too. Harry would have it no other way, but she felt it was natural, not only his influence. For the first time, she had real friends, and a real family who thought of her more than as a weapon, or a bargaining chip in some marriage of convenience to increase her former family's prestige or power or wealth, preferably all three at once.

Hah! Look at me now, Mother. Look at your daughter, as she shakes her bare arse and pussy, which drips and drips! Look at me, begging for someone to just take me, here in the garden, with everyone watching! This is what your whore of daughter would have been, except this one loves it. Loves it, as much as she hated you. Did you know that, Mother? That I always hated you? I don't. Not anymore. Now, I only pity you, and your loveless, passionless, sexless marriage. I wish you happiness, but I know you won't find it in this life. I, however...

Pansy moaned, as Tracey Davis, the tiny, petite girl who was among the only people in Slytherin she would have considered a peer in intellect before getting to know Daphne and even Milly a little better, reached out and slapped her arse hard enough to make it jiggle. Next to her, the blonde girl giggled, then fondled the other cheek more gently as she passed, "You do have a nice arse, Pansy. Too bad it's always so uptight."

"Like she's got a stick in it," Hermione giggled as she passed the couple, and moved on to where the brunette was sitting next to Ginny on the grass.

"Yeah, Pansy," Ginny giggled, not unkindly, "Do you have something in your arse- oh, Merlin, you do! That's a cute little butt-plug! And that tail Lavender's got? Where's mine, Harry?"

Her Master for the evening laughed, "Patience, Foxy, you'll get yours soon enough. Let Lavender have her turn as my Pet tonight... she's earned the title. Are you enjoying yourself, Slave?"

"Yes," Pansy whispered at once, near hissing in ecstasy. The girl's hands on her rear had turned the bonfire into a searing, more focused heat between her legs, and around them. She wanted to be spanked again. A lot, and hard. She wanted to feel like she had in the pillory, when she'd gotten her first runes, and joined this group. She wanted Weasley in her mouth and then her arse, and her Master plugging her quim up with his massive cock. She wanted Hermione on one breast, and Ginny on the other, while her mouth serviced Daphne and Tracey at the same time.

She moaned again as she climaxed, just thinking about it.

Behind her, she heard her Master chuckle, as the feedback she sensed from his empathy told him exactly what she had done, and why.

"Good Slave," he told her kindly, and reached down to swat her once, too, "But more will have to wait a bit, we've more walking to do before Pet has had enough. Don't we, Pet?"

Lavender Brown did not feel one hint of shame as she dropped to her knees just inside the back door of Harry's new home. As her hands hit the carpet of the rear foyer, she felt shame's opposite. It would not have been remiss to say that her body thrummed with anticipation, quivering delightfully. Her nipples felt like diamonds, swollen with blood and pressure and the need to be suckled. The butt-plug that gave her the tail she craved was full, large, and stretched her almost painfully, much like Neville's fat cock had done the first time she'd taken him in her bum. And what a delight that was, to find out the once-shy, awkward boy had become a man capable of fulfilling the dreams and desires of every witch in Hogwarts. At least, the ones who loved being stretched wide.

He was no Master, of course, but he had turned into a surprisingly attentive, kind lover. Not the sort Lavender needed, deep down, but the kind everyone enjoyed all the same.

She had fancied Ron Weasley, once. His cock was great too, sliding deep inside her pussy, her throat, her bum, but without being borderline unpleasantly thick. He was a bit closer to the kind of man Lavender dreamed of being owned by. Not for the right reasons, though, and as she had matured, she had learned more about herself and him. More specifically, why they would not have worked long-term. She loved shagging him. She loved shagging everyone, but Ron Weasley was high on her list. As far as men went, he was in fact the second-highest, behind Master. But Ron used her body for his own reasons. He thought she was hot (Lavender agreed). He thought she was sexy (Lavender agreed). He thought she had a great pussy (So did many others, including her), great tits, and all of that... and that was it. He used her, and that was great... but he didn't give her quite the same feeling Master did.

Master used her because she wanted to be used, because it was what she wanted. Not just because it was who he was. Harry James Potter, her new owner, loved her, and used her because he knew, he understood, that was what she wanted. Ron Weasley used her because he didn't think anything more of it than she was willing and he was a randy bloke. There was nothing wrong with that, per se, but it was a colder, less loving version of what she now had with her Master.

A year ago, even six months ago, and Lavender would not have known the difference. She had almost lied, that day in the Hospital Wing, after she and so many others had gone to rescue the kidnapped Harry. She'd said she fancied him... and she did. But it was a narrow thing, she had not realized how much she cared about Harry until that very day. Even that moment, as the enormity of what she had risked, her very life and the life of her friends, hit her. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

She couldn't say the same about Ron, whom she had also fancied until that moment. Or Seamus Finnegan, who had become a smear of red underneath a train cart just over seven months later. She couldn't be bothered to do that math, not even about a boy she had dated a few times. She wasn't a higher creature at the moment, after all, but an animal. A dog.

Her Master's Pet.

A beloved member of his family.

So Lavender Brown delighted as she crawled on all fours out onto the paving stones and bricks of the yard behind Harry Potter's new manor home, her body aglow in a crude mirror of her soul. No... she didn't crawl.

She walked, proudly, as the Pet of her Master, and of his new family. His cotierre.

Pansy Parkinson flushed with shame and arousal as she was greeted with cat-calls, laughter, and invitations.

Not Lavender. She was flush with arousal, that much they shared, but her pride in her position overwhelmed even that. Yes, she would probably have both of those other men's cocks in her tonight. She would probably go down on at least a couple of the women. So would Pansy, especially if the slap the petite Tracey gave her was a sign. But as they walked past that cluster and to the next, where Neville was speaking quietly with Hannah Abbot and those older Slytherin girls, the twins who seemed to know just about everyone. What was that about?

Then again, did it matter? She was a social butterfly, to be sure, and loved gossip, but Neville wasn't the type to engage in it so she doubted there was anything juicy going on. Both girls, she noticed, looked toward them- toward her Master- appraisingly after Neville said something she couldn't make out, then seemed to come to some sort of decision. At least, they looked at each other pointedly, nodded, and then thanked Neville and Hannah before walking away, toward another cluster of people.

Lavender sighed in bliss. She didn't have to worry about what the Carrows were talking to Neville about. She didn't have to worry about anything. Not her family (mostly safe), her best friend (Parvati was just there, still talking to Luna about something or other, while Padma was starting to look bored). She didn't have to worry about being naked, because Pets only wore clothes when their masters wanted them to. No worries about the Death Eaters, or even He-Who-Was-A-Shite-Head, because Master was there, and she had seen what he could do with a wand. She had seen what they could do together.

She had no worries at all. Lavender Brown was in love, she had a new family but hadn't yet lost her old one, and more importantly, she had a Master, an owner, who was so adept at treating her the way she wished to be treated, it was almost inconceivable.

She was free, and she loved every moment of it.

Animals mated with who they would. They didn't care. Why should she?

Mid-way through their walk, Lavender started tugging Harry and Pansy toward the hedge-rows. Not because she was particularly randy (even if she was), or because she wanted privacy. No, if anything, Lavender enjoyed having witnesses as someone used her body for their pleasure. She had learned that interesting little tidbit about herself when Harry had set her to work shagging the most suspicious of Gryffindors so that he could set up one orgy after another the previous year. What a delight that had been!

Maybe her parents, her father in particular, might have cared that she had developed a bit of a reputation as a slag. She'd certainly shagged enough people over those several months to earn the reputation! But animals didn't care, so neither did she. In fact, she loved it. She'd had the reputation anyway, if only because she'd given out a couple of blow-jobs, and been the first in their dorm to do so. Why shouldn't she live up to it, if she was already looked at that way?

Lavender wasn't heading toward the hedge-rows for privacy. She was going to be used publicly. She was a bitch-witch in heat... but the flowers smelled nice. It was as simple as that. She was a simple creature, after all, with no worries or cares except the needs of the moment. And she needed to smell the flowers, and have her Master in her. In her somewhere. Oh, she could probably lick Slave, too. She'd done it before, and rather enjoyed Slave's creamy, almost cheesy-start flavor. Mm... tasty pussy. Lavender sniffed, as nudged her shoulder against the still red-faced, dark-haired girl crawling next to her own proud walk.

Yes... this was a nice evening, and she was happy indeed to finally be herself.

Ron Weasley sighed as he fought the urge to pull out his shaft and shove it into the girl pressed against him. She was making it very hard, and in more ways than one, "Come on," he groaned, "we can't. Not like this. Harry-"

"Master," the girl cooed, "wants us to shag," she replied.

The words might have sounded like Lilith, but Ron knew full well the Succubus was currently speaking to Fleur and Astoria about something or other, while they sipped at some sort of French thing the girls called tea but he couldn't see as anything of the sort.

He knew this girl, anyway, and could tell the difference, he thought, between her and a Succubus imitating her, no matter how good Lilith was at that. He was connected to her. He'd helped make her, even if he had even less idea what he was doing at the time than Harry had, "Romilda, seriously, we can't. You just got done telling me your parents left you in Harry's care. Not mine. I don't-"

"You don't want me," she sniffled, knowing full well how he, how almost all men, reacted to a sad girl they were attracted to, "You think I'm... I'm a slag."

Ron felt his mouth gape open, "No, I- I don't! I just- Aren't- aren't you, you know, one of Harry's girls? He's gotta say it's alright, then- if we ask, I'm sure he'd-"

He had no easier time with crying girls than Harry, it turned out. His heart (curse it!) swelled with empathy, even though he knew the girl was at least sort of putting on a show for him, "Hey, that's not fair," he grunted, "And you know it. Really, Romilda, I thought..." He sighed, then tried again, voice just a little calmer, "I thought you were... better. I thought the Healers and the Muggle Psycho-Patrick Doctors were working.

"They helped," Romilda replied quietly, a single tear running down her cheek as he watched her profile, "but only some. I'm... I remember why I was who I was before. I don't care, though, Ron. I'm fine with being just a girl, and school-work, and all of that, but I like being your tool, your fuck-toy. You and Harry both. I like serving people, and making them feel better, and taking their stress away. I mean, Merlin, what's not to love about that?"

Ron shrugged, "I... I don't know, Romilda, I really don't. I mean, just... just having a conversation with you feels a bit... weird. After... well, after what we've done. Er, what Harry and I did to you."

Romilda nodded, then turned to face him once more. He felt a bit of relief as she took a step back, putting a more normal, conversational distance between them. It had the added downside (or was it a benefit? He was having a really hard time distinguishing between the two just then) of letting him see more of her.

Because Romilda Vane was clad just in her knickers, without so much as a bra. The rest was pooled around her feet, or strewn about the end of the hedge-maze on the furthest dead-end from the house Harry now owned. Her skin was smooth and inviting in the moon- and star-light, and it was all Ron could do, so far, to keep from ravishing her, "Ron, I don't regret that night. I lost my virginity in an unusual, spectacular fashion, with two of the bravest, strongest wizards I know, and a Succubus. Yes, I changed that night. Every day I realize a bit more how much. But I've not yet, in any day or even moment since, regretted anything."

He watched her chest heave with a massive sigh, then she lifted a hand to cup one perfect, tear-drop breast, "When you all were using me... when Lilith was shagging me near-constantly, trying to sate the urges? That was the second-best time of my life. The best two weeks, for sure. The best time was that first night. I felt so good, Ron. Amazing, like you wouldn't believe. I've had thousands of orgasms since. I have to get off like, five or ten times a day just to stay a bit sane. But never has anyone made me feel like I did when you lot were just using me like a toy, or that first night. I want that. I want more of it. I want to be your fuck-hole. I want to be Harry's. I want to be everyone's, but mostly just you two."

Ron groaned, "Okay, sure, I- I don't really get it, but I guess I can see why you'd, uh, want that. Again. It's just..." he looked up and to the right, then left. No one was around. The nearest people were Luna and Astoria, and even they were now engaged in watching Harry parade Lavender and Pansy around like a couple of naked dog-girls or something. Even from a distance, the sight was a turn-on, which only made his erection throb harder in his trousers, "I don't want to... hurt you again. Both of us feel really bad, you know? We didn't want to do anything to you except have a good time, and this... what we thought would just be a casual thing wasn't."

"But I still don't mind," Romilda told him again, "In fact I love it. I love everything about who I am. Yes, a psychiatrist- that's apparently how it's pronounced- or a Healer would say I'm clearly suffering from hypersexuality in some form or another, and I've got a dozen different diagnoses to go with it. But I'm not suffering. I'm happy. I just want to be happier. Isn't that what everyone wants? What's wrong about it? Or would being with me not help you be happy? If it's that, I'll stop asking, Ron. I don't want to make you less happy. My purpose in life is to help, not make people sad or upset."

"No," he groaned, feeling lost and more than a little conflicted. Harry was always (oddly, he thought, given the way Harry's relatives had 'raised' him) a bit more in-touch with his emotions, and now that Lilith was a part of their lives, he was vastly more-so than Ron. He would probably have an answer, a solution, to the dilemma that Ron felt himself confronted with... but he didn't. Nothing, at least nothing that he could see, would result in someone not getting hurt.

Because he knew that no matter what she said, Romilda would be upset if he turned her down. He understood her needs, perhaps better than anyone except maybe Harry or Lilith, or Romilda herself. He was always randy these days, and the more willing a girl was to shag him, the more he wanted her in return.

Romilda Vane wanted to shag him very badly.

But if he accepted her offer? Then what? Harry probably wouldn't be all that fussed, he had to admit. Probably. They were basically all free-game these days, the women in their group. Neville proudly shared around Hannah, even though they were now officially dating. Harry didn't encourage the others, necessarily, but he'd made it quite clear that anyone he shagged could, as far as he was concerned, shag whoever they wanted- just like he could.

But he still felt guilty. He would be hurt, Ron thought, if he went along with it.

Then her hand touched his erection through his trousers, and he jumped, "Ron," she said quietly, "Seriously, I don't know why this is hard for you to understand. Mast- Harry told me once, and Lilith too, that we're connected. The magic you worked on me, that Harry worked on me, made you a part of me, and me a part of you. Surely... surely you feel it? The pull? It's the same pull I feel toward you. I don't just want you, Ron. I don't just want Harry, my Master. I need you. Soon, or I'll go mad. Truly mad. I mean that, Ron. If I don't have both you and Harry tonight, I will go insane, "

"Besides," she whispered, as she stepped closer again, and her hand gripped his shaft through the cloth, "I've seduced more than a hundred people already, Ron, and I know just how randy you can get... what makes you think you can resist, if I actually try?"

"Er, I... I'm not sure what that has to- fuck, Romilda, I... You're kind of missing the... fuck. Fuck!"

The last word was screamed, loud enough to make a dozen party-goers look their way for a moment. Five dozen or more birds took off from the nearby woods. He felt a wash of something move over him, from whatever strange, unknowable place within himself that the chitinous armor he had summoned against Nott and that woman vampire had come from, but it was gone as quickly as it came, along with a vague sense of reassurance.

Romilda took the roar for what it was: him giving in. She smiled, leaned in a little closer so that her too-soft lips brushed just slightly against Ron's earlobe, "That's the idea, lover." Then she sank to her knees.

A moment later, Ron's prodigiously long, slender, very straight shaft was nearly poking the dusky-skinned girl in the eye. Her fingers slipped around it completely, but even both of her hands couldn't cover the whole length. His head was free, and there was a half-inch gap between them. Ron groaned despite himself when she stroked him with both small, warm hands, twisting around his shaft as she teased and tugged a bit, working him so he was even harder, "Fuuuuuck," he heard himself groan, unable to find words to describe... well, anything.

Anything except the sight of her there, on her knees, and the pleasure she was bringing him. Like she belonged there, servicing him. With her hands... her breasts. Her mouth, her whole body, her entire being.

It hit him suddenly, like the old muggle thing about a metric tonne of bricks, or stones, or whatever they were.

She did.

It was just as Romilda Vane had been trying to tell him for twenty minutes. The girl did belong to him, in some ways. Not as a slave, or whatever weird pet-thing Harry was doing with Lavender and Pansy (at least his sister wasn't wrapped up in that particular weirdness, he consoled himself). No, quite simply, he had helped make her what she was. Who she was. And if Romilda Vane was Harry's responsibility, she was Ron's, too.

Maybe it was the fact that aside from Harry, he'd had his some sort of Runes longest. Maybe it was him taking part in breaking the old Romilda's mind and heart, and turning it to the purpose of his and Harry's pleasure. Maybe it was just something as simple as that he wanted her there. Ron didn't know, and wasn't given to philosophizing enough to even truly care. Maybe it was all of the above, or something else entirely. In the end, he decided, it didn't really matter.

She was there... and she belonged there. It stood to reason, then, that if Romilda Vane belonged where she was, servicing him, and Harry, and by extension whomever else... didn't it make sense that he belonged where he was, being serviced by her?

Maybe that was why it felt so good, just having her hands on him again. He'd only shagged her helpless, lust-mad body a few times while it rested on the wooden horse, or pillory, or even 'chained' to the foot of Harry's bed after she regained some semblance of herself. Ron knew then that he enjoyed it. He'd always found Vane attractive, even when she was just that weird bint who sometimes gossiped about Harry, and whispered to her friends about love potions.

But he knew then he enjoyed it a lot. She fit him well, physically, with a deep pussy that was also tight enough she felt exquisite along his entire length, with him just touching her end, as Harry had sometimes described. His best mate was a randy bloke, even more-so than Ron himself, and that was saying something. He was also generous, which made Ron question for the thousandth time in the last year why he had ever been envious of anything in Harry's life.

How many witches had Ron shagged, purely because Harry had helped him out? With a blowjob at first (which had been amazing, and he now knew it was Hannah who had been that first one), and then with losing his virginity to Hermione? True, Harry had shagged her first, but could he blame Harry? No. Ron wanted to shag her, so how could he blame Harry for wanting the same thing? Since then, there had been Hannah, Lavender, Pansy... well, really almost everyone Harry himself had shagged. Not Daphne, or Tracey, or either of the Patils... if Harry had even shagged them. Obviously, not his sister. But those stolen moments together at the Burrow over Yule had been amazing, too, and he was starting to think it was just a matter of time for them both. Ginny, at least, seemed to want more from him.

So why should he complain? It wasn't like he didn't get his willy wet in a couple of girls every week, at the very least. Often, it was two or three different ones per day. What bloke could say that? None, except he, Harry, and Neville, if Neville was even going out that much with other girls, instead of mostly focusing on Hannah, whom he was head over heels for?

No reason at all.

Besides, he realized as Romilda finally took his head in her mouth and started bobbing, both hands still twisting and wanking on his shaft, it wasn't like he couldn't have more if he asked. The other girls, the women, were... a lot. He liked simple things. Good food, relaxation, even a bit of study... and girls who didn't pester him.

Another realization hit Ron, even more profoundly. Strongly enough that he staggered, nearly falling over Romilda for a moment. His hand fell on her head to steady himself, but he left it there, and she cooed. Perhaps she thought it was because of her? It might have been, in a way. But the largest thing he had learned about himself in the last few minutes?

He wasn't in love with Hermione.

He loved her...

He loved shagging her, her blowjobs, covering her tits in cum...

But she also drove him up the wall, nagged frequently, and otherwise pestered him in ways he found at least mildly irritating. She was a lovely person, inside and out (and both physically and emotionally, mentally), but he wasn't in love with her.

He would have to tell her, and soon. Even if it broke her heart, though he didn't think it would. They had slowly been drifting apart for a year. She, he knew, did love Harry more than Ron himself.

The weirdest part, to him, was that he was perfectly okay with that. Hermione would be happier with Harry than she would be with him... and he'd be happier that way, too. They all would. Especially if they kept shagging, because Ron didn't want to stop that, at least not any time soon.

Then again...

"Be my slut," Ron told the girl on her knees in front of him, as he stood back up, "Be mine, at least as much as Harry's. Be that, and I'll be yours, too. I'll... take care of you. It's fair, right?"

Romilda, with his cock half-buried in her throat now, nodded up at him, with a strange, almost cat-like echo of pink in her eyes as she did. He didn't get words. There was nothing between them so deep as what Harry and Lilith had when they talked in each other's heads.

But Ron knew without a doubt that Romilda had agreed.

He sealed it with an orgasm, flooding her throat, filling her belly with his seed, and kept himself hard. That was something he'd only recently truly mastered, but he could go, and go, and never stop now, just like Harry.

It was what Romilda needed, what she wanted. Something simple. Someone to hug, to hold, to talk to without feeling like he was an idiot, too. And, of course, as much sex as either one of them could stand. In Romilda's case, like Ron's, that was a lot.

He smiled, as she finally freed his erection from her throat, and hoisted her up by the armpits. His own Succubus-enhanced strength was more than equal to the task, and Romilda giggled as her eager legs went around his waist. Then she lowered, or he lowered her, onto him, and both sighed together, "You need Harry still, tonight, right?"

Romilda nodded, "Before dawn, at least," as she writhed.

Ron grinned, "Alright. Tell him, when you go see him, how I shagged you, and gave you that offer. Tell him you agreed, Romilda, and see what he says. Everything... everything we have is thanks to him. It would only be polite to let him know, right? Maybe see if he wants you for himself?"

"Master has plenty," Romilda sighed against his mouth, loving the way he speared her so deeply, and held her up while the shagged standing, "You're mine, and I'm yours, he won't say no. But I'll tell him, as I ride his cock, too... maybe Lilith will join in too. I need to be double-teamed again, it's been so long... maybe tomorrow, both you and Harry?"

"Er, I'll see what I can arrange," Ron agreed, his smile widening.

Neither he nor Romilda made it to the rest of the party, and she was dripping from all three orifices, her taut, firm tits covered in three loads too, when he finally stopped using her. Romilda Vane had absolutely no issue with that, of course. She was half-way home, now. Just one more, and she could truly be sated, or at least satisfied, for a while.