Chapter 22: Have At It
Chapter 22. Have At It
Once my meeting with Alice was over, I floo back to Hogwarts. Then I find the nearest empty classroom to use my gacha wheel. Groping Proserpina has given me a single point. And now I can't wait to see what I'll get.
Summon Stone Obtained: [Diarmuid Ua Duibhne] (Rarity: Rare)
— Allows the user to summon the great hero Diarmuid Ua Duibhne for 1 hour. Note: He can be summoned only once a day.
That's… new. It's the first time I got something other than an item, skill, or perk. However, I do remember the mention of 'summons' when I first asked the system what gacha was three months ago. So it's not completely unexpected. Still, I'd like to learn more about it.
[Profile]
[Skills]
[Gacha Wheel]
[Help]
'Help.'
Summons are individuals from across the multiverse who can be called upon in times of need. These beings have entered a symbiotic relationship with the system, allowing them to continue existing even after death. In return, they are bound by the system's power to obey the gamer's every command. While they cannot refuse your orders, beware of abusing this control—just because they comply doesn't mean they can't become your enemies or engage in malicious compliance.
Interesting. But, the usefulness of a summon will depend on their individual strength.
Let's see.
A transparent hexagonal crystal appears in my hand, and I release it, instinctively knowing how it will work. The crystal falls to the floor and shatters, releasing a burst of light. From that light, a man begins to form.
He is unnaturally handsome, dressed in a teal outfit and armed with two spears. His black hair is combed back roughly, and there is a mole under his right eye. As our gazes meet, his memories flood into mine.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. The tragic hero of Ireland. A man cursed with love when all he desired was to demonstrate his dedication and loyalty. I witness his first death as Fionn Mac Cumhaill, his original master, deliberately delayed healing his mortal wound, letting him succumb to death. I also see his most recent death, where the 'noble' knight of Britain, Artoria Pendragon, spits on his sense of honour and chivalry as she takes part in a gross betrayal that leads him to committing suicide.
I keep getting more memories flashing through my head. I dive through his entire life in a second, understanding him deeply, discerning his very personality.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne is one of the most loyal servants you can get, but his sense of honour can make him undermine that loyalty. He is an honourable man, a typical white knight, the kind who won't ignore any evil. So I must be careful how I use him. I cannot order him to do anything immoral. I cannot let him know some of the things I have done. Because I'm self aware enough to recognise how greed and pride has made me cross boundaries in my life.
The great hero of Irish legends kneels before me, laying down his spears in a show of submission. "I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, a knight of Fianna. I pledge my lance, my sword, and my loyalty to you, Master. As your servant, I swear upon my honour to fight for your cause with all my strength, and to uphold the chivalry and valour of a true warrior."
I have to match this ceremonial tone.
"Rise, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. I am Harry Evans, and I welcome your strength and loyalty," I say, seeing through his calm demeanour, picking out his desperation to prove himself after his latest failure. "I have your memories, as you're aware. Worry not; I do not hold you in contempt. You've been squandered by a jealous master and betrayed by an 'honourable' friend. It was not your fault. I look forward to your aid when I need it."
Diarmuid is stiff as he rises to his feet, his eyes brightened by my words—hopeful rather than ashamed. "You have my gratitude, young master. And you have my life at your disposal. Throw it away, and if it helps you even a little, I'll die with no regrets."
I smile and shake my head, amused at how hard he is trying. "I'm in no hurry to throw away such a loyal servant. And unlike your last summon, we are not in a deathmatch. It's peaceful here. Your current task will be to teach me how to wield a spear and sword."
"I will do so gladly," he agrees instantly.
Summoning the key to the 'Gamer's Abode', I open the door to my dimension and send him to Evans Mansion, where my clones are waiting. Just because I have [Weapon Master] skill doesn't mean I cannot strive to improve further.
I convey the necessary information through telepathy, and Diarmuid understands about my clones and his time limit here. In one hour, he will vanish and go back to the place where the system holds dead heroes under its power. I'm hoping my clones will learn something before that happens.
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne
Level: 250
Beauty Tier: SS
Seduction: nil
Points Available: nil
He is not exceptionally strong in the grand scheme of things, but he's near unmatched in a melee battle; not to mention, his noble phantasms: Gáe Buidhe and Gáe Dearg. One spear nullifies magic and the other inflicts cursed wounds—unhealable wounds. It's his divine weapons that enhance his overall strength. I wonder if my [Heal] skill can bypass these cursed wounds. It will, most probably.
All in all, I'm not disappointed by my first summon.
~xXxXx~
Daphne Greengrass
The Great Hall has always been filled with noise whenever students and professors congregate for their meals. But today is different. The general chatter is dominated by a single topic of conversation. Shock and awe ripple through the murmurs, and every pair of eyes seem to repeatedly dip towards the newspapers lying on the tables, even though they've already reread them a couple of times.
It's understandable. The headline is fantasy come true.
CURE-ALL CREATED!
The article delves deep into the gossip, explaining how this magical solution is believed to cure anything—even being a squib or old. Yes, the 'mysterious' creator has announced that it can give magic to the magicless and de-age a hundred year old man into his prime. Compared to these outrageous claims, regrowing limbs and curing incurable diseases seem mundane enough to be believable.
Normally, no one would trust this, but there's another article beneath the first one, occupying the lower half of the first page.
FRANK LONGBOTTOM REVIVED!
It features an interview with Lady Longbottom, who reveals how she used the Cure-All on her comatose husband. That's proof enough to send the entire Wizarding World into frenzy, making them wonder if it can repair a thoroughly damaged brain then perhaps it can do everything else that it promises.
If that isn't already enough publicity, there is another article. And this one has everyone salivating. Well, at least the ones who can actually attend it.
ONE VIAL OF CURE-ALL TO GO ON AUCTION!
Daphne rereads it, her face blank. Here, Lady Longbottom and her father, Lord Greengrass, declare having taken up the joint responsibility to conduct the upcoming auction. They do not reveal the identity of the 'mysterious' creator, citing the need for privacy and safety of their generous genius. But Daphne can guess.
She glances at the Gryffindor table—at him, the boy she is deeply grateful to, yet cannot help but loathe. It's hard not to, after witnessing him humiliate her mother in such a degrading way to assert dominance. And while she knows it was coming with how condescending and racist her mother and father were, she cannot reason with her instinctive feelings. Yes, her parents are cruel, misogynistic pieces of shite, but they're still her parents.
"You never told me how Astoria was cured. Was this the reason? Your family vouching for this new medicine sure signals that they've already used it." Tracey's voice cuts through her musings.
She turns away from the Gryffindor table, where her sister is 'subtly' trying to get closer to Harry Evans, and looks at her best friend. "I cannot say."
Indeed, she cannot. She has signed the contract with the rest of her family, a contract that forbids her from revealing anything about Harry.
Tracey frowns but nods, recognising the weight behind 'cannot'. "Alright. I wonder who will win the auction though, and how much money this new medicine will gather."
While Daphne is proud to say that the Greengrass family is the wealthiest in the Isles, she has to concede that there are richer and more powerful people out there. It's obvious that one of them will win the auction, though even she isn't sure how much money will be thrown around to claim this miraculous Cure-All.
"I'd say it will easily earn hundreds of thousands of galleons," she answers, amused by Tracey's dropped jaw. "Maybe even millions if someone is both rich and desperate."
"M-Millions!" Tracey stutters, her warm brown eyes wide. "Do people even have that much gold?"
"You'd be surprised." She chuckles.
"But that means common people will never get to use it. Even the rich, upper middle class barely earns 800 galleons a month." She slumps face first on the table.
"Obviously. Only the rich will get it, and maybe, just maybe, when the anonymous creator has earned enough in the next hundred years, he will feel philanthropic enough and sell it dirt cheap. Though I doubt that will happen."
"I'm pretty sure someone will reverse engineer it for us 'commoners' by then."
Daphne is sceptical about that. She has seen how ridiculously powerful Harry is. She doesn't think he would release the Cure-All if there was a risk of his product being reverse engineered. She glances at him again, and this time, their eyes meet. He nods and offers her a soft smile, as if he hadn't shouted mountains to annihilation, as if he hadn't fucked her mother's mouth right in front of her. Yet, even with these mixed feelings of gratitude, interest, and resentment, her lips match his.
"Daphne, let's go."
It's not Tracey who says that but Draco. He stands behind her, barely hiding his enthusiasm and apprehension, just a moment away from touching her shoulder.
Before he can do that, she slides off the bench and gets onto her feet, following after him as they leave the Great Hall together, trying not to worry too much about Tracey's glare. Her best friend doesn't seem to like Draco. And for a good reason. Her forced partner is vain, blatantly blood supremist, and childishly arrogant. Not to mention, he has tried to humiliate Tracey many times before for her half-blood status.
Usually, Daphne wouldn't even look at him, but a dangerous task has forced them into close proximity. The mad Lestrange's hunt for horcruxes has paired them up against her will. Yes, she now knows what a horcrux is. And she dreads what will happen when she finally finds one in the castle. If her gut feeling is to be believed, she's very close to completing her search and freeing herself from this task.
"There's a strange wall on the seventh floor, near the painting of the dancing troll. I think we will find it there," she repeats what she told him yesterday.
Draco nods as he leads her towards the Grand Staircase.
~xXxXx~
"The first task is dragons," Mum says as Rose and I take our seats before her desk.
Today is Tuesday, and we are in the Potions classroom for my weekly detentions. Usually, she brings us directly into her personal quarters, but it seems she's still not done with her work. She has yet to change from her 'Professor Robes', and the magical glasses wished into existence for intimidation are sitting upon the bridge of her nose. Even her long crimson hair hasn't been set loose, and is confined in a tight bun instead. But the biggest indicator is the two piles of paper in front of her.
"We know," Rose answers. "And we are preparing for it."
Only four days are left for the first task, we'd be incompetent morons if we didn't already know about the dragons. Though I am gratified that she's willing to overlook rules to help us. Professors are strictly instructed not to interfere with the champions, and yet, here Mum is, directly telling us what to expect. Justifiable. Any mother would've done the same. She must be worried about our safety. It's dragons, after all.
"Good." She nods, her quill moving and her eyes roving over an essay. "Now that the first task is here, feel free to use this detention to discuss and work on your strategies. I'm here if you need any help."
I cannot help but laugh. "Isn't that blatant cheating?" Informing about dragons is one thing, but actually helping us is an entirely different matter.
"Do you think I care?" She quirks her eyebrow, her quill pausing briefly against the parchment. "If the organisers are going to throw dragons against my children, I would not just sit here and let you fumble to your deaths."
An exaggeration. Rose and I are far too strong for that. But her concern is appreciated.
"Okay. So no studying tonight." Rose grins, looking too happy at skipping the work that is essential for her NEWTs. "Come, Harry, let's leave Mum to her job. We can sit in her lounge and go through our plans."
I watch her walk towards the door in the corner, beside the blackboard, and enter Mum's personal quarters. Instead of hurrying after her, I turn my attention to Mum, noticing the squint in her eyes behind the square-rimmed glasses, the creases on her forehead, and the weary grimace as she sifts through a stack of answer papers, grading them.
"Need help? These are first-year essays. With our help, you can get it done a lot sooner."
Her lips curve up in a soft, exhausted smile. "You have bigger worries, love. Don't worry about me."
"Not really. You should know that a dragon doesn't pose any challenge to us." I take half from her pile, and she doesn't protest much. "Honestly, Rose alone can defeat it with her time-manipulating powers."
That thought reminds me of my vow to empower Mum. She needs some power-ups, too. Iris has her instant regeneration, and Rose possesses time manipulation along with the [Last Moments] skill. They've become extraordinarily strong, capable of looking after themselves. Now, all I need is to do the same for Mum.
"I cannot argue with that." She knuckles the ache in her lower back, releasing a groan as she arches backward against the cushioned support of the chair.
I wince at the series of cracking sounds. "How long have you been sitting there?"
"I've been at it after dinner. Today has been unusually hectic," she replies sheepishly, standing up and patting her numb legs. "I think I need a thorough massage. Every inch of my body seems… off. It feels like there are bundles of knots everywhere."
I hum noncommittally, checking the poorly written essay. Has the standard dropped for the first-years? What is this squiggly handwriting? And why are there no paragraph breaks? Do the kids don't even know basic grammar anymore?
It takes me another second to process her words.
Wait, what? Massage?
My eyes widen and I fight off a feral grin. My body vibrates with excitement as my mind conjures tantalising images.
I'll be a big fool to miss this opening.
Looking up from the abysmal essay, I find Mum back in her seat, preparing to resume her tedious work.
Lily Evans
Level: 31
Beauty Tier: S
Seduction: 35%
Points Available: 10
Kinks: Role Playing, Monster Cocks, Rough Sex
I gulp the excess saliva and wet my dry throat.
"Is this a roundabout way for you to tell me to give you a massage?" I quip, taking another paper from the pile.
I can't even read the words, my focus entirely on her.
"No," she declines, twirling her quill, shooting me a playful smile. "At this point, I need professional help. I don't think you'd be able to do anything."
Now, that's a challenge. Even if I didn't have the [Masseur] skill, I'd have taken her up on that in an instant.
"Actually, I am a professional masseur. I'll give you a massage once we are done with this."
She chuckles, not believing me.
Just then, Rose wanders out of Mum's quarters, coming to a halt beside the desk. "What's taking you so long? And when did you become a Master Masseur?"
"Mum is buried in work, so I offered my help." I point at the paper pile. "You should do the same. And I'm really a Master Masseur, just like I'm many things else."
She snorts, retaking her chair and further halving Mum's pile. "Of course, you are."
"You don't have to do my work, children." Mum complains half-heartedly, but she's smiling and looks relieved.
"I just want to get it done and test Harry's absurd claim. Let's see if he's really good at massaging or not."
"It's decided, then." I declare, pleasantly surprised at my sister's inclusion. "I'll be providing you two with heavenly massages. Prepare to become boneless puddles."
"Heavenly, huh? You're raising my expectations." She perches her chin on her steepled fingers, smiling broadly.
"Your imagination can't do justice to my skill, I'm afraid."
"We will see, won't we?" She chuckles, taking off her glasses and returning to work.
Not even thirty minutes later, we are done.
"That was quick." Mum shuffles the essays in a particular order and shoves them in the drawer. "I was afraid it would stretch to midnight. Maybe I should hire you two permanently."
Rose scrunches her nose and waves her off. "Nope. Half an hour was enough to show me how boring this work is."
"But I'll give you an extra allowance."
"I have a rich brother." Rose slings her arm around my neck. "I can just take his money."
Mum shakes her head amusedly, unable to counter that. After taking 12.5 million galleons from Damian Greengrass, I've undoubtedly become the second richest man in the country. And my wealth will only grow if the upcoming auction goes well.
I ignore her and address Mum. "Ready for the massage?"
"Follow me." She starts for the door in the corner.
I know I've said this many times, but I so miss the times when Mum used to wear jeans. If she were wearing one now, I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off her magnificent rump.
Rose keeps her arm around me and leans in to whisper, her warm breath tickling my face. "Please tell me you're not doing this just to feel up mum."
"Bloody hell. Do I look like someone depraved enough to feel up his own mum?" I whisper back, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.
"I shouldn't have asked, you pervert."
Further conversation is abandoned as Mum takes us to her bedroom.
Turning around, she gestures over her shoulder at the single bed. I wish it were bigger so I could have both her and Rose lying there with me in between, but it's satisfactory enough. "Do you need anything else to show off your 'professional' skills, love?"
"Do you have almond oil? Maybe coconut oil?" I ask.
Her mouth twitches. "Going fully pro, aren't we?"
"I am a pro."
She chuckles and plops down on the edge of the bed. "I think I do have some almond oil."
I steer Rose towards an armchair while Mum looks for it. "Sit here and enjoy the show. Your turn will come."
"We're talking about massages, right? Right?" She jokes, crossing her leg over the other and settling back comfortably.
I simply smile and turn towards Mum.
"Here." Mum throws me an oil bottle. "Will that do?"
"Yes." I catch the bottle and start tossing it up and down, watching her expectantly.
She scratches her cheek, averting her gaze, realising what comes next. "I have to strip, I guess."
"It's just us here, don't be shy," I say, my tone soft and even.
"Right." She takes a deep breath and undoes the drawstring. Her dark robes part in the middle, barely hanging on her shoulders and revealing an unmatched pair of underwear. Her pink bra strains to contain her round, enormous breasts, while her black knickers are more substantial than I'd prefer them to be.
"Have some respect and turn away, Harry," Rose comments slyly, making me flinch and spin away.
The killjoy. It was going so well. I wanted to see Mum shrug off her robes and unclasp her bra. I wanted to see her massive tits stumble out of her loose bra. I wanted to stare at her as she slid off her knickers. I wanted to see her strip piece by piece. But because of the brat, I can't do any of that.
I glare at my smug sister, who doesn't show an iota of remorse.
"I'm ready, love. You can begin."
I turn around, hoping she has stripped entirely but bracing myself for the likelihood that she will keep her underwear on.
What I'm greeted with is a sweet compromise. Her robes and bra lie in a pile on the floor. She herself is prone on the bed, wearing nothing but her black knickers. My throat dries up as my eyes hungrily drink in the view. I feel myself grow tight in my pants as my eyes travel from her lithe feet, up her succulent thighs, and over her large, shapely butt. Her knickers cover half of her cheeks, tempting me to wedge that extra fabric into her cleft and release the entirety of her curves. From the waist up, she is totally bare. The ridge of her spine divides the expanse of her back in two, until her torso flows into her neck. Her long crimson hair is still bound in a bun, and for once, I agree with the arrangement; if it were loose, it would've covered her nude back.
Her hourglass figure is simply mouth-watering. The perfect shape reveals the parameter for being an S-tier. I can't find a single imperfection. From the way her plump thighs make her bountiful peach-shaped arse pop off, to the ample tits squashed underneath her and spilling to the sides, she is a vision of scorching sex. Proserpina and others may be objectively better than her, but personally, I haven't seen anyone hotter, nor will I ever.
"We only have an hour before curfew starts, little brother. Maybe take a picture instead, so you can stare later."
"Rose!" Mum admonishes her. "Don't be crass."
Rose gives me a disbelieving look that screams, If I'm crass, then what are you?
"Er, I'll be starting now. Ignore her, Mum. Her head is the gutter." I chuckle as I clamber over the bed and straddle her.
I sit on her waist and place my hands on her shoulders. "Is my weight manageable?"
She lets out a blissful sigh as she's pushed further into the mattress. "It's good."
I activate three skills.
[Touch] to make my touch pleasurable. [Masseur] to prove my boast. And [Orgasm Control] to slowly push her closer to the edge.
With my powers on, I give her shoulders a squeeze. And her throaty moan fills the room.
…
…
"Someone enjoyed that," Rose comments, biting back a laugh. "I guess he wasn't lying when he said he was a pro."
"S-Shut up." Mum hides her face in the pillow, her voice muffled.
Smirking to myself, I push my thumbs into her soft flesh and drag them downward. I feel her bite down on the pillow to stifle her moan. Throwing a coy look at my sister, I finally spill oil over my palms before smearing it onto her back. I rub my palms gently, applying pressure where I feel it's needed. I work on her shoulders and neck, massaging her entire back. Throughout it all, she battles against her natural reactions.
Cupping her sides near her armpits, I drag my hands down, squeezing and massaging thoroughly. My fingers skim over her side-boobs, but she's too busy revelling in the bliss to complain. My oily hands glide up and down, moving from her armpit to her waist. I continue working on her tense muscles, releasing pressure knots and allowing her body to relax. By the end of it, she's in a soporific ecstasy, saying nothing, only moaning and sighing lewdly.
Driven by my commitment as a masseur, I don't ignore her arms, working on them one by one. I start at her shoulders and methodically make my way down to her fingertips. I have to lift her arms a few times to reach every spot, and in those fleeting moments, I catch glimpses of her tits. Those large, balloony mounds are truly a sight to behold, and I might have lingered longer than necessary, twisting her arms this way and that just to steal a glance at the tempting curves beneath.
"Upper body done."
I stand up and sit again on her waist, but this time, I'm facing her feet.
I begin at her supple thighs, kneading her thick flesh with firm, deliberate strokes as I work my way down to her toes. My hands glide over her skin, spreading the oil evenly, making every inch of her body glisten. No part is neglected; each toe gets its own attention as I massage and coat them with oil. By the time I'm finished, not a single spot remains untouched, thoroughly oiled and tended to with meticulous care.
I glance at Rose and catch her watching intently, her full attention on every move I make. Her pale skin is flushed with a soft pink hue, and her wide emerald eyes are locked on me, gleaming with fascination. She's completely enthralled.
She really is such a voyeur.
I refocus on my client, considering my next move. I could ask her to turn over, so I can work on her belly and chest, but that risks snapping her out of the dreamy, blissful trance I've worked her into. A flicker of clarity might surface, and that's the last thing I need from her right now. Rationality would only get in the way.
Without waiting for permission, I slide down and settle on her knees, hands gripping her waist.
I throw a quick wink at Rose, then press my palms firmly against Mum's soft, plump cheeks. A low moan escapes her lips—no tensing, no flinching, not a hint of resistance. Rationality has been completely wiped away by my expert touch. She's drifting between the edge of slumber and awareness, utterly relaxed, yet the aching pulse between her legs keeps her tethered to consciousness.
She would have climaxed long ago if I hadn't held her back. But that's not what I want. I don't need her overwhelmed by release, snapping back to reality. No—I want her trapped in this sweet, suspended state, where relaxation and rising tension blur into one.
I knead her arse, biting back a moan of my own. It's so supple, so pliant; the sensation of grabbing and squeezing is nothing short of sublime. The heart-shaped curves retain their form no matter how hard I pull and push. I can't resist the temptation any longer and wedge the fabric of her knickers into her heated cleft, exposing the fullness of her rounded cheeks.
It's not all my pleasure though. I do my work diligently, massaging the knots of tension until she becomes putty in my hands.
I lean all the way over to put my face near her neck. Coincidentally, my erection presses up against her majestic butt. "Can I take it off, Mum? It's in the way."
"Mm," she utters drowsily, too engrossed to form a word.
I interpret that as consent and settle back on her knees. Gripping the band of her knickers, I slowly peel them down, taking my time until they slip all the way to her toes. Deftly, I fling them aside, joining her robes and bra in a discarded pile on the floor.
"Harry?" Rose whispers from her armchair, sitting upright, her face adorned with a mighty blush.
"Just watch," I say, removing my clothes.
Rose gasps as my cock springs free. Her shock reaches another high when I use [Cock Editor] to enlarge and thicken my shaft. Now it's a monster size, the length and width of my forearm.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rose hisses, jumping to her feet, ogling at my monster.
I shush her and sit back on Mum's knees. Then I lean forward all the way again, nearly lying atop her. My cock conveniently slides through her voluptuous cheeks and juts out like a leaning tower. This time, she freezes, rapidly coming out of her soporific state. I resist the temptation to drop my weight on her bubbly arse and whisper at her neck. "Should I massage the inside of yours too? It's been a long while since they've been massaged, haven't they?"
"Harry?" She mumbles, arching up her arse and running it along my length—measuring it.
She gasps, and her eyes snap open. Turning her face to the side, fully awake now, she asks, "Is that your penis? How is that even possible?" Not, What are you doing? or Why are you naked and trying to fuck me? but rather, How do you have such a large cock?
Good.
I grab her arched arse and press it firmly against the underside of my cock. "It's possible because it's me. Now, can I use it to massage your insides or not?"
She whimpers, but grinds her butt harder. "You're my son. It's wrong."
Tch, pesky societal norms. If it's such a deal-breaker, then why's she so wet?
"I don't care. Do you?"
…
…
"Have at it."
I glare at Rose before she can say anything and break this miraculous spell. Mum is too relaxed and too aroused. She may have even forgotten that Rose is here. This contradictory state of relaxation and pressure is what I've been trying to achieve. And I've been betting on my monster cock. For someone like Mum, whose major kink is large cocks, it's a wet dream come true. Her mind is in a strange place. Her entire body is light and fluffy, except her crotch that throbs for pleasure. And all her tenseness is concentrated here. It's the last place of accumulated pressure. She wants it gone. And she's getting a monster cock to burst it out. Why shouldn't she say yes? She would've definitely said no if I'd asked to fuck her when she was sober and rational. But now, when her body is a boneless putty and eager to release the remaining pressure, there's a very low chance for a no.
I pour oil in my hand and rub it on my monster cock. I smear it thoroughly so that it shines.
Then I spread Mum's firm cheeks and guide myself into her. The bulbous cockhead is thick and round, and it stretches her wide.
She screams and buries her face in the pillow, waiting as I slowly push it in. My eyes widen when it keeps on sinking. I hadn't expected to put half of it in. I bite my lips as her hot insides stretch to house my monster. My shock is unparalleled when I hit something—her cervix.
I actually bottomed out. My forearm-sized cock is really swallowed by her pussy.
Mum must've had a lot of practice with her dildos. Because I never thought it was possible to fit a forearm down there.
"Fuck." Rose peers at the place we are joined, curious and horrified.
Mum clenches down on me hard at the interruption, her head snapping towards the voyeur. "R-Rose? What are you doing here?"
The brat shoots me a bewildered look and stands close to me. "Did you push in too deep and poke her brain?"
I crack up.
Then I'm holding Mum's jiggling cheeks as I hammer away with reckless abandon, each thrust kissing her womb.
The slapping sounds of flesh hitting flesh is only second to her ear-piercing screams. I would've been worried if she weren't yelling at me to go faster. And that's what I do. I seize her shoulders to angle better and thoroughly pound her into the mattress.
At some point, Rose enlarges the bed and sits close beside us, watching us go like wild animals. But I don't know when that happened. I simply stare at the ceiling and thrust away into the place where I came from. I dare say no other pussy will ever be a match to this. I'm actually stretching the very canal that had once welcomed me to the world.
On a basic level, sex is just heat and wetness, and the feeling of gliding skin against skin. And I don't think I'll ever feel a better heat or wetness, or a more incredible velvety skin.
~xXxXx~
Lily Evans
Harry has always been close to her, more so than her daughters, no matter how mature he tried to act. And this closeness has resisted change many times. Throughout his early teenagehood, her son had been obsessed with her. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else. But as a mother and woman, it was impossible to miss these signs.
He had been clingy when he was young and hormonal, and sometimes his curious caresses touched her where he shouldn't. But in the end, he was indeed a mature boy and kept within his limits, fearing her scorn and disgust.
But this changed this year. Actually, it changed just this August. Once again, his casual lust turned obsessive. Once again, his eyes followed every sway of her hips and every jiggle of her breasts. Once again, his hugs became tighter and more intimate. But she persevered, hoping that he wouldn't try to cross boundaries.
Here she is, with him forcing her face in a pillow while pounding on her arched arse. Every smack of his hips shake her buttocks. Every plunge of his cock scrapes against the entrance of her womb. She wonders why she didn't try to protest much. Maybe her plastic dildos weren't scratching her itch anymore. Or maybe she was getting jealous how her son was plowing through beautiful witches. She has seen dozens of girls eyeing him everyday, and she isn't sure how many invitations he has already accepted. It made her realise how she wanted to be one of them too.
Today wasn't a planned event. She was actually tired and stiff, and her complaint about wanting a massage was true and innocent. But when she led him into her room, she had humoured these dangerous fantasies. And yet, she was adamant in not letting him cross past a certain limit. Maybe she'd let him grope her to his heart's content, but definitely not spreading her cheeks and engulfing him whole.
Again, that didn't work out, did it?
She isn't going to regret it. She really hopes she won't.
"You always wanted it, didn't you? A real monster cock." Harry kisses her neck.
She can only moan.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this."
She lets out a cry as he spears into a particular spot.
"It took real restraint not to bend you over the kitchen counter and have my way with you."
She's a moaning mess by now. She can't even feel her pussy anymore. All she can sense is a building pressure that just refuses to burst out.
"You don't know the anger I felt whenever someone hit on you when we were on a beach. I wanted to sit you in my lap and give them a middle finger, to show them that you are mine."
She actually knows it. She's aware of everything he says. He's her son, after all. A glance is all she needs to know when he's trying to suppress his lust or anger.
"My stupid young self always wanted to sneak in your room at night and quietly fuck you. If I were quiet enough, maybe you'd never know." His grunt turns into a sputtering laugh. "Fucking moron."
She might have actually played along to escape the awkward conversation. Or maybe not.
"I have dreamed of exploding inside you. I have thought of making you pregnant—to mark you completely. No one will know whose baby it is. And no one will ever think it's mine."
"No, Harry," she mumbles hoarsely, moaning as he slides out while her inner muscles try to keep him in. "No pregnancy."
"Of course. That will be foolish." He grunts. "I'm just telling you my foolish fantasies."
She's glad. No matter how hot it will be, she isn't going to carry a child just for a moment of fleeting pleasure.
"Let's do it together." He thrusts back in, making her mewl into the pillow.
The dam that has been holding the pressure suddenly disappears, and her eyes roll back in the sockets as unbridled pleasure wrecks her mind and body. She blanks out and cannot see anything as she trembles and shakes, clenching around her son's cock.
She cannot manage a single word and passes out.
~xXxXx~
I turn my cock normal and point it at Rose, who is shaking beside Mum, her fingers wet with her release. The brat came with us.
"Your turn. Spread your legs."
Rose obediently parts her knees and shows her dripping cunt.
Without any fanfare, I shove my cock inside her.
This night will only become more raunchy when Mum wakes up and I can have my threesome.
~xXxXx~
Next morning, Iris rises from her sleep with a strange anger, feeling like she's been excluded from something important.
~xXxXx~
Bonus Scene
Lily ends her first class of the morning, and then starts preparing for the next.
Two students enter her classroom, interrupting her schedule.
She raises her eyebrows at Harry and Rose, trying not to feel too embarrassed about what happened throughout the night. "Yes?"
"Professor! It's an emergency." Harry rushes to her as Rose closes the door to the classroom.
Her heart sinks and a pit forms in her belly. "What happened?"
"Rose and I have caught a deadly disease. Only you can cure us." He steps forwards and yanks open her robes.
She yelps and instinctively tries to step back. But he grips her shoulders and manages to pull down her bra cups, releasing her jiggling breasts. "What are you doing?" she hisses.
"We must drink milk from the teats of a beautiful mother. And you're the most beautiful here." A grin slips though his mask of fake urgency.
Rose is snickering behind him.
…
…
She blinks and shoots them unamused looks, but when both her children latch onto her teats and start gulping her milk, she rolls her eyes and leans back against the desk, letting them breastfeed.
"It's yum." Rose smirks, sucking on her breast.
She doesn't even know what flavour they're drinking. Probably chocolate. Harry's 'lactate' power is quite… something.
"Oh no, I just caught another disease. I must bath my cock in a beautiful mother's vagina. And no one is more beautiful than you." He spins her around and bends her over the desk, the side of her face pressed firmly against the wood.
She sighs and checks time. It's enough for a quickie.
She makes space between her thighs and says, "Have at it."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone