Death Stone ch.9

Book publishers who dare to disseminate content contrary to Fleur’s ideals face tragic consequences – their families are threatened, and they might even disappear. It is widely known that Fleur has nearly absolute control over the government, and world leaders are enchanted, coerced, or ensnared by her vast network of influence. Opposing her orders is tantamount to signing one’s own death warrant.

In this dystopian world, beautiful women clad in skimpy, provocative outfits populate workplaces as a matter of course – a clear departure from Harry's original reality, where makeup or evening dinners were the norm. Receptionists, in the number of three, each with a beauty that could rival stars or models of the past, tremble in anticipation of Fleur’s commands and Harry’s reactions. They oscillate between perfect desire and extreme terror, their existence defined by obsessive adoration of Fleur tinged with constant fear of losing their precarious positions.

Harry Potter feels a surge of excitement as Fleur's breath tickles his ear and her touch sends a shiver down his spine. As he moves through the building, he notices every woman stopping at the sight of him. To them, he represents the embodiment of masculinity, the ultimate alpha male.

Fleur whispers to him, boasting about her control over women’s minds, claiming that he too controls her. He cannot help but feel a sense of power and dominance as he watches the women react to him, their desire evident on their faces.

She has molded them all in his image, training them to respond reflexively to his presence. Even the most secluded woman, who avoids modern society, would recognize him from descriptions in textbooks every girl must read about the ideal male physique. Harry notices a stunning young Chinese woman approaching them, dressed in a sharp navy suit reflecting Fleur's style. Despite her undeniable beauty and intelligence, Harry can't help but think she could afford to lose a few pounds in a world where he is surrounded by flawless super-goddesses at his beck and call. He learns her name is Cho.

"Madam," she says, deliberately looking at Fleur's feet. "Thank you very much for coming. I have your agenda," she pulls out a sheet of paper, "and I'd like to know what the office won't be eating for lunch. Sister orders large meals to tempt the weak and eliminate them," Gabrielle explains into my ear, squeezing my bicep as I grip her tighter.

"Fleur instructed her assistant, Cho, to gather everyone for a team meeting in five minutes," Harry Potter heard. Fleur looks at Cho, then turns to him, seeking his opinion. "What do you think, darling?" she asks. Harry's response is simple: "About fucking her?"

Gabrielle squeezes his cock through his pants. "Yes.. Does she excite you?" "Of course."

Cho stands there, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and her fists clenched. Harry Potter shrugs nonchalantly. "Well..." he begins, not wanting to be too harsh in front of her, although Fleur has no such reservations.

"She's just as I thought. Too fat, right?" Fleur notes, not mincing words. "That’s easy to fix, Cho." The young woman moans, indicating she’s listening.

Fleur continues, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. "Report to the nearest weight loss clinic. A few months of reinforced fasting should help with your weight problem. And pack your things. Remember to give your nice office space to the prettiest girl you know when you leave."

Cho moans again, as if she had expected this for months. Harry watches her leave, noticing Gabrielle eagerly clinging to him, drawn by his obvious excitement.

"Stupid bitch," Gabrielle says. "She disappointed you like that. What did she think would happen?"

Gabrielle's seductive presence proves more distracting than Harry Potter would have liked. He tries to focus on the current situation. "Reinforced fasting?" he asks, trying to grasp the concept.
“With an emphasis on 'reinforced,'" says Gabrielle. "It was my idea. I just thought that all those fatties should have somewhere to go for help. Or at least, to quietly get rid of them. So many weaklings die without food. But if they can't even make you hard, then what's the point of their lives?"

Harry, in his mind, insists that he is not a mean guy, cursing up and down. He believes that everyone should have a fair chance in life without being judged at every turn. But the judgments of Fleur and Gabrielle drive him crazy, sparking a mix of rage and arousal. It’s as if they are untouchable, never facing any consequences. Their unfair power stirs up lustful thoughts, especially knowing that they are immortal, just like him.

He dives in, planting a rough kiss on Gabrielle. The next thing he knows, they are in the elevator, and his cock is thrusting into her as if there’s no tomorrow. Pressing her against the glass, he doesn’t care who sees him fucking his young wife. Her legs wrap around him, and he moves until he can press her against Fleur.

He can’t help but look at both of them. He is so damn turned on. He has turned the world into a hedonistic nightmare of hyper-capitalism. The disparity between the receptionists and everyone else is staggering, enough to knock a guy out.

But he’s the one pulling the strings. Even if the Philosopher’s Stone disappeared right now, he’d still have power and wealth for eternity. Fleur and Gabrielle would also be eternal. And there would be a planet full of women obsessed with maintaining the status quo, fulfilling all their fantasies and beliefs about femininity.

As he thrusts into Gabrielle, his gaze drifts to Fleur behind her. Both look at him with adoration, fully understanding what he is about. Their slender figures fit perfectly into his arms, their curves pressing against his muscles. As the elevator rises, they spot a football team in the hallway. They are like beasts, enlarged and stuffed, their bodies practically bulging.

Harry knows he could tear them apart without even breaking a sweat. The women in the office look at him, their bodies pulsating with desire. They exist for the pleasure shared by Harry and his wives. The football players, on the other hand, lower their gazes, some even falling to their knees.

"They know better than to look me in the eyes without permission," Fleur whispers. "And if they dare to look at any of our girls, they will regret it. I’ve already made such examples, and everyone eventually got the message."

She smiles at Harry’s incredulous expression, savoring how her words fuel his passion. On the massive screen dominating the reception area, her video plays once again: "You are good enough to work here." Harry can’t stop admiring her cruelty. She is ruthless, heartless, and completely inhuman.

And then, the wink. Harry Potter can’t help but react. Fleur winks in sync with the video, sending shivers down his spine. "I promise," she whispers, her voice like a spell.

She is a damn monster... and she is all his. By the time the elevator reaches the top floor, Gabrielle is probably knocked out.

The team meeting, of course, refers to the cheerleading team.

The conference room occupies essentially the entire floor, except for the storage and restrooms. At one end, there is a massive, one-piece carved wooden table surrounded by numerous chairs, while at the other end there is an Olympic-sized pool.

Harry doesn’t have a pool either, but such questions stop mattering when Gabrielle’s hand is on his dick all day.

The entrance is in the middle of the room, and each exterior wall is glass from floor to ceiling.

Fifteen stunning women enter (they took the stairs), each more beautiful than the last. They are dressed in outfits straight from fashion shows – designer skirts, luxurious dresses, high heels, lace, silk, leather, fur – all accentuating their curves, showcasing toned bodies. Despite the variety, their attire is uniform, which Harry only recognizes after a moment of open admiration.

They are in cheerleading outfits. Pleated skirts, exposed midriffs, keyholes revealing ample cleavage, racing stripes, thigh-high socks... all dressed like top-tier cheerleaders.

Holy hell.

Each of them is a celebrity in her own right, capable of stopping traffic with just a two-hour visit. They boast impressive online followings, with websites dedicated to their every move and millions of photos flooding in every hour.

None of them, of course, can compare to Fleur, but they are not embarrassed to stand next to her, and that says something.

They exude elegance, class, and – well, Harry tries to find the right word, but verve. After all, they are cheerleaders. They are stunning, desired worldwide, part of the most prestigious beauty promotion on the planet, and they revel in it.

The girls downstairs? They are terrified of losing their spots.

The girls upstairs? Some have a bit of fear, of course, but most do not and not without reason. Although they may not be as marvelous as Fleur or Gabrielle (no one is), they are the next best thing, making them hotter than anyone in the pre-world.

And each of them is disgustingly rich and affluent, always has been. Their lives are coated in luxury, often running parallel to those of Fleur or Gabrielle. They attended the same schools, conducted the same military operations, shut down the same mines. They seduced synchronized politicians to eliminate things like weekends and mandatory vacations for anyone earning less than five thousand a year (which is 95% of the population)... More importantly, poisoned by Fleur’s influence, they were obsessed with Harry, each having their first orgasm thinking about him, often simultaneously with other girls like them.

As they enter, each of them radiates at Fleur as if she were their favorite sister or personal BFF. Of course, she cultivates this closeness to manipulate them more easily. Then their eyes move to Gabrielle, who is probably their BFF in most cases. She is only slightly less ruthless than her sis.

But when they look at Harry, all fifteen freeze in place. Wet eyes, flushed cheeks, fluttering smiles, and heaving chests. Fleur pulls him closer, whispering their names: Delilah, Zara, Rosalia, Janet, Phoebe, Kimberly, Kristie, Whitney, Cindy, Naomi, Tatyana, Megan, Natalie, Violeta, Penelope.

At first, he thought he would have a harem of professional cheerleaders, but none of these girls are from a team or the "pre-world." Despite his frequent obsession with them alongside Fleur and Gabrielle, none of them came close to this fifteen in terms of hotness.