Sexperio ch.11

Gripping Tracey's firm buttocks firmly, he led her across the dance floor, eager to see how Irma was managing with the induction process at the entrance of the hall. The system they had set up - harnessing the power of a new, enhanced version of the manuscript - was designed to utterly captivate anyone the moment they stepped through the doors. The runes were significantly more efficient at harnessing power, and if the manuscript was situated in a magically potent place like Hogwarts, it was practically unusable all the time.

When Daphne made her appearance, naturally, things began to unravel. Glancing at the queue of attendees waiting to enter, Harry counted nearly thirty pairs. However, Harry was willing to bet that Daphne, as vain as she was, wouldn't even consider entering until the majority had already arrived. So far, he'd been right, and potential candidates dwindled as the hall filled.

Harry was determined to become the king of this domain, with these teenagers forming the core of his reign. He needed strong, passionate young individuals to disseminate his will throughout.

Irma was tasked with taking photographs. They had set up a special booth just for her – it was surrounded by curtains, ensuring no prying eyes could see within.

Each indoctrination session lasted about a minute and a half. Some people in the queue seemed impatient, but of course, all were willing to wait. After all, they had to have pictures from the ball, especially ones that would be featured in a special edition of the Daily Prophet.

With a grin, Alan dipped Tracey right in front of the queue, sharing a fiery kiss and feeling her against him. She moaned appreciatively, wrapping one leg around his waist. One of her breasts slipped from her dress, but she didn't care about the numerous eyes on her. Nor did Harry, for that matter. He enjoyed the attention.

Some students looked as if they might complain, but a glimpse at the vacant, lustful smiles of the watching teachers silenced them. All under Harry's command. There certainly was no appealing to these empty-headed authorities.

Lifting Tracey, he moved behind the photographic curtain, following the next couple. Tracey followed, still dazed from the kiss.

The couple was good-looking, the man more so than the woman, but not enough to pique Harry's interest beyond using them to further his agenda. The boy was in a poorly fitted tuxedo, and the dirty blonde was in a short green dress that didn't quite flatter her hips. The sensually leggy Irma stood behind a small tripod, holding a camera that was the transfigured manuscript. "Now," said Irma, "give a big smile to the camera." "Camera?" the girl echoed.

Irma merely smiled, "Hold that thought." Snap.

The couple clung to each other, drifting, their eyes filled with spirals.

Harry's groin stirred as he observed the immediate transformation of both the boy and girl. He took a moment to reconsider them. Clearly, he had no interest in the boy who, in the days to come, might just become a decent drone-worker. However, upon a second, unhurried glance, he magnanimously conceded that the girl might, perhaps, be of use as a sort of trophy bearer.

Irma, as her role demanded on such a significant night, looked stunning. She wore a pristine white dress — employing the same concept as her previous "ball gown" at her Master's directive, but this time, instead of white, she adorned blue leather gloves and tight-fitting shoes. Her dark hair was styled into an ornate beehive, perfectly complementing her prominent cheekbones and sultry jawline.

A sleek, dark metallic collar fitted snugly around her neck. Harry seized her, pulling her close to him. She smiled up at him, reveling in his grip. Delighting in how much he possessed her, how much he relished possessing her. He gave the collar a slight twist, cutting off her air slightly. He loved the faint shock in her eyes when she felt the shortness of breath.

"You're doing splendidly so far, darling," he remarked.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered softly. "Your support means everything to me."

"Do you know that even after all this, your status won't change? Do you realize I'd want to bed Daphne more than you?"

He already knew her answer. He just enjoyed posing the question. It amused him to see his control in action — the ironclad bindings of his will tied so tautly around every one of her desires and yearnings.

"It's irrelevant, sir," her voice was a drifting, contented hum. "As long as it pleases you. I adore you. I don't care who you sleep with, as long as you're forever happy."

Pleased with her response, he tightened his grip around her neck, cutting off her air supply gently for a full five seconds.

"Thank you, Master," she rasped slightly as he released her.

"Of course."

The couple mumbled along with them throughout the interaction, their minds having become sudden, empty echo chambers for all that passed. Of course, the most potent echo was servitude to Harry, as commanded by the manuscript.

"Go on," said Harry. "Others await your service."

Stumbling and swaying, the couple emerged from behind the curtains, whispering, "Yes, Master," and "Thank you, Master." It was entirely possible that the induction hadn't taken its full effect—that they weren't wholly his subjects in every corner of their minds. But it was of no consequence—they would serve him this evening, and Harry had plenty of unwaveringly loyal servants to track each new initiate and ensure their servitude in the days to come. Once again, he pondered how he would rule over this land.

Positioning himself behind Irma, ensuring the next couple wouldn't see him, he pushed Tracey to her knees. He leaned in, whispering into her ear, "Pleasure me, good girl." She moaned in delight and nodded, mumbling a soft "Thank you, sir," just above a whisper as she unzipped his trousers and took his stiffening member into her mouth.

Standing beside him was Irma. He lifted her dress's hem, the silky fabric pooling on his arm, and began gently caressing her with his fingers. She was always prepared, always easy to access—such a good servant. She found it hard to focus as the next couple approached.

"H-hello!" she moaned through half-lidded eyes. "Take a picture, okay?"

The boy sounded alarmed. "Um... is everything alright?"

"Just say cheese and pass it along."

A zap, once more. The couple's mounting protests were swiftly muted by the overpowering force of the runes, amplifying Harry's power yet again. He truly felt godlike, gaining influence and the ability to disseminate his will through the increasing number of followers he had.

As he continued pleasuring one servant with his fingers and enjoying the oral attention of the other, he took out a camera and snapped a photograph. Each one would be perfect for monetizing later on.

Without a doubt, he felt ready for his rendezvous with Daphne. Before, he had been a naive boy, placing women on pedestals they shouldn't be on. Now, he was a man, fully aware of his cosmic significance—being worshipped like a deity by all who came under his gaze.

As he indulged in Tracey's attentive and adoring ministrations, about twenty more couples passed by Irma's curtain and were enslaved by his will. He was nearing his climax when a commotion from outside caught his attention.

Teachers were loudly announcing her name, just as he had directed. It was her. The time had come. All the others had passed—only she remained in the queue.

He zipped himself up and instructed Tracey to join the crowd. Then, he stepped out to greet his queen. Even with all his preparations, he had to admit Daphne's presence was staggering.

Beside her stood a reasonably handsome young man, exuding cold arrogance, appearing as if he owned the world. That would change. But next to Daphne, he was essentially a nobody.

The first thing he noticed was her hair. Typically, she wore it cascading in waves on both sides, but today, for some reason, she had styled it so it all fell to one side. This style revealed the incredible line of her immaculate jaw and chin while emphasizing the glistening, vibrant length of her curls.

Her dress was backless, held up by a strap of golden fabric wrapped around her neck. It displayed a vast expanse of her skin. Her alluring, toned midriff was bare, save for two golden chains anchoring the garment above. One chain linked the upper section to a sultry skirt, while the other wrapped around her stunning abdomen and looped back up to the collar. The long, form-fitting skirt boasted a provocative slit up the front, ending in an ornate series of pleats along her hips.

She looked like a walking masterpiece.

He observed her from a distance, reveling in the sway of her hips in the snug dress as she made her way to the dance floor. Navigating through the entranced crowd, she seemed oblivious to the mechanical nature of everyone's dancing. She also seemed not to notice that all on the dance floor were merely attractive women dancing in their enticing dresses with other attractive women in equally tantalizing attire.

"Excuse me," Irma said, approaching Daphne rapidly, "We'd like to take some pictures of your date first, and then you with him. Would that be okay?"

"Yes, whatever," Daphne replied, clearly irritated by the lack of attention on her. She paused, lifting her nose, suddenly noticing even more. "Where's the music? Why is everyone dancing to... nothing?"

As if someone had heard her—in the silent crowd, someone probably did—a slow dance tune gradually increased in volume throughout the hall.

He watched Daphne's confusion for a minute before Narcissa finally took the stage. Her green petticoat seemed so easy to remove. He planned on doing that at least once that evening.

Narcissa cleared her throat, cast a sonorus spell, and the music quieted. "We'd like to move on and announce the queen of the ball. There's really no mystery here, is there? We all know who deserves it. We all know she's remarkable, that she deserves to rule over all of us... Daphne. Let's all applaud for Queen Daphne!"