Sexperio ch.10

"I do want to, truly." He shook his head. "I'm just not sure if it's real yet."

Irma looked lost, just as he feared. He wished he had someone to talk to, someone to call— but all the friends he had in the past had left in the past few months since he found the book. And his family—well. He couldn't tell the Black family. He couldn't tell anyone about this problem.

Instead, he pulled Irma closer, kissing her again and holding her tightly.

"We'll fix this," he said, squeezing her slender, beautiful waist.

"Yes, Master," she said, her voice soft and strangely solemn. "We must."

TWO DAYS LATER—WITH THE "no new slaves" rule in place, Harry woke up just before dawn, surrounded by a multitude of hands on his limbs.

It wasn't an entirely new occurrence—being the master of a harem had its perks when it came to being surprised with sex in the middle of the night—but this was a different feeling. More intense. These slaves weren't caressing him, worshipping him. They were holding him. "Hey," he said. "Turn on the light. Who's doing this?" "Just us, Master."

They all spoke together, but he heard distinct voices of Tracey, Fleur, and Narcissa. That was fine.

His eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and he could make out the mostly naked figures of the girls. For some reason, the body felt even hotter when it was covered in darkness. Each of the girls was wearing matching attire—stockings, short wrist-length gloves, sexy lace panties, and strapless bras in different colors. Narcissa was green, contrasting with her sexy white hair; Fleur was pure white—perhaps symbolizing the purity of her devotion—and Tracey was red. Tracey and Narcissa sat on his legs, Fleur held both his hands, and her hot pussy was just inches from his face.

He wanted to bury himself in Tracey's wonderfully thick breasts and go back to sleep. Tomorrow awaited a heavy day of fucking and possessing. After all, it was only six in the morning, and he had to wake up at noon!

"Alright, girls, the joke's over. Let me go."

He grimaced, but the girls held onto him tightly. "Let go, I said."

They all shook their heads.

Fleur spoke on their behalf. "We can't, Master. You commanded us not to."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Irma told us everything. You gave her super-secret orders for us to hold you. And if you told us to let you go, and we did, you would be very unhappy."

"That's a lie! I never said anything like that!" Tracey nodded with a sexy, wicked smile, so pleased with her obedience. "She said you did, that you would say that."

"Okay..." Harry tried to think. "Alright. Listen. The test is over. You passed. Great job. And now let me get up."

This time Fleur shook her head. "She said you said that too."

Frustrated, Harry almost started yelling. And then Irma walked in.

Harry stopped struggling, as always enthralled by her beauty. She was clearly wearing an expensive black-and-white lingerie set. Her long legs were covered in high boots—tight white booties, similar to the ones Daphne wore the day before. Leather evening gloves reached up to her elbows. Her dress shimmered with jewels. Judging by the long, sexy slits he saw in her dress, she apparently wasn't wearing any underwear.

She climbed onto the bed, shaking her sexy, luscious hair.

"I know you won't be able to take me to the ball, Master... so I wanted to let you know how much I want you to fuck me on prom night. That's why I'm wearing this. To be your hot little prom date, just for today."

Harry was slightly incredulous.

"Is that what this is all about? This whole performance? Irma, you could have just told me..."

She leaned in and kissed him, slow and hungry. Each of her breaths was a purr, each of her movements was magic. He desired her. Fuck, he desired her so much. His cock was growing hard, already forgetting that it was restrained...

But she pulled away.

"Not entirely, Master. I've read about the creators of the manuscript you found, I've also spoken to their portraits. They were very helpful with certain issues I've been having lately. Issues that you've been having."

Everything she said made Harry start to feel afraid. Irma had acted independently in the past, but if she had been talking to the creators of the book... it could end badly. What if she wanted to reverse the process? He could go to jail! Or maybe she would just kill him!

"You talked to them? Regularly?" "Of course, I talked to them regularly. And of course," she giggled, running her hand through her hair, "I've been paying more and more money to find more books, manuscripts like yours. With the help of the portraits, I've matched all the copies to the frequency of your book. I have them now, me and Narcissa."

He knew it would bite him in the ass. But goddamn, the thought of Irma with her own book was too hot to resist.

"What do you mean you regularly talk to them? What issues have you been working on?"

"The issue of you not being sure if you want to possess us, Master. I noticed it almost from the beginning. Your resistance to constantly indoctrinating Tracey, as much as she needed it. Your reluctance to be our king. Your protests against being our god. Denying reality isn't good for you, Master." "B-but this isn't reality, this is... this is..."

His voice trailed off. Clearly, for these women, it was reality. They all purred and purred in his room now, begging, whispering that he was their King, their God. Wonderful, willing women who wanted to be with him, forever.

Not for the first time, Harry began to understand that he truly had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

"I know it's not what you're thinking. But it will be. They gave me the opportunity to create my own one-time book, sir. One that will work only once. One that will make you everything you need to be. Everything you want to be, just as you told me."

A deep, sudden pit formed in Harry's stomach.

"Irma... you don't have to... I mean, it's... "Amazing? Amazing? Amazing? The brilliant idea of my slave?"

She looked pleased with herself, so hopeful. He almost felt bad for hating the idea.

"Um... it's just... I mean... I can't believe they just gave it to you like that."

"Of course, they didn't give it to me, Master. This is magical England. I took the opportunity while you were sleeping to enter the pure-blood wives. Their money is now your money... and your money paid for the portraits, whose only request was to be burned after creating the book."

"Fuck, Irma! We said no new slaves!"

"I'm aware of that, sir. But..." Irma bit her lower lip. "I just can't imagine that you truly meant it. It doesn't make sense if you're meant to be our king."

Harry searched for words. Fucking was the most obvious.

Tracey discovered she could lick his cock even while holding onto his leg. Moaning and delighted, Narcissa joined her.

Fleur apparently hadn't noticed, simply purring affectionately in his ear, occasionally moaning, "Oh God... oh God..."

Harry summoned all the seriousness he could muster as two beauties sucked and shared his cock. "Irma, let me go."

"I'm afraid I can't, Master."

"Irma, you have to let me go. You don't even know what this book will do!"

"Of course, I know, Master. It will make you more dominant. It will make you the Master you were born to be, just as you transformed me into the slave I was born to be and didn't know how to become on my own. You need to impregnate

Daphne, Master. It's very important. It will ensure that."

His cock, despite his best efforts, was hard as a rock. Narcissa and Tracey's mouths were incredibly tight.

"This is how it will be best, Master. You want to be dominant. You told me that. My task is to fulfill all the desires of your heart. Each and every one."

"Irma, wait a moment. I mean, wait here. Let's talk about this."

"Yes, Master. In a moment."

And then she raised the book to his eyes... and everything he knew turned into runes, with Fleur's voice whispering in his ear, assuring him that he was their living God.

AND THEN, SUDDENLY, the night of the last Hogwarts ball arrived.

Harry arrived early - he was part of the first group, of course, with all six of his hopelessly infatuated and obedient dates. Tracey, Fleur, Cho, Padma, Parvati, and Luna. Throughout the day, they argued over who would be on his arm when he entered - but of course, Irma chose Tracey and Fleur. After all, they were his firsts.

The ball was taking place in the grand hall. The dance floor was surrounded by a small fountain with conjured hummingbirds floating above a mermaid.

It was already about an hour before the ball, and it was dark outside. Over a hundred people had arrived, and thanks to Irma's plan, they were all in Harry's service.

Just as he wanted it. The king was meant to rule. He was dressed in his dark robes, tailored perfectly to his measurements.

His mind was now fully focused on the task, redesigned the way it was always meant to be. Harry was completely ready for the night, just as he was now ready for anything.

Tonight, he was to be the king of the ball, and tomorrow, the entire magical England. His whole worldview had changed. Social gatherings were no longer something that scared him, and the thought of presenting himself as the owner of so many women filled him with a mix of fear and wonder, wondering what others would think.

Now he knew that he deserved it. In fact, it was just a glimpse of what truly served him. A glimpse. He would be the owner of more than just all the seventeen-year-olds at this dance; he would be the owner of the entire country and would rule it as he pleased. And he intended to do so with Daphne by his side. It was all for him.

For that purpose, Tracey passionately embraced him in the middle of the dance floor. The other dancers - all the girls - watched the pair with open desire, easily enchanted. All the boys were told to go to the corner of the hall, to observe and obediently wait for orders. They all had to be obedient to everything one of the girls said - they all complied eagerly and joyfully for Harry.

All the present teachers now belonged to Harry as well. They looked at him with desire, hardly noticing the dancers who were feeling more and more comfortable. Most of them - on Harry or Irma's command - were wearing hot, sexy dresses. It had been several busy nights since Irma had been so kind as to open Harry's mind with a special new book.

On the side of the dance floor, there was a large collection of tables where the girls could rest and socialize. All five of Harry's remaining dates were sitting at one table, sending him looks that said, "Please, fuck me, my God." Just as it should be.

The photographer from the Daily Prophet initially wanted to charge him the full price for each set of photos with each girl. She wanted to charge him even more, raising her eyebrows when he told her about the sexual nature of the photos he wanted from some of the girls.

Harry concluded that there was good money to be made from selling pictures of hot teenage virgins in ball gowns, pleasing a stallion like him. After all, he had mouths to feed. A good Master had no qualms when it came to taking care of his harem.

The photographer's protests ended, of course, after Irma took her aside and subjected her to a quick, precise hypnosis. And what luck: the photographer, whose name was Rita, turned out to be a natural submissive, just like Irma

.

They always accepted their conditions better. Good little submissive girls for the Master.