Feminine World ch.10

Almost immediately, Luna turned to Padma. "You stupid bitch. There's another one for me. Can you imagine how quickly I'll get pregnant compared to you?"

Harry knew he had to retrieve the artifact and reverse its effects, and if that didn't work, destroy it completely. It was the right thing to do. He couldn't just go on living the rest of his life, sexually ruining every woman he encountered. That was wrong. Without Padma's command, she lowered herself to Luna's pussy and obediently began licking the cum from her pussy. The way she was positioned exposed her entire ass, and Harry groaned. Was this wrong?

He was hard again. Padma's ass was high in the air, her pussy wet, pulsating, and exposed. He could fuck her right into Luna's pussy while Luna continued all those hot, dirty talks about his daughter. He sat down, his cock pointing straight ahead, urging him towards the perfectly formed entrance of Padma's slippery pussy.

He had to do the right thing. And he did. Right after their last fuck.

"Luna," he said. "What were you saying about my daughter?"

THREE TIMES LATER, Harry drove back to the city alone, in a partially wrecked car that he almost destroyed when he first took Luna.

He had a long inner debate about how to deal with leaving. Would he be able to keep his composure if he couldn't fuck Luna or Padma at will? The novelty of all the newly available pussies in town unsettled him. He wasn't bored with the girls in the cottage, but at least he knew them already. Fucking them and basically continuing his mission seemed easier than getting distracted by some new hot thing.

But he was serious—or as serious as he could be—when he told himself he would do the right thing. And if he managed to find the totem and reverse the effects of that spell, ceremony, or whatever it was, he didn't want to be anywhere near Luna, especially Padma.

Luna took the news of his absence better than Padma. He was certain she would follow him, and he didn't feel good about forbidding her and forcing her to stay in the cottage. What if he didn't come back, and she stayed there and starved? But she smiled and said she lived to obey his will, and she knew he would soon bring her home to Gabrielle.

Meanwhile, Padma fell to the ground, begging him to stay.

"You just fucked me, and please, please let me feel it again. Oh my god, please?" She continued like that, scratching her smooth, taut skin, her eyes furious with tears. Luna led her by the mass of her hair, holding it like a leash, smiling arrogantly with the glow of having so many fucks in her.

"It's all your fault, you know," Luna said, sneeringly, knowing it was a complete lie. "If you fucked him better, he would stay. Did you notice he decided to leave right after he fucked you? God, you're useless, stupid bitch."

It only intensified Padma's torment, and Harry knew he had to leave, or he would be sucked back into their incredibly hot dynamics. So he squeezed himself into the mass of twisted steel pretending to be a car and coasted downhill.

When he reached the lower part of the mountain trail, the car stalled, and he quickly pulled over next to a truck.

The man inside wore a stained white shirt and blue jeans. A worker, judging by the heavy toolbox in the truck bed. He had a thick beard and dark, bulging eyes.

Harry stood on the passenger side, looking around carefully. The man reeked of cowardice. He smelled like old urine—and it definitely wasn't a truck.

Confident in a way that could only develop after hours of adoration by two wonderfully sexy angels, he approached the driver and gently—had to be gentle—opened the truck door. Then he nodded to the side. The message was clear:

Leave the keys and get the fuck out of here if you value your life and limbs. Sparks practically flew from the wand attached to his shoulder in a leather sheath.

The man bolted and ran away from Harry, away from the town. Harry was sure the Muggle was crying. They didn't exchange a single word.

The truck glided like a dream, and due to its height, it provided Harry with a better view of how the town had changed as he entered it again and tried to make his way back home.

Now, driving through the town with an intense erection from all the shamelessly erotic and obedient sights, he began to regret his slight turn towards morality. As he approached the main intersection between the highway and several neighborhoods, visions of lustful obedience on display multiplied.

Apparently, overnight, grand statues were erected in his honor. Huge chunks of the city square had been demolished to use as raw materials, sculpting them from marble, steel, and bronze. Chain gangs of men performed dismantling work, closely watched by provocatively dressed women wielding large shotguns. Most of the statues depicted his family beside him or at his feet—Fleur clinging to him lustfully, Gabrielle wrapping around his legs, her juicy lips circling his stiff cock.

Even with all the available workforce in town, it seemed impossible for them to have built these statues overnight. But was it any more or less impossible than anything else he had seen? Padma—who despised him so much—had been reduced to a weeping, writhing, enticingly hot sex bomb within hours. Why shouldn't monuments be erected in his honor too?

He saw more monuments—those shaped like the totem Fleur had given him—erected by men in chains in the park.

They were urged on by women in dominatrix-style attire, dressed in matte leather costumes and wielding long whips. Their magnificent, cleavage-baring bodies poured into tight dominatrix uniforms, lashing the men, licking their lips, and enticing them to go faster, harder, better.

It was all for him.

He was certain that Ginny Weasley, with whom he had unsuccessfully flirted at last year's barbecue, was one of the dominants. She casually stepped on a man's hand with her stiletto and whipped him across the back, growling at him to move faster.

They were far from him—no more than thirty feet away, behind a few benches in the park and in the shade. But he was convinced it was Neville Longbottom, her husband.

He recalled all those men standing in line at Hermione's office, begging for the most punitive divorce forms.

It wasn't enough that these women worshipped Harry—oh no. Not for Fleur, whom he was becoming increasingly sure was the architect of it all. No, for some reason, they had to humiliate their husbands simultaneously. Completely fuck them while praising Harry's masculine glory.

It didn't help that Harry's cock swelled so significantly as he watched, or that it seemed every man he saw was somehow emaciated. As if their life force was being drained from them.

Was this part of it? Was their male energy being transferred to him? Was that why he was now so large, so eager to fuck, so eager to procreate and forget about all these stupid problems?

Seeing so much, so quickly, some part of him forgot, or perhaps hadn't fully internalized, that traffic rules no longer applied, particularly to him.

He was certain he could sweet-talk not only his way out of a ticket but also out of the pants of every now fully feminine police force—watching them in their high heels and tight uniforms, his priorities got a little mixed up. Nothing was more important to his cock than being stimulated—and it was harder than ever, practically fighting against the steering wheel as he sat on his knees.

So he stopped at a red light; he was there for a full two minutes. The city council always said they should speed up those damn lights. He watched a trio of leather-clad women chatting cheerfully with a brunette in a dress who happened to pass by, complimenting the dominatrixes on their whipping technique. Soon, they pointed at Harry's statue, and their conversation quickly turned intimate and filled with kisses, caresses, and a speed that even surprised Harry at this moment—culminating. The leather bodysuits had quick-release zippers that went all the way down.

Then one of them glanced his way.

She squealed with delight, beckoning two girls she had just fucked and all the other girls nearby to his car. In a matter of moments, over a dozen women started sprinting toward him at full speed. Even in their unsteady high, thin heels, they were able to move like Olympic runners. Their busts, long bodies in motion, hair flowing behind them, were a sight to behold.

He knew what would come next. They would come to his car and beg for a rendezvous. They would start with such delicate, soft pleas.

Couldn't they just say hello? Could they just shake hands? They wanted to hug him, kiss him. They talked about how big and strong he was, about the massiveness of his cock, which they could feel through his pants.

They asked if he considered them pretty enough to fuck him. They asked if they were worthy. They asked if they deserved his cock because he deserved to have only those girls who were worth it. They would all worship him.

They would probably ask about Gabrielle and offer to teach her how to suck his cock. They would want to teach her because, for these women, nothing was more important than him having a daughter who respected her father.

And Harry, though he wanted to be right, also knew something else: he knew he would succumb, as he always did.

He shifted into reverse.

But not today. The tires screeched as he ran a red light and pulled over to the side.

SEVEN MINUTES LATER, Harry turned onto the fifth consecutive detour in the neighborhood—five streets past the grocery store and two blocks off Hobbs Park—and saw another cluster of eager women in short skirts and high heels bursting with joy at the sight of him, obediently rushing toward his car.

He quickly shifted into reverse and slammed the wheel, knocking over what was probably the third mailbox in ten minutes, once again seeking a free street.

The problem was, these women apparently knew his car and communicated with each other. Maybe they had some kind of bulletin board or a massive two-way mirror chain.

They all looked very happy. They were excited to see him! And then, as soon as he looked back, they were always so devastated, watching him drive away. Apart from Luna's hot affair with Padma, Harry hated seeing a woman unhappy. That's partly why he had lied to Fleur for so long about their money, work, and drinking problems.

Well, he had certainly lied to her about his drinking too, because he drank as well. You had to protect your drinking when you were a drinker—no one else was waiting for an excuse to make sure you could keep drinking! Wives could be a nuisance, wanting you to change your life for the better and give up the only thing worth living for.