Sexperio ch.8

Irma and Tracey also arrived, watching as it unfolded. Tears of joy streamed down Irma's beautifully sculpted face, so happy as she watched her king conquer another slave with his cock.

Fleur desperately kissed her God, her sensual lips pressed against his neck and chin as he rested upon her. Tracey slid down to the spot where her Master and her new slave sister were connected, licking up the excess cum she found there.

"I love you, my God," Fleur moaned. "I always have. I'm so happy to have you in my life." Harry smiled. "I know."

"I only live with my mother and sister, my divine lord," Fleur whispered softly. "Soon, I can convince them of you, and then we can turn my home into a temple for you and your penis." "A temple?"

"Every god deserves a church, Master."

He knew it was a dangerous idea to let someone worship him as a god. As a God. But he couldn't help being turned on by it. He also couldn't stop the thought that it was the perfect title for Daphne. His Goddess, and he her God.

His softening cock twitched inside Fleur's pussy, regaining its stiffness once again.

A temple dedicated to him.

Oh yes, it excited him greatly.

It was finally going to happen. Harry planned to enchant his dream girl, Daphne, and show off to the entire school what a stallion he was.

It was a dream come true, right? That's what Irma wanted for him, and Harry had to admit it didn't sound so bad.

Two hours ago, the magnificent cheerleader Daphne had said she would be there in ten minutes. As usual, apparently, she wasn't interested in keeping her word to Harry. He waited for her, pacing in the entrance of his new home. Upstairs, a whole group of his beautiful slaves waited, excited at the thought of adding another sister to their sisterhood.

It had been a month since Harry moved into the cramped living quarters with Irma. His first slave, Irma, charmed the key personalities in the school using a book, and they all rushed to help Harry finish his Hogwarts education.

Some students found it a bit odd at the time—graduating in the middle of what was supposed to be his final semester at Hogwarts—but after two recently charmed assistants to the headmistress, the respected librarian Irma, and the surprisingly beautiful blonde counselor Narcissa vouched for Harry's incredible intellectual prowess, the other students no longer seemed to care.

Harry now had carte blanche to fuck, dominate, and keep as many girls as his new rooms, assigned to him by Narcissa, could accommodate.

Irma was an incredibly exceptional slave—not just because she was the first one he enslaved using the mysterious book, and not just because she had an hourglass figure, model-like face, and thick dark hair that scored a ten out of ten. She was rather exceptional because somehow he managed to make the first woman he enslaved a natural submissive—a woman who truly, desperately wanted to serve a strong Master like Harry wanted to be. Now she devoted one hundred percent of her intellectual abilities to developing Harry's slave cadre.

Compare that to the beauty that is Tracey - Harry's second slave. Seventeen-year-old Tracey, a brunette with incredible curves, was the top student at Hogwarts, second only to Hermione. If she had focused, she could have utilized some of that intelligence, but she wasn't at the level she once was.

There was also the stunning Fleur, long-legged and always in tiny shorts and even tinier shirts. Her intellect remained fully intact but was now entirely devoted to studying and finding new ways to identify Harry as a God.

But, for some reason, Harry didn't care that he had already enchanted the willing librarian Irma, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, who had taken on a matriarchal role for the slave collection he created in recent weeks.

It also didn't matter that he had taken along the future fierce dictator Narcissa, now enjoying mini skirts, who informally became something like a girlfriend for Harry when he sneaked out of class onto the illicit street.

Nor did it matter that he completely shifted Fleur's moral compass, her love for him so full that she regarded him as a deity and regularly preached to other slaves, trying to convert them to what she called the "Master's Path."

No, for Harry, only Daphne mattered. Daphne was who Harry wanted. She was his Golden Flame, his Holy Grail, his Mount Everest. She was his goal, his destiny, the embodiment of everything he ever desired in a woman.

She wore a tight white dress made of spandex-like material. It beautifully hugged her incredible curves, accentuating her stunningly tight, busty teenage figure. It was low-cut, allowing everyone to witness the bounce and jiggle of her magnificent breasts. Long, light hair framed her face—so long that it cascaded down her body in deep waves. Each strand of hair was glossy, shining, and hot. He couldn't help but gaze at her hair, imagining sliding his hard cock through each strand, knowing the sensation would be as hot as getting a blowjob from a lesser woman. Her eyes, burning and sky-blue, were full of intelligence but also arrogance, pride, and self-assurance.

Of course, what made Daphne even hotter for him was the sight of her tall, shapely thighs in tight white boots. Harry had a strangely intense arousal for boots, perhaps even greater than his excitement for power. He delighted in watching her stride towards him. God.

The buckles on the tight adornments gleamed, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the corridor windows as she approached Harry's room.

In the past few weeks since moving in, Harry began to pay more attention to his fitness - after all, he had to be in shape to continue the fucking marathons he so enjoyed with all his slaves. So his lean physique gained significant muscle, largely thanks to the diet created by the surprisingly talented trainer Fleur.

Nevertheless, even dressed in a designer blue shirt with a collar and nice jeans, he felt terrible in Daphne's league.

She didn't bother knocking, just walked right in.

"Hey, babe," she laughed familiarly. "Sorry I'm late."

Harry tried to be stern. She needed to get used to his sternness. After all, she was supposed to be his masseuse. His book awaited on the table. He wanted to prolong this process a bit. He wanted to savor the slow build-up with her.

"Two hours is more than a bit, Daphne."

"It took that long? Too bad. But I was just getting ready. You're saying you don't like my appearance?"

She put on her best little-girl face. On her, it was a thick mix of sadness and sexiness, making him want to embrace her, crush her in his arms, and provide her with safety forever.

Harry hesitated, searching for words. "No, I mean, of course, you look good..."

"Good? Is that all?" She smiled, lightly pushing his chest. "Come on, babe."

"Fantastic, Daphne. You look..." He glanced at her for a moment. "Just fantastic."

That was all he could muster—a meager word for an ass so exquisitely sculpted from marble, breasts like ripe fruits from the horn of plenty, for the living goddess on this earth. She giggled, running her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, I know, sucker. So, where's my money?"

For the past few weeks, Daphne had been hounding Harry about money. It started when she saw Irma giving Harry a blowjob in the library, right after Harry enslaved the hot librarian. It persisted and intensified when Daphne discovered that being her sugar daddy turned him on. Being her financial slave.

Looking at Daphne, at her perfect young body, her arrogant, expectant expression, it was incredibly difficult not to want to be tied to her. How could one stop wanting to do anything such a beautiful woman desired? She had power over him, that was certain.

"Here you go."

He handed her a hefty pouch from his pocket, containing over two hundred and fifty Galleons. He collected them from several slaves he now employed for various tasks.

He turned and grabbed his book. That was enough.

"I also wanted to show you this..."

But he had to cut himself off midway, dropping the book back onto the nearby table as he watched her inhale the money and move it up and down her amazing breasts.

Wow. Oh God, wow.

"I love the feeling of this on my body, Harry, babe. Wouldn't you like to give me even more next time?"

"G-God..." he breathed out.

She approached him, wrapping her arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes with those mind-melting green eyes of hers.

"Come on, babe," Daphne moaned. "Look at what I have for you. Isn't it good?" "Oh yes."

She smiled, giggling again. But now the giggle encouraged her breasts to bounce on his chest. "How much are you paying me now?"

"One-fourth of what I earn."

Her hand slipped into his crotch, unbuttoning his pants. He let out a quiet moan.

"One-fourth? Oops. What if it were... one-third? Does that excite you, babe?"

His hips pressed into her hand. His book... his book was so close. But... oh God, she had complete control over him! This beauty had completely captivated him. It was as if she had something that seduced men and was less invasive than Fleur's allure. He got lost, gazing at her cheekbones, cleavage, bare shoulders, and shimmering strands of hair...

She reached into his pants, wrapping her hand around his cock. Harry immediately became rock hard. Daphne let out a satisfied purr.

"I saw you in town with Tracey, babe. Are you fucking her and Irma at the same time?" He nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, oops," she giggled. "I never would have thought you were such a stud. You definitely have the cock for it. And now you have those guest rooms all to yourself. You have to do so many things so well."

A compliment from his dream girl, unencumbered by any criticism, was almost enough for Harry to cum.

"What if they found out? How would they react? Would they be furious?" Her thrusts became more frequent with each question.

Of course, just last night, they both gave him a blowjob together. But she seemed to enjoy his betrayal. "Oh yes," he nodded.

"I'll keep it quiet, babe." She pressed her lips to his ear. His breaths, hot and shallow, now mostly inhaled the incredibly soft scent of her amazing hair. "I won't tell them that you love me more than both of them combined."

Her thrusts, which had now slowed down, were so long, so frustratingly perfect and slow.

"You love me more than them, don't you, Harry?"

"You love?"

He nodded, stuttering and moaning.

"Tell me, babe. You love me more than Irma."

"I love you more than her!"

Her thrusts picked up pace again. "Say her name. Say mine."

"I love Daphne more than Irma! I love you more than Irma, Daphne!"

"You love paying me." She murmured those words in his ear. The hand on his neck moved upward, starting to stroke his hair.

"I love paying you."

"You love doing what I say."

She nibbled—oh God, she nibbled his ear!

"I love doing what you say."

"You want to cum for me."

"I want to cum for you."

Now he actively thrust his hips into her hand, essentially fucking her open palm. She hardly had to exert any effort. Something about it felt so right to him—she didn't have to work at all to possess him. It was natural for her.

"From now on, you will only cum for me."

"From now on, I will only cum for you."