To The Victor Go The Spoils - Chapter 22

ALL CHARACTERS PORTRAYED WITHIN THIS STORY ARE 18 YEARS OLD OR ABOVE.

Summary: An ancient law founded long before the time of Merlin awakens after Harry strikes down Voldemort. Now the oaths of all the Death Eaters transfer to him. Bound to his service, the war criminals must now hand over their fealty, wealth, and even their wives and daughters to satisfy the ancient rite.

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Chapter 22: Clubbing

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“Narcissa, darling! It’s wonderful to see you!”

Narcissa smiled as she stood to embrace her old friend.

“Vivianne,” she breathed, greeting her friend with la bise kisses on each cheek, “How are you?”

The auburn-haired witch smiled, her blue eyes as warm as ever.

“Wonderful, darling! I dare say life in California agrees with me, don’t you?” her friend laughed, framing her face with one hand.

Narcissa nodded. Vivianne indeed looked great, far better than the last she saw of the Moon matriarch. Where then she was pale and thin, dark circles ever present under her eyes, while she all but jumped at every shadow, Vivianne now practically glowed under the sun, her skin a healthy tan and eyes sparkling like a woman two decades younger.

“I dare say it does,” Narcissa agreed, gesturing for her friend to sit. The small cafe she chose for their meeting offered a private view over a nearby park, where the laughter of families could often be heard. It was a place Narcissa came to often enough when she wished to get away from the stress of noble life before the war. Now, though, it often served as a reminder for all she had lost and gained after the final battle.

“So,” Narcissa began as she busied herself with pouring their tea, “How are the girls? Is Lily still practising the viola?”

“Not so much anymore, I’m afraid. In truth, I’m a little relieved. As a mother, I of course wish for my daughter to become skilled in a great many things, but as a woman with ears, I can’t help but be relieved that she finally realised music was perhaps not her calling,” Vivianne sighed.

Narcissa grimaced ever so slightly. She attended one of Lily’s recitals in the past, and she had to agree with her friend. The world was better off without an instrument in that girl’s hands.

“And what of Hyacinth? Your last letter spoke of a boy who had caught her eye?”

Vivanne nodded, a satisfied smile on her face.

“He’s the son of a MACUSA congressman. Hyacinth met him at the charity art gala back in September. She says he works alongside his father a great deal, and has every intention of running for office himself when he finishes his Magical Law mastery,” she explained.

Narcissa nodded, internally chuckling at the Cheshire-like smile on her friend’s face. Though Vivianne fled Great Britain with her daughters in the early days of the war, her friend still possessed the ruthless ambition of Slytherin House. Narcissa did not doubt in her mind that if Vivianne wasn’t still grieving for her late husband, she would have ensnared a high-society man or two herself within the first few weeks of her time in America.

“And what of you, darling? Your letters have been dreadfully sparse of late, but even across the pond, I’ve heard rumours of your current…living arrangements,” Vivianne smirked, her eyes flitting down to the choker around Narcissa’s neck.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow as she passed her friend her tea.

“And what rumours would that be?”

Viviave took the offered cup with a wave of her hand. “Oh, you know–just some whispers about the Great Harry Potter suddenly finding himself quite literally owning a small army of beautiful witches. Chief among them being the famous Lady Malfoy herself.”

Narcissa hummed, stirring a bit of honey into her tea with practised grace. “Black, actually. My master annulled my previous marriage at my request.”

“‘Master’, eh? Great Circe, his dick must be phenomenal if you’re calling him that.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite keep the rising blush in her cheeks at bay.

“I didn’t spend a small fortune on an international portkey just to bring you here and have you make lewd comments about my sex life, Vivianne,” she huffed.

“Of course not, darling. That’s just a bonus,” her friend laughed. “Jokes aside–How are you really, Cissy? I trust Potter is treating you well?”

Narcissa sighed, a fond smile gracing her lips at the care in her friend’s voice. Even after all these years, Vivianne was still her closest friend. Since the day they boarded the Hogwarts Express together as girls, they’d been practically inseparable. It had pained Narcissa to find out her friend had been forced to flee, lest she and her daughters meet the same fate as the late Lord Moon, but it gladdened her to see her here now–happy and hale now that the darkness has cleared.

“He’s the perfect gentleman, Vivianne. I’ve never met a kinder man in my life.”

Vivanne nodded, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup. “And what of your heart? Is he kind to that as well?”

“More than you know.”

Her friend hummed, blue eyes studying Narcissa for a moment, before releasing a sigh.

“Good. Now tell me how I can help, darling.”

Narcissa sighed and took a sip of her tea. “Your brother is still participating in the international duelling circuit, yes?” At Vivianne’s nod, Narcissa leaned forward. “What does he know of a man by the name of Voss?”

-

Harry surveyed the scene around him with more than a bit of trepidation.

“You know, when I agreed to your request, I didn’t expect–” he gestured to the scene before him, quite at a loss for words. “–this.”

The low purr of Isabella’s laughter grazed against his ear as the bronze-skinned witch pressed herself into his side.

“You mean a sex club?”

“Among other things,” Harry replied as he watched a bikini-clad witch in a masquerade mask walk by, pulling a broad-shouldered man on all fours by a leash behind her.

Isabella giggled, stepping up on her tiptoes to swipe her tongue against the lobe of his ear. “Come, master, you promised me a night of fun, did you not?”

Harry sighed and adjusted his own mask for a moment before allowing Isabella to lead him further inside. The masks were enchanted, thankfully. The magic inlaid within them completely obscured the wearer's identity from everyone save for those the wearer wished to know the truth. Isabella had explained the reasoning to him when he pressed. This club, La Maison de l'Extase, was quite popular among the French elite and, as such, took great care in providing a means of anonymity to all its clientele. 

The masks were actually the only required article of clothing that all patrons must wear outside of the club's private rooms on the fourth floor—something that many club-goers took advantage of. Harry could barely turn his head without spotting yet another witch or wizard completely bare save for the mask affixed to their faces. 

Many milled about, completely comfortable in their state of undress, holding casual conversations over drinks with other patrons. Most patrons, alongside their masks, also wore pendants, each identical save for the coloured jewel in the middle. 

The meaning behind the colours was a message of some sort. Isabella hadn't included what message that was exactly in her explanation, so Harry was left to parse the meaning himself.

Those with white pendants were the most common. They tended to be the ones who were here just for fun. They danced, drank, and fucked loudly, with no real intention other than to have a good time. It was quite common to spot a pair of white pendant wearers in the throes of passion atop the many chaises and stages that peppered the building.

Blue was also pretty common. Most of whom Harry could see wearing blue pendants were couples, people who were there together simply to enjoy the club’s atmosphere with their significant other, with the potential to find a third. He spotted more than a few couples leading or being led up the stairs to the private rooms by another witch or wizard. Some were even more brazen—one witch was even kneeling on all fours on the main dance floor, her partner thrusting into her roughly from behind, while a white pendant wizard used her mouth for his pleasure.

Purple pendants were more sparse. Many of those who wore the purple jewels were the ones who took the nudity aspect of the club to heart…as well as the more erotic ones. It seemed purple indicated those who were open with their bodies. Hands would constantly wander across the purple pendant owners, freely exploring their bodies without so much as a batted eye. Isabella had even reached out herself to grope a passing witch’s arse. Said witch had stopped and giggled, shaking her bum back and forth, allowing Isabella a more thorough feel.

“Well?” Isabella smirked, looking at Harry with a raised brow as she squeezed the unnamed witch’s bubbly arse.

Harry huffed but obeyed the silent command, stepping forward himself to grope the woman’s bum. It was soft beneath his fingertips, the flesh supple and plush in a way that Harry had to admit was quite nice to squeeze. She giggled and pushed her arse back against Harry’s palm, before shooting them both a wink over her shoulder and sashaying away.

“Mmm, she seems like she’d be a delightful plaything. I’ll have to keep an eye out for her,” Isabella muttered as the nameless woman walked away, more hands reaching out from the crowd to grope and pinch her alluring curves. Harry would be a liar if he said he wasn't also interested in seeing her again.

As he turned his attention back to the crowd at large, his eyes found the last jewel colour sprinkled through the mass of scantily clad patrons.

Red pendants were both the rarest and yet the easiest to spot, all the same. Their wearers were usually in the centre of a crowd, with loud cheers and wolf-whistles echoing out between a mix of groans and cries of pleasure. Red was one step above purple. Where the purple pendants meant their wearers didn't mind a few open touches and perhaps more, red meant that anything goes. In short? They were free to use by anyone who so desired them.

Two witches wearing red pendants chatted casually as they were bent over a table beside each other, while wizard after wizard took their turn using their cunts as public fleshlights. Another had been strolling calmly back to the bar when another woman forced her to her knees, pushed the red pendant witch’s face between her legs. Harry saw wizards getting whipped by witches in leather one-pieces. He watched a woman riding the cock of one man while another witch slipped a strap-on into her arsehole. 

Dozens of these erotic scenes played out as if they were an everyday thing. People watched and cheered from the sidelines, while others passed by without a care, dancing to the music and drinking with their friends, while the chorus of moans played out around them.

Harry chanced a glance down at his own pendant. The jewel was black as night, a direct twin to Isabella’s own darkened pendant.

“What does black indicate?”

“Hmm?” Isabella noised, pulling her attention away from one of the many witches erotically dancing atop the stage. “Oh! Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” the Italian witch smirked, her eyes dancing with amusement beneath her mask. “Come, my lord. I fancy myself a cocktail. You’re buying obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged away. 

The bar itself was massive. Glass shelves sat behind the bar, displaying almost every brand of liquor and spirits imaginable, both magic and mundane. The polished wood of the bar-counter spanned almost the entire length of the building, with dozens of patrons surrounding it as they ordered drinks. Six barmaids worked diligently to fulfil every order, the uniforms nothing more than silver chokers with matching bikini bottoms. Their breasts were on full display, bouncing freely as they skipped back and forth, mixing drinks and collecting gold from patrons. 

“Bonjour!” One of the more busty barmaids greeted them in French, her smile welcoming as she leaned over the bar, her breasts pushed out by the sides of her arms. “Welcome to La Maison de–Oh! Mademoiselle Zabini! I did not recognise you!”

“Nessun problema, Calliope. It has been some time since my last visit,” Isabella said, with a wave of her hand.

“Well then, bon retour, my lady! What can I get for you and your–” the barmaid ran her eyes up and down the length of Harry’s body. He was dressed more conservatively than most of the other patrons, but the tight leather pants and plunging neckline of his shirt showed off plenty for the bubbly witch to drink up with a lick of her lips. “–partner?”

“Two Nergroni’s, if you will,” Isabella responded after a moment. “And have the other staff prepare my usual lounge.” Harry watched as she slid a small pouch of galleons across the counter as she spoke. Calliope took the offered gold without a word, the pouch disappearing…somewhere.

“Of course, Mademoiselle. Coming right up!” the bubbly waitress replied, shooting another furtive glance Harry’s way before turning to mix their drinks.

Harry watched her go, unable to stop his eyes from trailing after her shapely arse as it jiggled with each step, the strap of her bikini bottoms disappearing between her arsecheek. 

“She’s a tasty treat to look at, yes?” Isabella whispered in his ear. The heat of her breath washed over him as one of her hands traced the outline of his cock through his leather trousers. “I can tell you from personal experience that she tastes even better than she looks.”

Harry hummed, but did not stop her hand from wandering. Her light petting would hardly draw any eyes in a place like this, and even if it did, the masks they wore would protect their identities.

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” he asked as Isabella slowly unzipped the fly of his pants. She had been the one to choose his outfit, from the ‘slutty’ shirt—as Pansy had called it—to the leather pants she was unzipping. Which is why Isabella was hardly surprised when his cock all but exploded out from the constricting prison, unhindered by boxers.

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you mean,” the bronze-skinned woman drawled, her hand tight around his thick shaft as she began to lazily pump him.

Harry huffed, yet leaned back just enough to allow Isabella more room to work. The older witch smirked, her hand moving faster now, barely even trying to play coy as she openly gave him a handjob. From further down the bar, Harry could see two witches watching the small show with interest, their eyes locked onto Isabella’s hand as they traded whispers.

“I just never would have taken this place as your kind of scene,” he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against the curve of her jaw. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m intimately aware of how big of a closeted slut you are, but this place is pretty brazen, even for you.”

Isabella’s breath hitched ever-so-slightly, the sound soft enough that Harry barely heard it over the loud thumping music, but it was there nonetheless.

“Perhaps you simply don’t know me as well as you think,” she bit back, a little of her usual defensive venom leaking into her words.

Before he could press her further, Calliope returned with their drinks in hand. Isabella released his cock without a word and swiped her drink from the barmaid’s hand. Harry watched the woman for a moment as she took a more than generous sip of her cocktail, downing half the glass in one go.

“Your lounge is ready, Mademoiselle Zabini,” the waitress informed, her eyes locked onto Harry’s cock with a hungry gleam. “Management also called. They said they have a…special surprise waiting for you as thanks for your continued patronage.”

“Oh? Now this I must see. Their gifts are ever so delightful,” Isabella purred. “Please lead the way, Calliope dear.”

The buxom witch nodded, quickly scampering around the bar to escort them up. She did not lead them to the main staircase that he’d seen other patrons use earlier. Instead, they followed her to a set of doors on the far side of the club with two black robed security mages standing on either side. They didn’t so much as glance their way as they entered, obviously expecting him and Isabella.

An elevator awaited them on the other side, the golden doors opening without a sound as they approached. There was more than enough room for the three of them, yet somehow Harry ended up with both Isabella and the young barmaid pressed against him, the latter not-so-subtly wiggling her arse against his crotch the entire ride up.

When the doors finally opened once more, it was to reveal a large circular room. On the far side stood a balcony that overlooked the entire club, the music muted but still present in the air. The entire centre of the room was taken up by a large, circular bed, clad with silver silk sheets. Cushioned chairs and chaise loungers surrounded the bed from all sides, as if ready to host an audience from atop the sheets. On either side of the room stood tall silver poles connected from the floor to the ceiling. Two women were already there, wrapping themselves around the poles in a synchronised, sensual dance, expertly moving their lithe forms.

Yet as alluring as the sight of the two nameless women dancing around stripper poles were, it was the woman lounging atop the bed that truly drew his eyes.

She was beautiful. It was not an opinion, but a simple fact. She was breathtaking, the very embodiment of desire shaped in human form. Her blonde hair shimmered beneath the dim light, a silken cascade that seemed to hold starlight within its strands. Every curve of her body was a masterpiece of temptation, sculpted with divine precision to command attention. Her breasts rose and fell like the promise of paradise itself, soft and perfect, while her hips and the full curve of her arse carried a rhythm that could drive a saint to sin.

Yet as captivating as she was to behold, some distant part of his mind couldn’t help but find her familiar somehow. It nagged at him, as if the truth was right there just beyond his reach and too far all the same. The mask adorning the mystery woman’s face did not help the matter, the enchantments woven within making the finer features of her face hazy and easy to forget—like water slipping through a net.

“Oh my,” Isabella breathed beside him, just as captivated by the sight of the woman as he was. “Now this truly is a surprise! Management has never gifted me a Veela before!”

Harry blinked in surprise. A Veela? He took another look at the woman. That would explain why he felt so drawn to her after only a few moments. The enchantments in her mask must be working overtime to conceal her features. A Veela’s beauty was a difficult thing to suppress after all. That was part of the reason their allure was so hard to shake off for most.

The mystery woman laughed, the sound filling the room entirely like a warm breeze. “Oui. Tonight is a special case, ‘owever,” she spoke, running her fingers over the silk sheets. “After all, it is not every day our most valuable customer arrives with the great ‘Arry Potter tow, non?”

Harry felt the magic around his mask suddenly fizzle out. It slipped from his face, falling to the ground like an autumn leaf. He was too taken aback to catch it.

“Worry not, Monsieur Potter,” the woman spoke. “We pride ourselves on keeping our clients' identities confidential. Something all our staff are sworn to do. Speaking of, you are dismissed Calliope. You may return after your shift if you wish.” The other witch made a noise of protest but slipped out regardless, shooting them both one last furtive glance before the elevator doors closed.

The mystery woman sat up, her hair falling down her shoulders like rivers of silver, while her breasts hung freely in the evening air, defying gravity itself despite their size. “Those masks are for strangers anyway, oui? And we are not strangers, ‘Arry.”

His name on her lips felt like a sin, but when she reached up and pulled free her mask, that was when his world truly shook.

“Gabrielle?”

“Oui,” the youngest Delacour giggled, her cerulean blue eyes shining. “When I saw who Madameoissele Zabini walked in with on her arm, I couldn't ‘elp but volunteer as your entertainment for the night.”

“Well, I won’t say this isn’t a pleasant surprise,” Isabella chimed in. “But this isn’t exactly the type of place I’d expect the daughter of one of France’s most noble houses to work at.”

Gabrielle shrugged, standing up from the bed and sauntering forward with agonizingly slow steps.

“And why not? ‘Ere I am allowed to revel in my nature. There are some who would look down on a Veela who gives themselves wholly to the baser instincts, but I say they are fools,” Gabrielle spat, stepping before Harry and Isabella both with her blue eyes glowing bright. “People come ‘ere to be themselves, non? Why should I be any different?”

“You shouldn’t,” Harry found himself replying, his hand finding its way to the bare flesh of Gabrielle’s waist.

The young blonde gasped as he pulled her close. Part of him knew this was a mistake. Gabrielle was his friend, had been for years now, and this would only complicate that. But another part of him, the one that had grown used to taking what he wanted since this mess with the ancient law began, didn’t care.

Gabrielle was here because she wanted to be. No oath compelled her, no spell bound her. She was here, standing before him, offering herself to him because she wanted to.

And Harry wasn’t foolish enough to turn her away.

He moved without a word. In an instant, he had Gabrielle by a handful of the young Veela’s hair. The blonde gasped in surprise, a gasp that soon morphed into a muffled moan as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She didn't even try to fight back, giving herself to him completely, allowing him to plunder her mouth.

“Tch—you and your bloody preference for blondes,” he heard Isabella scoff from behind. 

At once, he released Gabrielle, leaving her dazed while he pulled Isabella towards him by her waist.

“Shut up,” he whispered, crashing his lips against the Italian witch’s own not a moment later.

Isabella moaned into the kiss, her hand raking down his chest before once more palming the bulge of his cock through his trousers.

Not one to be left out, Gabrielle pulled them both forward, quietly dismissing the other two women dancing on the poles with a single glare.

Harry fell onto the bed first, a mane of silver and a mane of mocha descending upon him. Gabrielle’s lips met his. Her kiss was hungry, but easily manipulated against his lips, as if she were trying to communicate that she wanted him to take control from a kiss alone. Harry had no qualms with that, his hands quickly latching on to the younger girl's flawless breasts, enjoying the way the soft flesh spilt out between his fingers, while Isabella kissed and licked her way down his chest.

He paid the older witch no mind as she fished his cock free from his trousers once more. His focus was on Gabrielle completely, his mouth slipping down her jaw and the expanse of her neck as he sought to explore her body. Even when Isabella’s plump lips wrapped themselves around his cock he did not falter. He simply cursed against the creamy flesh of Gabrielle’s tits before taking one of her pale cherry nipples into his mouth.

The whine of delight Gabrielle expelled was a sound Harry would forever remember. It was a sound that had only one purpose, one goal—to beg.

“Come here,” he murmured against her breast. “I want to taste you.”

Gabrielle moaned, but moved all the same, the weight on the bed shifting until his vision was filled with the sight of the younger girl’s hairless slit. Harry growled at the sight, his cock pulsing between Isabella’s lips as he gripped the blonde by her thighs and all but yanked her down. 

Gabrielle moaned deeply as his tongue first ran itself between her folds. Her pussy quivered against his chin, pleading with him just as Gabrielle begged him in French for more. 

The heat radiating from her mound was intense, burning with need as he swiped his tongue against her clit. Every lick brought forth a new shudder from the girl, her frame shaking as she cursed aloud in French. He couldn't help but groan aloud into her dripping quim as well. Below, Isabella’s mouth was expertly working his cock, the velvety embrace of her lips sending jolts of pleasure up his spine with every bob of her head. 

It only took a few flicks of his tongue for Gabrielle to let out a high-pitched squeal. Her thighs clamped around his head, threatening to suffocate him as she trembled atop him, smearing her juices over the lower half of his face in the process. Isabella, meanwhile, was watching this whole see from below, her mouth full of cock as she watched the young Delacour quake atop her lord. The sight stoked something primal inside the older woman, a mixture of jealousy and awe that forced a low moan of need to bubble up from her throat.

Without even realising what she was doing, the older witch pulled her lord’s cock free from her throat and crawled up the bed. Gabrielle barely had time to prepare herself before Isabella’s tongue was pushing its way past her lips while the older woman’s hand gripped her arse almost painfully tight.

Not wishing to remain idle, Harry took hold of Isabella’s hips from where the Italian woman straddled his waist. Her pussy was soaking wet, her juices coated his length already, mixing with her saliva as a light sheen on his cock. It only took a small bit of shuffling to line himself up with her entrance. Isabella paid him no mind, far too focused on snogging the younger witch senseless. It was only when he thrust upwards, hilting himself inside her molten hot core, that the Zabini matriarch finally broke the intense liplock to let out a whining moan.

Moving his hands down to her thighs, Harry gripped the bronze flesh tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her sopping wet cunt at a rythmic pace. Her walls trembled around him with every pound of his cock, Isabella’s whorish wails broken only by Gabrielle’s lips. The French witch was keen to explore the older woman, her pouty pink lips hungrily devouring every inch of flesh on display. From the valley of Isabella’s breasts to the bronzed expanse of her arse, Gabrielle raked her tongue across every inch. Her silvery hair proved to be the perfect handhold for Isabella’s claws as the older woman cried out in ecstasy with every thrust that stretched her inner most walls. Cries that only grew louder and louder, until she suddenly stilled atop him, Gabrielle’s mouth wrapped around one of her pierced nipples and his cock buried completely within her pussy, her mouth open in a loud cry as she came.

“Oh my, she is quite the screamer, non?” Gabrielle giggled, her hands kneading the older woman’s breasts as she squirmed atop Harry.

“F–Fuck. Y–Yo–You.” Isabella bit out between tremours, her breaths ragged and skin shining with sweat.

“That’s the plan, pute,” Gabrielle bit back, quite literally too at she sank her teeth into the flawless flesh of Isabella’s neck.

Harry chuckled, and helped Isabella roll of him, his cock popping free from her cunt, with a wet ‘pop!’ The moment the older witch landed on her back, Gabrielle was there, stradling Isabella’s face in much the same way she had him, except this time the younger witch leaned forward, pushing Isabella’s thighs apart and burying her own tongue between the Italian milf’s folds.

His cock lurched at the sight. It was one he’d seen plenty of times with the other girls of course, but that subtracting absolutely nothing from witnessing it here now with Gabrielle.

Seeing an opportunity, Harry manourvered himself around until he was kneeling behind the young Veela. Below, Isabella’s eyes gazed up at him with intrigue, of more accurately, his cock. The older woman said nothing as he positioned himself, her tongue far too busy devouring Gabrielle’s pussy to give her opinion. However, by the way her eyes lit up the moment his throbbing cock-head brushed against Gabrielle’s entrance, she very much approved.

Gabrielle’s only indication she had even noticed him behind her was a small muffled moan between Isabella’s thighs and the raising of her hips towards him. Seeing this as the permission her needs, Harry took hold of the younger girl’s waist and pushed his cock forward into her impossibly tight depths. 

He took her much slower than he had Isabella. Isabella was far used to his cock by now, trained to take it in all manner of ways like the most skilled of brothel whores. Gabrielle, however, was not. Veela or no, he still did not wish to hurt her by going to fast.

Still, it took much of his self-control to hammer into the younger girl with all the gusto of a rutting animal. She felt incredible—as if her very pussy was crafted using the softest of silks. He could almost feel her inner walls moulding to the shape of his cock, pulling him in eagerly while she moaned between Isabella’s thighs.

Soon enough, though, he finally bottomed out inside her, the moment rewarded by Isabella who tilted her head up to run her velvety tongue across his bloated sack.

“Slut,” he half-chuckled, half-moaned.

“Complaining?” Isabella bit back, returning her mouth quickly to Gabrielle’s clit.

“Never,” Harry groaned, giving Gabby’s arse a light slap as he began to thrust into her. Her moans grew louder, nails sinking harder into the flesh of Isabella’s thighs as he hammered into her. He did not take her as hard or fast as he usually did Isabella. Most of what he did with Isabella was fuelled by the primal urge for pleasure and perhaps more than a bit of hate-fucking as well. A sentiment the older witch shared, of course, but not one he would subject one of his friends to.

Gabrielle didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, she was positively loving how he was fucking her thus far. It was a cacophony of flashy claps as he hammered into her dripping snatch. Gabby was a howling mess of ecstasy, crying out into the silken folds of Isabella’s cunt with every thrust. Her arse jiggled with with every slap of his hips, flesh rippling enticingly that Harry couldn’t help but give it a hard spank.

SMACK!

“MERDE!” Gabrielle screamed, her back arching involuntarily as she cried out to the sky.

Harry cursed as her walls fluttered around him, the heavenly sensation nearly too much even for him in that moment. His own climax was fast approaching already. Thankfully, Isabella was there to take care of that for him.

Pulling free of Gabby’s shuddering folds, Harry didn’t give the Zabini matriarch so much as a moment to prepare herself before he was shoving his cock into her mouth. The bronse skinned woman let out a shriek of surprise, the shout muffled by his cock almost instantly. She gagged loudly around his length, unprepared to take the full force of his cock, but Harry paid her no mind. Instead, he let a a low rumbling groan as he finally reached his end, shooting the white hot stickness of his load directly down Isabella’s throat.

Isabella took every drop, only ever protesting with a firm slap to his thigh when air became too urgent of a need. Harry groaned as he pulled free of her mouth, the last spurt of his cum painting a white streak down the middle of her face.

The glare he received was more than worth it in his mind.

-

Author’s Note

This chapter was gonna have more Cissy in it but then I may or may not have gotten carried away with the club scene…

Thanks for reading!