Chapter 173: Chapter 173: Transactions of the Pure-Blood Families!
In the southeast corner of the banquet hall, the lounge area—half-concealed by six giant magical orchids between the dessert table and the floral corridor—had already gathered seven or eight matriarchs of pure-blood families.
They sat in a circle on plush sofas stuffed with moon-mushroom velvet, each holding a palm-sized magical crystal mirror with a golden frame.
Playing on those mirrors were miniature 3D holographic projections... spinning rings, floating earrings, and some small objects with extremely ambiguous shapes bearing special vibrating runes.
"Eden."
The video website founded by Jerry and Hermione had now also become an outrageously popular underground luxury platform in pure-blood noblewoman circles.
Adult toys!
"Look at this, the new model from the ’Nightingale’ series."
Cecilia Nott pushed her crystal mirror to the middle. Spinning on the mirror was a rod-shaped object cast from elven silver and unicorn horn powder, emitting a pearl-white luster throughout.
Its shape was extremely elegant. At first glance, it looked like an exquisite wand, but that slightly curved arc and the round, plump head at the top exposed its true purpose.
"This model has thirty-six different frequencies of vibrating runes built in, and... look here..."
Cecilia tapped the base part of the holographic projection with her fingertip, and a line of small text surfaced: Built-in temperature-sensing magic, automatically adjusts surface temperature according to the user’s body temperature.
"It just arrived last month. I ordered two—one for daily use and one for backup."
The expression Cecilia wore when saying this was as natural as discussing which dessert was good today. She even used her fingers to gesture the actual size of that thing in the air.
"Two? Aren’t you being too greedy, Cecilia."
Mrs. Greengrass held a teacup, a gentle smile at the corners of her mouth, but her other hand was already swiping rapidly on her own crystal mirror, adding that "Nightingale" model to her favorites list.
"Greedy?
This is what I call preparing for a rainy day.
The runes on the last model burned out after three months of use; the quality is really..."
"That’s because your frequency of use is too high."
Mrs. Parkinson leaned her head over from the other end of the sofa, a gloating expression hanging on her mean-looking face. "The instruction manual says the recommended daily use is no more than twice. How many times a day do you use it?"
"Who reads the instruction manual for this kind of thing!"
Several women laughed at the same time, their voices controlled to a decibel level that wouldn’t attract the attention of other guests in the hall.
"This ’Abyssal Kiss’ is a limited edition that just went on the shelves last week. There are only twelve in the world.
I snatched the third one."
"How many Galleons?"
"Eight thousand."
"Worth it."
Mrs. Greengrass gave her evaluation without hesitation. "The refractive index of deep-sea merman scales is seven times that of ordinary gemstones. Moreover, when this material touches the skin, it generates a weak cooling magic. It must be especially comfortable to wear in summer."
"What caught my eye is another model..."
Mrs. Flint... a brown-haired witch with exquisite features but an extremely cold aura... tapped her crystal mirror lightly twice with her nail. The holographic projection switched to a set of... devices... made of some kind of dark red elastic material, looking like a complex combination of straps and buckles.
The shape of that thing triggered a three-second silence even in front of this group of worldly, pure-blood noblewomen.
"Is this... the ’Thorny Rose’ series?" Cecilia narrowed her eyes and leaned in closer to look.
"Yes, the newest model." Mrs. Flint’s tone was as calm as if introducing a new tea set. "It’s said to be a mold customized according to the needs of a certain... client with a special physique."
"Special physique?"
"Look at the dimensional parameters yourselves."
Several heads leaned in at the same time.
Then came another wave of sharp intakes of breath rising one after another.
"This size... is it for a Giant?" Mrs. Parkinson’s voice carried a trace of unbelievable shrillness.
"Not a Giant." The corners of Mrs. Flint’s mouth hooked up slightly; it was the first time tonight she showed an expression close to a smile. "It’s for a human. And it’s said to be a 1:1 inverted mold from a real person."
"Who?"
"I don’t know. But according to inside sources at Eden, this ’model’ is someone very close to the shop owner himself."
"..."
Another meaningful silence ensued. Then everyone’s gaze drifted in unison toward the silhouette of the teenage boy wearing the pitch-black tailcoat at the other end of the hall.
"Ahem." Mrs. Greengrass cleared her throat, taking the lead in withdrawing her gaze. "Let’s go back to chatting about jewelry."
"Speaking of jewelry!" Cecilia smacked her knee violently, pulling out another smaller crystal mirror with a black-and-gold frame from her hidden pocket. "Look at this... the new earrings from the ’Fruit of Eden’ series, Fire Phoenix teardrop shape, built-in adaptive color-changing magic, can change color according to the wearer’s mood..."
"Wait a minute, you have two mirrors?" Mrs. Parkinson stared at that small mirror with the black-and-gold frame, her eyes shining.
"This is a VIP mirror. It’s only gifted if you subscribe to Eden’s annual Platinum Membership." Cecilia held the mirror up a bit higher. "This mirror can connect directly to Eden’s exclusive channel; there is some... limited content."
"What limited content?"
Cecilia’s mouth opened for a moment, then closed again.
She quickly stuffed that small black-and-gold mirror back into her hidden pocket, wearing a smug "I know but I’m not telling you" expression on her face.
"Not sharing."
"Why?!"
"Because it’s mine."
Cecilia’s tone suddenly became extremely serious. "Every frame of video inside, every angle, every pant... is an exclusive privilege I only obtained by paying a twelve thousand Galleon annual fee.
You want to see?
Go subscribe to the Platinum Membership yourselves."
This possessiveness toward "videos" was an unspoken, unspoken rule within pure-blood noblewoman circles.
Toys could be recommended to each other, jewelry could be compared with each other, but those limited videos exclusively produced by Eden, where the videographer was allegedly the shop owner himself... were absolutely not to be lent out, absolutely not to be shared, and specific content was absolutely not to be discussed.
Every witch who subscribed to the Platinum Membership viewed those videos as their most private property.
They could calmly discuss which toy’s vibration frequency suited them best in public, but if anyone dared to demand they share even a single screenshot of those videos, what awaited her would be a social nuclear war more tragic than a family blood feud.
"What fun things are you all chatting about?"
A clear voice, carrying a bit of laziness yet holding a hidden sharpness, came from the direction of the floral corridor.
Everyone’s heads turned simultaneously toward the source of the sound.
Then, all conversation stopped.
Isabella Black stood beneath that semi-circular archway formed by six giant magical orchids.
She had arrived.
The bride-to-be tonight had finally made her entrance.
She wore a form-fitting gown woven from star-spider silk, presenting a deep midnight blue.
That fabric was one of the rarest textiles in the entire wizarding world... a star-spider only spins silk once every hundred years, and the yield each time is only enough to make one garment. The fabric of this dress inherently possessed a faint yet continuous starlight-twinkling effect that could only be seen when looking up at the night sky, making her entire person look as if enveloped by a flowing river of stars.
The neckline of the gown presented an elegant V-shape, revealing just the right amount of collarbone and the patch of skin above her chest—a skin with a pearl-like luster, created jointly by the elasticity of a young girl and the voluptuousness inherited from the Black family.
Although her breasts had not yet reached Cassiopeia’s suffocating magnitude, they were already staggeringly developed for her age. That full contour—somewhere between a young girl and a mature woman, full of elasticity and an upward angle—was faithfully outlined by the star-spider silk fabric.
Her waist was as narrow as if cast with a Shrinking Charm, but Jerry knew that was entirely natural.
From the waist down, the fabric of the gown began to subtly flare out, flowing downward along the curve of her buttocks—which had been exercised to extreme firmness due to long-term Quidditch training on a broomstick—cinching into a sharp mermaid tail below the knees.
Her legs were wrapped in a layer of nearly invisible, extremely sheer deep blue silk stockings... the color of those silk stockings was almost identical to the gown. Only when she stepped, due to the subtle difference in reflection caused by the fabric stretching, could one perceive the existence of that thin layer of woven fabric.
On her feet was a pair of deep blue pointed stiletto heels, the vamp inlaid with a row of miniature gemstones polished from genuine shattered star-stones. Every step she took left a fleeting, stardust-like fluorescent trace on the ground.
But what made people truly unable to look away was her face.
Isabella had inherited the most quintessential genes of the Black family.
A high, straight nose bridge, distinct cheekbone lines, and those large eyes presenting a depth like a frozen lake surface. Her eyelashes were long and curled, already dense enough without any magical enhancement.
Her lips were full and slightly upturned, currently painted with a deep blue lip gloss of the same color family as her gown, making her entire aura jump straight from "pretty" to "dangerous."
Her long blonde hair was not pinned up, but draped over her shoulders, the ends bearing a natural, large curled wave. A snake-shaped hair clip carved from a pure black diamond was pinned above her left ear; the snake’s eyes were two pinhead-sized but blindingly bright rubies.
This was an ornament only direct heirs of the Black family were qualified to wear.
Isabella stood beneath the floral corridor, those gray-blue eyes sweeping over every noblewoman present.
That gaze was neither humble nor arrogant, even carrying a bit of the coldness of a former Slytherin prefect scrutinizing subordinates.
She was only just turning eighteen, but the way she looked at people was already exactly the same as Cassiopeia.
"Oh, dearest Isabella!"
Cecilia was the first to react. She quickly flipped the crystal mirror in her hand over... letting those holographic projections displaying various toys face down on her lap... and then stood up with a face full of smiles.
"You are absolutely gorgeous tonight! Is this dress star-spider silk? Good heavens, I thought this fabric was already extinct!"
"Not extinct."
Isabella slightly raised her chin, a modest smile carrying a bit of haughty pride appearing at the corners of her mouth.
"Just that not many people can afford it."
This sentence was spoken as an understatement, but every noblewoman present heard the weight within it.
She wasn’t flaunting her wealth.
She was stating a fact.
And this attitude of treating astronomical luxury goods as everyday consumables was precisely the composure only an heir to a top-tier pure-blood family was qualified to display.
"Come quick and sit!" Mrs. Greengrass patted the empty seat beside her. "We were just chatting about some... interesting things."
Isabella walked over and sat down.
Her sitting posture was extremely standard... back ramrod straight, legs together and slightly slanted to the side, hands folded on her lap.
This was the etiquette training carved into the bones of the Black family from a young age; there wouldn’t be the slightest slackening even in this kind of semi-private chatting occasion.
But when her gaze fell on that face-down crystal mirror on Cecilia’s lap, a flash of amusement passed through those gray-blue eyes.
"Eden’s new products?"
"You know about Eden?" Mrs. Parkinson was somewhat surprised.
"Mrs. Parkinson."
Isabella turned her head, the look in her eyes as she watched Mrs. Parkinson carrying a pressure that made the latter involuntarily straighten her back.
"Do you think I wouldn’t know?"
"...True."
"Furthermore!" Isabella pulled out a crystal mirror from her own hidden pocket.
The frame of that mirror wasn’t gold, nor black-gold, but pure, continuously flowing silver-white, cast from liquid mithril.
All the noblewomen present who possessed Eden membership mirrors sucked in a breath of cold air simultaneously.
That was the legendary "Mirror of the Creator."
The highest authority of Eden.
"All categories free, all channels unlocked, unlimited viewing of all videos."
Isabella casually rested that mirror with the flowing silver frame on her lap, then raised her hand, took that glass of champagne with half a sip left from Cecilia’s already dumbstruck hand, tilted her head back, and drank it clean.
"What were you all looking at just now? Continue."
She looked around at those noblewomen with varying expressions of shock, her gray-blue eyes curving into two pretty crescents.
"Don’t put it away just because I’m here. How boring."
The sofa was quiet for three seconds.
Then Cecilia flipped the facedown crystal mirror on her lap back over, the holographic projection lighting up again.
"Alright, then we’ll continue. Isabella, take a look at this new ’Nightingale’ model..."
"Old model." Isabella glanced at it, her tone as casual as if evaluating a cake that wasn’t sweet enough. "This series will release a limited model next month. The vibrating runes will be upgraded from thirty-six to sixty-four types, and a memory function will be added, capable of recording the user’s top three favorite modes for automatic looping."
"How do you know that?
This information hasn’t even been released on the VIP channel yet!"
Isabella gave Cecilia a look.
That look said nothing, yet said everything.
Just as this group of pure-blood noblewomen was stunned speechless by Isabella’s "Mirror of the Creator" with its flowing silver frame, and the floral corridor sank into a subtle silence mixed with jealousy and fanaticism, a set of unhurried footsteps shattered this stagnant air.
On the marble floor, that echo with a slight metallic texture came closer from afar.
Jerry walked through the flashy clamor of the hall, heading straight toward the giant magical orchid archway in the southeast corner.
Illuminated by the floating candelabras along the way, his pitch-black tailcoat refracted a dark and profound purple-black luster.
The noblewomen in the floral corridor lounge area all looked up, their sightlines crossing the gaps in the orchids, falling in unison upon this teenage boy.
The women of pure-blood families, especially these witches who had long experienced marriage and rolled in the whirlpools of desire and power for many years, all hid an indescribable wickedness and wantonness in their bones. They had just been feasting their eyes on various toys challenging the limits of human size in Eden’s catalog.
Right now, facing this boy who was about to become Isabella’s fiancé, who still looked a bit raw, an urge to tease, to tear away that layer of his perfect disguise, rapidly fermented amidst the intersecting gazes of the several women.
Cecilia Nott slightly raised one side of her eyebrow, a sly gleam flashing in those eyes drawn with exquisite eyeliner.
Mrs. Parkinson knowingly hooked a mean-looking smirk at the corners of her mouth. Her right hand seemingly casually hung outside the sofa armrest, but the fingers hidden in the shadow of that wide skirt hem sketched a complex rune trajectory in the air with an extremely covert and rapid frequency.
Wandless casting.
Silent spell.
This was a modified "Slipping Charm," specifically used to undo complex buttons and clasps.
For these noblewomen who usually couldn’t even be bothered to peel a grape themselves, they had long since mastered these small, life-hack jinxes to perfection.
An extremely faint magical fluctuation, completely uncatchable by the naked eye, like a little snake flicking its tongue, hugged the warm marble floor and slithered silently toward Jerry, who had just stopped his footsteps.
"Isabella."
Jerry stood at the outer edge of the sofas, less than three paces away from that group of noblewomen.
He lowered his head slightly, looking at his fiancée sitting primly in the middle, his voice clear and steady. "Cassiopeia said the speech segment in the front hall is about to begin, she asked me to come get you..."
Before his sentence was completely finished, that invisible magical fluctuation accurately bit onto the waist of his suit trousers.
Click.
An extremely subtle, crisp sound of a metal clasp disintegrating abruptly burst in the quiet air of the floral corridor.
That was the sound of the custom-made mithril clasp on his Acromantula-skin belt being forcefully undone.
Immediately following, having lost all physical restraint and magical fastening, the high-end suit trousers—under the combined effect of that extremely smooth silk inner lining and gravity—instantly lost all adhesion.
The black fabric let out a swish sound like silk tearing, sliding all the way down without any hindrance along Jerry’s straight and sturdy legs, piling up directly at the ankles of his shoes polished to a mirror shine.
Because Jerry, in pursuit of that ultimate form-fitting "display effect" of the suit, was wearing absolutely no underwear at all tonight.
When that deep black barrier vanished instantly, the behemoth hidden in the darkness was like a prehistoric giant beast unsealed after a thousand years. With a suffocatingly violent posture, it violently sprang out!
Smack!
A muffled, highly fleshy impact sound rang out.
That was the sound produced because the elasticity was too great, causing that massive meat-pillar to slap heavily against Jerry’s own flat, firm lower abdomen the instant it sprang out.
Subsequently, pulled by gravity, it drooped down with a full sense of oppression, hanging between the boy’s two strong thighs.
The air in the floral corridor was completely sucked dry in this second.
All breathing sounds, whispering sounds, even the subtle rustling of the magical orchid petals unfurling, fell into a deathly silence at this moment.
Too big.
So big it completely violated common human physiological sense, so big it was enough to destroy the worldviews of all the pure-blood noblewomen present.
That was an extremely ferocious meat-pillar, terrifying to the point of making one’s scalp tingle.
Even though it was not in a fully erect, engorged state at this moment, its astonishing length already drooped directly to the middle of Jerry’s thighs.
That coronal head at the very top was incomparably massive, round and plump, like an overripe dark plum, the edges even curling upward into a thick ring of fleshy ridges due to overdevelopment.
The urethral slit, due to the covert friction stimulation from Vivian in the banquet hall just now, was currently slowly secreting a thick, crystal-clear drop of prostate fluid.
That drop of liquid shimmered with an obscene luster in the candlelight, hanging precariously at the tip.
And at the base of the meat-pillar, those two heavy sacs, filled with thick essence enough to alter the bloodline pattern of the wizarding world, were restlessly swaying with Jerry’s extremely slight breaths, the surface covered in fine wrinkles and sparse hair.
The most fatal thing was this intense visual contrast.
This monster, which should have grown on an adult centaur or a troll, was currently growing on a teenage boy.
Jerry’s fair, tight, boyish waistline, which hadn’t completely shed its raw contours, combined with this violent purplish-black giant object exuding a strong aura of male hormones, formed an absurd, highly visually impactful "small horse pulling a big cart" sensation.
That intense sense of tearing and extreme eroticism caused the brains of all the witches present to instantly crash.
Hiss...
It was unknown who first let out an intake of cold air, breaking this dead silence.
Cecilia Nott’s body, originally leaning diagonally against the sofa, violently stiffened.
Those eyes of hers, drawn with exquisite eyeliner, were now glaring wider than brass bells, her pupils contracting violently.
The crystal mirror in her hand, which had just been displaying the "Nightingale" toy, slipped from her fingers that had lost their strength due to extreme shock, dropping onto the moon-mushroom velvet cushion with a clatter.
Her Adam’s apple rolled up and down with difficulty; the sound of swallowing saliva was clearly audible in the quiet environment.
Mrs. Flint, that brown-haired witch always known for a cold and arrogant aura, completely had her expression shatter at this moment.
Her gaze was nailed dead to that purplish-black meat-pillar hanging between Jerry’s legs, her line of sight seemingly measuring every inch of length and girth. Her mind frantically flashed back to the data of that custom inverted-mold toy named "Thorny Rose" she had just seen in Eden’s holographic projection.
Length, circumference, shape of the coronal head, even the paths of those several clearly bulging veins...
A perfect match.
Completely identical!
Mrs. Flint’s breathing instantly became incredibly rapid, her full breasts heaving violently under the wrapping of her tight-fitting gown.
So that terrifying toy, jokingly called "for Giants" in noblewoman circles, wasn’t some exaggerated artistic fabrication at all.
It was real.
The actual person of that inverted mold, that "client with a special physique," was standing alive right in front of them!
Squish...
An extremely subtle water sound, yet sounding incomparably jarring at this very moment, came from between Mrs. Greengrass’s crossed legs.
This noblewoman, who always presented herself as gentle and dignified, now had cheeks as red as if they were going to bleed. Her long legs wrapped in flesh-colored silk stockings involuntarily twisted tight with force; the flesh of her inner thighs squeezed against each other, emitting a hiss-hiss fabric friction sound.
That thin layer of her lace panties had been completely soaked through by an uncontrollable, dam-breaking flood of love juice the instant she saw that terrifying giant object.
It wasn’t just her.
Mrs. Parkinson, Cecilia, even Mrs. Flint... these normally high-and-mighty pure-blood witches all had their bodies exhibit the most primal reaction of submission to this pure, barbaric symbol of masculinity.
An extremely rich smell filled the floral corridor, a mixture of various high-end perfumes and the musky-sweet scent unique to females in heat.
Rrip... rrip...
That was the sound produced by various expensive silk stockings rubbing against the sofa cushions as they constantly adjusted their sitting postures due to their legs going weak.
Accompanying that friction sound were the continuous, sticky squish, glug water sounds made when their panties, soaked by massive amounts of bodily fluid, stuck to their muddy private parts and were forcefully pulled away.
Their eyes were all glued straight; not a single one even thought to scream, or turn their head away.
That thing was like a black hole with extremely strong suction, sucking all their rationality and reserve entirely inside.
And behind a white marble pillar about ten paces away from the floral corridor, Vivian Rose, who hadn’t joined this small circle, likewise took in this entire scene.
Because the medicinal effect of the "Veritaserum variant" was raging wildly in her blood, Vivian’s reaction was ten times more intense than all the noblewomen present.
She had originally just been following Jerry’s back from afar, the thought of wanting to conquer this boy growing like a toxic weed in her mind. When Jerry’s trousers slipped down without warning and that giant object violently sprang out, Vivian felt as if something had exploded in her brain with a boom.
In the dressing room, through the fabric, she had only felt that thing’s temperature and hardness.
But now, she saw the full picture.
So thick, so long, that color full of a tyrannical aura—it was even more terrifying than the craziest images in her imagination.
The potion stripped away all her ability to conceal. Her mouth hung wide open, panting rapidly, an undisguised, near-manic thirst erupting in her eyes.
"Oh my god..."
Vivian’s hands clawed dead into the cold marble pillar, her nails almost gouging marks into it. Her legs were as weak as a puddle of mud; if not for the support of the stone pillar, she would have collapsed directly onto the floor.
Beneath her deep purple velvet gown, those long legs wrapped in white pearl silk stockings were trembling violently.
Too wet.
The roots of her thighs were simply intolerably muddy.
The scalding love juice broke through the barrier of her lace panties, meandering down her plump inner thighs.
Those transparent liquids soaked the expensive white silk stockings, turning the originally pearl-lustered fabric into semi-transparent, dark water marks.
Squish... drip-drop...
A drop of bodily fluid sliding down her ankle dripped onto the vamp of her diamond-encrusted high heel, splashing a tiny splash.
The fire in Vivian’s heart named "desire to conquer," the instant she saw that giant object, was doused with a bucket of boiling hot oil.
She wished she could rush over right now, push everyone aside, press that boy to the ground, and use her own body to swallow that monster capable of tearing a person apart.
However, in this lewd atmosphere woven from water sounds, panting sounds, and the friction of silk stockings, only one person maintained absolute calm.
Isabella.
This bride-to-be tonight, facing the scene of her fiancé suddenly exposing himself, did not show the slightest panic, nor did she reveal the kind of infatuation clouded by desire like the other noblewomen.
She still sat steadily right in the middle of the sofa. That deep blue star-spider silk gown spread around her, shimmering with cold light.
But if one looked closely, they would find that in her eyes, a kind of extremely dangerous, raging fury—belonging to a top-tier predator facing an invasion of its territory—was churning at this moment.
These old women actually dared to use this kind of underhanded magic to take off her man’s pants right in front of her!
Actually dared to stare at something that originally belonged only to her with that kind of look that wanted to eat him alive!
"Have you looked enough?"
Isabella’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a coldness like biting ice.
She casually tossed that "Mirror of the Creator" with the flowing silver frame onto the coffee table beside her, emitting a crisp impact sound.
This sound was like a resounding slap, instantly slapping half-awake those noblewomen immersed in desire.
Cecilia shuddered violently, and Mrs. Flint awkwardly looked away, but their peripheral vision still involuntarily drifted in that direction.
Isabella stood up.
The star-spider silk fabric emitted a fine rustling sound like flowing stardust with her movements.
She straightened her back, and taking elegant yet highly oppressive steps, walked right up to Jerry.
She didn’t immediately pick up the trousers on the floor.
Instead, using an extremely slow movement full of the implication of declaring sovereignty, she dropped to one knee right in front of Jerry’s crotch—that is, directly in front of that terrifying giant object.
This posture made her face perfectly level with that purplish-black meat-pillar hanging in mid-air.
Jerry lowered his head, his dark eyes staring deeply at his fiancée kneeling before him. His breathing hadn’t become disordered because of this accident; only a spark of amusement flashed deep in his eyes.
Isabella’s face was less than three inches away from that giant object.
She could clearly feel the staggering heat radiating from that cylindrical body, the scent carrying a strong smell of musk and male bodily fluids hitting her right in the face.
She could even hear the thump-thump sound of blood vessels pulsing inside.
Her breath blew against that massive coronal head, the warm airflow stimulating the meat-pillar to instinctively bounce upward.
Smack.
The thick shaft gently slapped against Isabella’s high nose bridge, leaving a shallow, body-temperature-warm red mark.
She didn’t dodge; instead, she reached out her small hands wearing deep blue lace fingerless gloves.
She didn’t go directly to pull the waistband, but spread the fingers of both hands, pressing her pads against both sides of that purplish-black shaft.
Swish...
The lace fabric rubbing against the elastic, scalding hot flesh produced an extremely ambiguous sound. Isabella’s fingers slid upward along the base of that giant object, extremely slowly and provocatively.
She felt the sensation transmitted from her fingertips—hard as iron yet wrapped in a soft epidermis—feeling those bulging veins become even more engorged under her caress.
When her fingers slid to the tip, she deliberately used the tip of her gloved index finger to press gently on the urethral slit, wiping that precarious drop of thick pre-cum onto her lace glove.
Pulling out a long, crystal-clear silver thread.
A chorus of gasps immediately sounded around them, accompanied by a few irrepressible swallowing sounds born of extreme thirst. The noblewomen crossed their legs even tighter; water sounds rose and fell in the sofa area, forming a sticky symphony.
"Truly a bad boy, Jerry."
Isabella looked up. The coldness in her gray-blue eyes had faded, replaced by a charm enough to drown a person and a desire as stringy as that silver thread. She looked into Jerry’s eyes, her voice so soft and sweet it seemed it could drip water, yet loud enough for everyone behind her to hear clearly.
"How can you casually expose this kind of thing outside for others to see?"
The corner of Jerry’s mouth hooked into a faint smile, his deep voice ringing out above her head.
Isabella withdrew her hands, finally grabbing the waistband of the black suit trousers piled at Jerry’s ankles.
She began to help him put on his trousers.
But this was by no means an easy process.
Due to Isabella’s highly provocative caressing just now, and the stimulation of the strong female hormones permeating the air, Jerry’s giant object—which had originally been in a semi-flaccid state—had now begun to rapidly expand and engorge with an unstoppable momentum.
The purplish-black cylinder lengthened and thickened at a visible rate. Its originally drooping angle began to rise upward, like an awakening giant siege hammer, pointing straight ahead.
"Mmh..."
Isabella already felt resistance when she pulled the trousers up to Jerry’s knees.
When the waistband reached the root of his thighs, that terrifying giant object, now approaching a full erection, completely blocked the upward path of the trousers.
That thing was too big, so big it was completely impossible to stuff into a pair of tailored suit trousers.
Isabella had to change her strategy.
She grabbed both sides of the waistband with her hands, using an almost brutal force to stretch the fabric outward.
Then, she freed one hand, directly gripping that frighteningly scalding, thick meat-pillar.
Hiss...
When her cold little hand gripped that scalding giant object, due to the extreme temperature difference, the meat-pillar throbbed violently. The coronal head rubbed against her palm, secreting even more pre-cum, thoroughly soaking her lace glove.
"Be a good boy, tuck it back in."
Isabella murmured in a low voice. She forcefully pressed that behemoth downward, trying to forcibly fold it and stuff it into the gap at his inner thigh.
But the hardness and elasticity of that thing far exceeded her imagination.
It was like an unyielding steel rebar, stubbornly resisting under her palm, even carrying a reverse upward thrusting force.
Squish... sizzle...
The sound of flesh and fabric frantically rubbing against each other continued to emit under Isabella’s efforts.
She forcibly pressed that purplish-black giant object down, then used her other hand to quickly pull the black suit trousers up.
The fabric was stretched to its absolute limit the instant it touched that giant object.
The deep black Acromantula-skin blended fabric let out a tooth-aching sound of tension; the outline of that giant object was squeezed extremely clearly at the crotch.
The thick bulge winding from the root of his left thigh all the way to above his knee formed a shadow in the light that made it impossible to look straight at.
Isabella stood up, a fine sheen of sweat already seeping out on her forehead.
Her deep blue star-spider dress swayed violently as she rose. She didn’t look at the noblewomen behind her who were nearly driven mad by desire; instead, she stood extremely focused in front of Jerry, helping him smooth out the wrinkles at his waist.
Her hands circled Jerry’s firm, narrow waist, feeling out that mithril clasp that had been undone by magic.
Click.
She personally refastened that clasp. The moment she fastened it, she even deliberately used her palm to slap forcefully against that bulging crotch that looked ready to burst the trousers.
Smack!
This crisp sound seemingly struck the tip of the heart of every noblewoman present, making their bodies involuntarily tremble simultaneously.
Only then did Isabella turn her head.
With absolute arrogance and mockery in her eyes, her gaze swept like a searchlight over the flushed Cecilia, the trembling-legged Mrs. Flint, and the distant Vivian, who was leaning tightly against the stone pillar, a puddle of water having already formed beneath her skirt.
"Ladies, have you seen clearly?"
Isabella’s voice was crisp and loud, carrying the incomparable haughtiness of the Black family.
"A ’toy’ of this size cannot be bought in Eden for a few thousand Galleons."
She turned around, extremely naturally hooking her arm through Jerry’s, tightly pressing her astoundingly developed chest against his arm, even deliberately rubbing her breast flesh against it.
"Because this authentic article is mine."
Isabella raised her chin, pulling Jerry along, and under the bloodshot, thirsty, and extremely jealous gazes of all the noblewomen present, walked out of the floral corridor without looking back, heading toward the banquet’s front hall.
The orchestral music in the manor’s hall had reached the final section of the overture. The massive sound pressure, separated by the heavy ebony door panels, stirred up bursts of muffled reverberations in the air of the lounge.
That sound was like an illusory background from another world, while the narrow space inside the door was completely occupied by a desire so viscous it was almost tangible.
The lights in the lounge had been dimmed to their lowest, with only a few wall-mounted magical candelabras shedding a dim and swaying halo.
Under this light, the outlines of all things appeared blurred and ambiguous, yet to a certain extent, it magnified the acuteness of the senses.
Cassiopeia Rozier still maintained that posture of holding the winning ticket.
She sank into the dark red chaise longue, the long cigarette in her hand already extinguished. But she didn’t discard it; instead, she used her slender fingertips to slowly stroke the cold filter.
Those eyes of hers, clear as emeralds, flashed with a cold and excited light in the shadows, as if watching a long-prepared, supreme masterpiece about the depravity of human nature.
Crack...
Vivian Rose’s fingers, gripping the doorframe, tightened again. Her perfectly manicured nails emitted a faint sound of being overwhelmed due to excessive force.
That deep purple gown of hers had already been completely ruined in the previous entanglement. The neckline was torn open, revealing the pair of blindingly white, plump breasts below, which were constantly trembling with her violent panting.
"...Has it burned your brain already? Vivian."
Cassiopeia’s voice was as soft as a lover’s whisper, yet carried a blade-like meanness. "The way you look right now, those old codgers in the council really should see it.
That Iron Lady who shouted ’The Rose family will never compromise’ is now like a sow looking for a boar in a mud pit."
"Shut up... Cassiopeia..."
Vivian’s voice was squeezed through her teeth, carrying a heavy nasal tone and an uncontrollable wetness.
Her legs were shaking violently. Her white pearl silk stockings, having absorbed a massive amount of love juice, were now clinging tightly to the roots of her thighs. Whenever she tried to take a step, the cuffs of the stockings would emit a sticky friction sound that made one blush and one’s heart race.
"That proposal... I’ll sign it... as long as you give... this thing..."
She no longer hid her gaze.
Those bloodshot, dilated eyes were currently locked dead on Jerry’s crotch.
Jerry stood right in the center of the room.
The boy’s figure cast a long and straight shadow under the light.
That pitch-black tailcoat of his still maintained an astonishing smoothness; this extreme sense of order formed a tragic contrast with Vivian’s current breakdown.
He didn’t speak, just quietly watched this woman famous for her arrogance in pure-blood circles, a judge-like indifference in his eyes.
"Sign it."
Cassiopeia waved her hand casually. That parchment scroll floating with golden runes drew an arc in the air, landing accurately at Vivian’s feet.
Vivian practically crawled over on her knees.
Using hands trembling so much she could barely hold the quill, she wrote her name at the very bottom of the proposal in a twisted and hurried handwriting.
The moment the final rune settled, the parchment burst with a faint dark-gold light, then disappeared into the air, declaring the contract sealed.
"The contract is established."
Cassiopeia smiled in satisfaction. She leaned back slightly, elegantly crossing her legs. "Now, he is yours."
Vivian let out a low roar that was almost a sob.
She violently straightened up, her hands frantically grabbing at Jerry’s belt.
Click!
The mithril clasp disintegrated once again.
As those black Acromantula-skin blended trousers slid down Jerry’s firm thighs, that giant object, which had long since accumulated an astonishing heat in the darkness, once again sprang out with a violent posture.
Smack!
The meat-pillar drew a heavy arc in the air, viciously slapping Vivian’s face, which was covered in sweat and desire.
That heavy, fleshy impact sound was exceptionally shocking in the quiet lounge.
"Mmh... hah..."
Vivian was like a traveler lost in the desert for a long time who had finally seen an oasis.
She desperately opened her arms, trying to embrace this behemoth that surpassed the limits of human physiology.
It was too big.
Even though Vivian was mentally prepared, when she truly used her hands to measure its circumference, the shock transmitted from her fingertips back to her brain still made her feel despair.
Drip-drop... sizzle...
Those viscous liquids flowed through the gaps in Vivian’s fingers, sticking to her deep purple cuffs, pulling out fine silver threads.
"Too big... how is this possible... how could you possibly... grow like this..."
Vivian murmured. Her palms, maintained as tender as ivory, appeared so petite in front of such a massive size.
Jerry lowered his eyes, looking down condescendingly at this noblewoman kneeling at his feet. His hand gently rested on Vivian’s messy blonde hair, his fingertips sinking into those damp strands, applying slight pressure to force her to look up.
"Do you want it?"
Jerry’s voice was deep and calm, yet carried an unquestionable sense of command.
"I want it... give it to me... I beg you..."
She stuck out her tongue-tip, constantly licking between those folds.
Slurp... glug...
Wet sounds echoed in the dim room.
Vivian was like a greedy cat, repeatedly swirling her tongue-tip around the edge of that thick fleshy ridge, feeling that touch which presented a special resilience due to magical nourishment.
Whenever her tongue-tip swept over those throbbing blood vessels, she could feel that giant object trembling restlessly against the edge of her oral cavity, seemingly ready to erupt at any moment.
Cassiopeia watched coldly from the side. She picked up an opened bottle of aged tequila from the coffee table and directly tilted her head back for a swig.
The spicy taste of the liquor exploded in her throat, and combined with the scene before her, dyed her pupils with a layer of demonic red light.
"Since she wants it so much, then let her move herself."
Cassiopeia put down the bottle, the corners of her mouth hooking into a cruel smile. "I want to see to what humble degree our proud Madam Rose can debase herself for this thing."
Vivian heard the command.
With trembling hands, she began to tear at her ruined purple gown.
Because her movements were too hurried, she couldn’t find the invisible zipper on the back at all, and could only use brute force to tear that expensive velvet fabric off her shoulders.
Rrip!
The sound of fabric tearing was clearly audible.
The gown slid down to her waist, piling up on the carpet.
Vivian’s plump breasts—carrying a hint of seductive droop due to her age—shook violently beneath that soaked white lace corset bra. That wave of snow-white flesh reflected an oily sweat-sheen in the candlelight, the deep purple areolas at the tips becoming exceptionally erect under the friction of the lace.
She extended those long legs wrapped in white pearl silk stockings, and with difficult movements, straddled the root of Jerry’s thighs.
When Vivian’s full, even slightly heavy mature female body pressed down, that intense contrast produced a twisted aesthetic.
"Mmh... hah-ah..."
Vivian’s hands clamped dead onto Jerry’s broad shoulders.
Her buttocks, wrapped in that thin layer of white lace panties, were constantly searching for that scalding target...
About half an hour later.
The air in the lounge was like solidified rosin—viscous, scorching, and exuding a nauseating yet maddeningly sweet, musky scent.
Jerry stood at the edge of the thick sheepskin rug, unhurriedly pulling up those black suit trousers made of Acromantula skin.
Because he had just conducted an overly violent exploration within that mature body, his movements now carried a post-exercise relaxation, but his eyes were as cold as a lake surface in early winter.
At his feet, Vivian Rose was currently like a pile of dismantled purple silk, slumped without any dignity on the dark red carpet.
Her originally long legs, wrapped in pearl-white silk stockings, were currently presenting an extremely lewd, widely splayed posture due to extreme spasms and exhaustion.
"Mmh... mmh-nn..."
From Vivian’s throat came a near-hypoxic sucking sound caused by excessive orgasms. Her hands clawed dead into the plush of the carpet, the crevices of her nails filled with dark red fibers.
The most tragic and eye-catching feature was none other than her white pearl silk stockings. The originally tight silk fabric, radiating a soft luster, was currently completely soaked from the root of her thighs all the way down to her ankles by a thick white liquid carrying magical residue.
Those liquids presented a bizarre, semi-transparent milky white under the light; along with the subconscious trembling of her body, they were slowly seeping outward along the texture of the silk stockings.
Squish... sizzle... drip-drop.
A crisp water sound with a sticky texture rang out in the quiet room.
That was the essence belonging to Jerry’s massive output, accumulated in the gap of Vivian’s thighs; because the volume was simply too large, it finally dripped down along the curve of her plump buttock flesh onto the carpet, splashing a dark-colored, foamy water stain.
"Haven’t you had enough?
Vivian."
Cassiopeia’s voice came from that dark red chaise longue, carrying the contempt of a feline toying with its prey.
She walked to Vivian’s side and, using the foot wearing a black stiletto, extremely humiliatingly stepped on the section of Vivian’s white silk stocking soaked in bodily fluid, forcefully grinding it a few times.
Squelch... glug.
As the sole of the shoe squeezed the fabric of the silk stocking, it emitted bursts of muddy sounds that made one blush.
Those viscous liquids were squeezed out by the sole of the shoe, flowing along the cracks in the marble floor.
"Look, the crest of the Rose family is now being smeared all over the floor by these things from inside your body."
Vivian was completely unable to respond.
Her consciousness was still drowning in the sense of vacuum left behind when that purplish-black giant beast withdrew.
Jerry ignored the humiliation between the two women.
He looked down at his crotch.
Jerry reached out his hand, two slender fingers pinching that massive coronal head still carrying Vivian’s body temperature.
Sizzle...
His fingertips scraped across that ring of fleshy ridge that had curled open due to excessive engorgement, emitting a sticky friction sound.
Expressionlessly, he pressed this heavy giant object, as thick as an ordinary person’s forearm, downward, trying to stuff it back into that tightly tailored suit trouser leg.
Sizzle... rrip...
That was the sound of scalding flesh and cold silk inner lining rubbing against each other.
Because the size was truly too outrageous, even though Jerry had forcefully folded it toward his left thigh, that giant object still squeezed out an extremely ferocious bulge at the crotch, appearing angular due to the tightness.
It was an extreme sight full of a sense of visual tearing—the delicate, upright back of a teenage boy, yet hiding beneath his crotch a demon capable of stretching an adult woman to the point of fainting.
Click.
Jerry refastened the mithril clasp.
The moment he finished dressing, he turned his head and glanced at Cassiopeia.
"The ceremony is about to begin."
His voice was so calm there wasn’t a single ripple, as if the beast that had just frantically pumped inside Vivian, thrusting her until she screamed continuously, wasn’t him.
"I know."
Cassiopeia stepped forward, reaching out to straighten Jerry’s somewhat crooked silk bow tie.
Her fingertips inadvertently brushed past Jerry’s collarbone; that female warmth and faint scent mixed with ambergris caused a dark fire to flash deep in Jerry’s eyes.
"Go, my little patriarch.
Isabella is already waiting impatiently outside.
As for this ’Madam Rose’..."
Cassiopeia turned her head, looking at the woman on the carpet who was still continuously leaking water and whose legs were twitching, a cruel arc hooking at the corners of her mouth.
"I will wash her clean and then toss her back to her seat.
I believe that with today’s memory, when she votes in the future, she will be very clear on which hand to use to sign."
Jerry nodded, not sparing Vivian another glance, turned, and pushed open the ebony doors of the lounge.
The moment the doors opened, the grand, solemn orchestral music from the hall outside flooded in like an ocean tide.
Jerry stepped out of the shadows.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
The sound of his leather shoes stepping on the hardwood floor had a strong rhythm.
In the center of the hall, beside that altar piled with silver and crystal, Isabella Black stood quietly.
That deep blue gown woven from star-spider silk shimmered with a dazzling fluorescence in the reflection of the magical torches.
Isabella sensed that familiar presence.
She turned her head; her gray-blue eyes, the instant they saw Jerry, first flashed with a trace of joy. Immediately following, her nostrils flared slightly, and amidst the rich banquet aromas, keenly caught that extremely faint musky-sweet scent unique to an adult female after being in heat.
And, that violent male scent on Jerry, having just vented and not yet completely calmed down.
Her line of sight shifted down to Jerry’s crotch almost instantly.
That massive outline, squeezed deathly tight by the trousers and almost bursting the fabric, made her originally calm breathing instantly lose its rhythm.
"You took too long."
Isabella said in a low voice when Jerry walked to her side.
There was no anger in her voice, only an aroused, almost pathological possessiveness. She reached out those hands wearing deep blue lace fingerless gloves and took Jerry’s arm.
To declare sovereignty, she deliberately pressed the side of her full breast tightly against Jerry’s arm. That soft, incredibly elastic fleshy texture constantly squeezed and deformed against Jerry’s arm through two layers of fabric.
"You have the smell of that old woman on you, Jerry."
Isabella leaned close to Jerry’s ear, her wet tongue-tip rapidly curling over his earlobe.
"When the ceremony is over, I want you to give everything inside, all back to me.
Not a single drop is allowed to be left."
Jerry felt the oppressive sensation transmitted from his arm, and the rapid body heat of his fiancée driven by jealousy. That giant object of his, which had originally begun to recover, became even more scalding in that instant.
"As you wish."
Jerry answered in a low voice.
The two people’s bodies pressed tightly together; that back view of one tall and one short, one soft and one hard, amidst the tidal applause of countless pure-blood aristocrats, slowly stepped onto the altar’s high platform symbolizing contract and power.
The ceremony officially began.
The officiant—an elderly wizard of the Black family—slowly raised the staff in his hand.
"With bloodline as the guide, with soul as the contract..."
As the ancient incantation resounded through the hall, the massive crystal ball above the altar began to bloom with a holy and solemn white light.
Illuminated by that light, Jerry and Isabella stood side by side.
Jerry could feel that the giant object hidden in his trouser leg was, at this moment, accompanying the beat of the incantation, frantically throbbing inside his crotch one beat after another.
That sense of tightness caused by engorgement made his brows furrow slightly, a thin sheen of sweat seeping from his temples.
Isabella’s hand tightly held Jerry’s hand.
She could feel the staggering heat transmitted from Jerry’s palm.
Her gaze wandered between Jerry’s delicate boyish face and that crotch bulge symbolizing tyrannical power; her heartbeat was so fast it was almost jumping out of her chest cavity.
The light of the ceremony grew brighter and brighter.
The orchestral music entered its final ensemble.
And under everyone’s watchful eyes, that purplish-black giant beast hidden in the black suit trousers, seemingly to respond to this solemn contract, violently throbbed upward at his crotch once again.
Smack!
A muffled sound of flesh hitting fabric that could only be heard by those close to the altar.
Isabella felt that vibration.
She turned her head, flashing a perfect, yet destructively tempting smile at Jerry.
