As they stepped into the brightly lit hall filled with soothing music, a familiar voice suddenly rang out from the shadowy corner near the fireplace.
"Jerry! Over here!"
Jerry turned abruptly, following the sound.
In the massive shadow cast by the fireplace, Draco Malfoy was hiding with his henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle.
They were clearly "skiving off." Each held a glass of golden champagne, their mouths stuffed with sweet roast meat, eating with relish in the dim corner.
Malfoy's signature platinum blonde hair gleamed in the firelight. Seeing Jerry, he grinned immediately, a mix of smugness and curiosity on his face, and waved at them.
The henchmen also saw Jerry and Isabella. Crabbe and Goyle stopped chewing, their small eyes wide.
Jerry and Isabella exchanged a smile, both carrying a cunning understanding only they shared.
Isabella didn't linger. Giving Jerry a meaningful look, she swayed her hips elegantly and merged into the crowd, heading toward her mother—Lady Cassiopeia, who was chatting happily with several gorgeously dressed wizards.
Her luxurious robes rippled with every step, the sound of her heels on the marble floor soft and rhythmic, as if she had never left.
Jerry walked straight toward Malfoy.
He wove through pairs of whispering wizards, deftly dodging a Sugar Fairy carrying a silver tray of pastries.
When he reached the shadows by the fireplace, Malfoy handed him a glass of champagne.
The golden liquid fizzed with tiny bubbles, clearly just an ordinary vintage, not the "processed" kind from the wine cellar earlier.
Jerry took the champagne, sipped it lightly to confirm, then looked up at Malfoy.
"Why are you hiding here?" His voice carried a light curiosity.
Malfoy rolled his eyes grumpily, his platinum bangs swaying. He clinked his glass against Jerry's with a crisp sound.
He peeked toward the center of the hall, ensuring his mother, who was chatting with ladies, hadn't noticed him. Then he lowered his voice, full of helplessness and disdain.
"Don't mention it! My mother insisted I come greet those old fossils! It's giving me a headache."
He mumbled, his eyes darting sneakily toward a striking red figure in the distance—Malfoy's aunt, Vera, wearing a burgundy evening gown.
"And Vera!"
Malfoy's voice cut off abruptly. The mouth that was about to complain shut tight, as if silenced by a spell.
An indescribable look, bordering on terror, instantly appeared on his round face. His chin retracted, his neck seemingly shortening, looking as if he'd been burned.
In his grey-blue eyes, a pleading flicker was visible, as if fearing any word he uttered would be sensed by that red figure.
Malfoy shook his head violently, his platinum hair flying, and averted his gaze from Vera with near-religious reverence, as if looking would invite doom.
He changed the subject, trying to sound natural, but his tone still held tension and urgency, clearly shaken by the previous topic.
"Forget that. I heard you're really opening a workshop like that?"
Jerry nodded. "Yes, it's in preparation."
Malfoy's eyes lit up. He set his glass aside carelessly, leaned in close to Jerry's ear, and whispered with excitement and opportunism, "I want in! Like the underground betting pool last time. What do you say? You know I have money, and my parents... can provide a lot of help."
Jerry looked at Malfoy's eager eyes and paused.
He knew Malfoy wanted to make money and find excitement; it fit his character. But a Crystal Golem workshop was a different beast from a betting pool.
"Malfoy!"
Jerry's voice turned serious. He glanced at the Ministry officials patrolling nearby. "This isn't small fry like the betting pool. A Crystal Golem workshop involves magical manufacturing, magical goods. It's under strict Ministry supervision. If something goes wrong, it's not something a few people can cover up."
He paused to add weight to his words. "Besides, for business of this scale, you'd better discuss it properly with your mother. This concerns the reputation of the Malfoy family; it's not something you can decide alone."
The Malfoy family, as a Pure-blood house that hadn't fallen—though declining due to poor management—still held immense influence. If they joined, it would bring convenience. But it also meant greater responsibility and risk.
"Oh, Mr. Rosier!"
A strange voice, carrying the laziness and majesty of someone long in power, mixed with a unique feminine charm, interrupted them. "What are you two little ones whispering about in here?"
The voice was soft but distinct, piercing Malfoy's eardrums with magical precision.
Malfoy's relaxed nerves snapped to the breaking point.
His pale face went a shade whiter, sweat beading on his forehead. The words on his lips flew away.
"Why are you here?"
Malfoy's voice trembled visibly. Even his usually high chin dipped low, forcing out the utmost respect and humility he could muster.
He tried to smile ingratiatingly, but fear made it stiff and twisted, like a thief caught red-handed. His lowered gaze didn't dare sweep even peripherally toward Vera's exposed thigh, as if it were poisonous.
His stance became rigidly constrained, a stark contrast to his usual arrogance.
Crabbe and Goyle were so scared they dropped their meat with a clatter, splashing champagne everywhere. They froze like quails, barely daring to breathe.
Vera was clearly satisfied with Malfoy's reaction. She chuckled—a silver bell sound with a chilling undertone.
With her movements, the tight gown outlined her mature, voluptuous curves. With every step, her slit skirt fell open, revealing a straight, elastic leg—slender and powerful, gleaming enticingly under the crystal lights. Every move was full of wild charm and confidence.
She walked leisurely on her stilettos to Jerry and Malfoy. Her sharp eyes, like two knives, swept carelessly over Malfoy before settling on Jerry's young yet calm face.
"Mr. Rosier."
Vera spoke again, her voice meaningful. "I just heard Narcissa singing your praises."
She leaned forward, enveloping Jerry in a mix of heavy perfume and mature female scent. Her narrow, seductive eyes scrutinized him aggressively from close range, as if seeing through him.
Simultaneously, she said lightly, "Your mother is looking for you! Malfoy!"
As soon as Vera spoke, Malfoy looked like he'd been granted amnesty. Without hesitation, he signaled Crabbe and Goyle, and the three scurried away faster than House-elves.
In a blink, they vanished into the crowd, leaving behind half-eaten meat and spilled champagne.
Vera sneered disdainfully at their retreat, then refocused on Jerry.
Her lips curled playfully. She relaxed, leaning half against the marble fireplace behind her.
Jerry showed no fear or unease.
He stood still, straight and relaxed, wearing a boyish curiosity that was neither fearful nor frivolous. His gaze didn't dodge; instead, he examined this powerful woman with interest.
Vera wore a fiery red evening gown, cut boldly and tight. The soft silk was like flowing magma, outlining her rich, mature curves perfectly—a style settled by time, every undulation full of extreme temptation.
The dress was slit high on the thigh. When she moved casually, it revealed a straight, springy leg gleaming under the lights. Flesh-colored stockings hugged her skin from thigh to ankle, wrapping her beautifully lined calves.
Vera's posture was casual, almost sprawling. One leg bent, toe tapping; the other stretched out freely, creating a completely open, unguarded stance. Her toes, painted bright red, wiggled absently.
"You have guts, little one."
Vera's gaze landed in Jerry's black eyes, her tone loose and haughty. "Usually, people meeting me for the first time wouldn't dare look at me like that."
Jerry's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Because you are beautiful, Madam. Worthy of careful appreciation."
Jerry responded without retreating, his tone unhurried, carrying a boyish clarity yet revealing an elusive steadiness.
Vera giggled, the sound like shattering crystal, wild and uninhibited. Her red fingernails tapped lightly on her stocking-clad thigh.
"Heh, a sweet mouth. Pity, sweet-mouthed little ones don't live long."
She straightened slightly, her long neck craning forward. Her narrow eyes squinted with scrutinizing aggression.
"You don't seem afraid of me?"
"Why should I fear you?" Jerry countered, his tone still calm. "You are a noble lady. Even arrogant as a lioness, you have your charms. I am admiring, not provoking."
His calmness contrasted sharply with Vera's explosive aggression, like a solid rock amidst stormy waves.
The light in Vera's eyes danced. She was clearly surprised by his response. Her pride was used to submission or evasion; this neither humble nor arrogant attitude, mixed with direct boyish praise, felt novel.
Vera extended a finger, hooking Jerry's chin. The cold tip contrasted with the heat deep in her eyes.
"Charms?" She repeated his word playfully, her breath brushing his cheek. "Then tell me, Little Master Rosier, where do you find me charming?"
Her gaze dropped to Jerry's lips, full of naked temptation and danger. She wanted to see how long this little guy's nerve would hold.
Jerry's eyes were deep whirlpools, staring straight into Vera's tempting, dangerous gaze.
He didn't speak or answer. Instead, under her nakedly seductive stare and the finger still hooking his chin, he slowly raised his hand.
His palm, carrying a boyish coolness, reached out without hesitation and placed itself directly on Vera's high-slit thigh, tightly wrapped in flesh-colored stockings.
Vera stiffened for a second, surprise flashing in her eyes. But she didn't dodge. Her gaze sharpened, and her smile grew more playful. She wanted to see just how bold this little guy could be.
Jerry's fingers first brushed lightly over the silk surface. The soft, elastic touch made his heart tremble. He felt the tight, powerful muscle tendon beneath his palm.
The line of her thigh extended upward to the full curve of her buttocks. His fingers followed that sexy contour, rubbing slowly upward at the junction of stocking and gown like exploring a new continent.
He could clearly feel Vera's breathing grow heavier, her body trembling slightly.
In the hall, soothing music flowed, masking the friction sound of his fingers' exploration. The crowd toasted and chatted, oblivious to the daring touch happening in this shadowed corner by the fireplace.
"Your legs, long and powerful, as if ready to ride the wildest flames..."
Jerry's voice was soft, full of admiration, yet holding a boyish, innocent obsession with the taboo.
His fingertips, through the thin stocking fabric, felt the faint heat of Vera's inner thigh and the tight elasticity under the skin.
Vera's eyes deepened. She didn't stop him; instead, she watched him with a hunter's interest. Her fingertip slid across his chin—a reward, or perhaps a deeper tease.
Jerry's fingers didn't linger on her thigh. Guided by something, they continued to climb along the side seam of the gown.
His fingertips lifted the soft silk, revealing more tempting skin beneath. He felt Vera's waist twist slightly, as if suppressing something, or perhaps unconsciously cooperating.
His hand went all the way up, stroking her tight waist, feeling the soft skin of her lower abdomen. Finally, his palm stopped at the edge of the V-neckline.
Fingertips pressed lightly against the fullness that was ready to burst out, tightly wrapped in soft fabric.
"...And your chest, like fruit born of fire, full and containing immeasurable power."
Jerry's voice dropped lower. His gaze slid from Vera's shocked and amused eyes to his hand on her chest.
He felt the hot body temperature under his palm and the soft rising and falling with her rapid breathing.
"Dare not go further, little one?"
Jerry smiled slightly.
His fingers curled, and through the thin fabric, he accurately and firmly pinched the nipple standing erect within the softness.
"Mmh..."
Vera's body snapped tight. A muffled moan escaped her throat, instantly suppressed. Her narrowed eyes flew open, pupils contracting violently under the crystal lights.
As he gripped the snowy peak, pain and numbness swept through her. She froze like a statue, only her rapid gasps and heaving chest proving her internal turmoil.
Damn, this brat pulled my nipple directly!
Jerry didn't let go. He pulled the small bud outward, feeling the soft tip harden under friction.
This slut really isn't wearing a bra.
Jerry's action carried pure, brutish possessiveness and a bit of nasty probing.
One second, two seconds... time seemed infinitely stretched.
Vera still didn't stop him, just staring at him with burning eyes. Her cheeks flushed unnaturally, her chest heaving more violently, the tight fabric creaking under the strain.
In such a setting, under the public eye, even with cover, this audacity was suffocating.
Finally, Jerry let go.
Pop...
A faint sound. The pulled flesh bounced back, jiggling under the dress, leaving two red pinch marks and the erected shape clearly visible through the thin fabric.
Vera felt drained of strength. Her crossed legs trembled at the ankles. An indescribable heat rushed to her lower body; she felt herself becoming muddy and soft, like a riverbed washed by spring tides.
Damn it!
How long had it been since she met a man so bold, instantly igniting the wild desire suppressed deep in her heart?
No, a... boy.
Vera's heart drummed, blood boiling, electricity running through her veins. She looked at Jerry's calm, cunning face, her eyes a mix of fanaticism, anger, and incredulous excitement.
She wanted to pin him down right there, tear his clothes off, and make him tremble under her.
"Vera."
In this moment of extreme silence and surging undercurrents, a cold voice broke the ambiguity and danger like an ice pick.
Vera jolted, the sudden interruption making her grit her teeth.
She frowned in annoyance, the flush of desire fading quickly. She turned to the source of the voice.
A black dress, tailored perfectly but extremely conservative, outlined a tall, lean figure. Long legs were wrapped in black stockings. Despite the rigid attire, the cold, "keep away" aura was undeniable.
She wore gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes behind the lenses cold as a winter lake, seeming to see through all vanity.
It was Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, wife of Minister Fudge.
Previously, she hadn't appeared with her husband.
Her expression was serious, like an unmeltable iceberg. However, Jerry's Slaanesh Eye could sense a contrasting debauchery beneath that cold exterior, invisible to the naked eye.
Vera and Amelia's relationship was known to be fire and water in the Ministry. Amelia's appearance was a bucket of ice water on Vera's desire.
Vera retracted the lust in her eyes, her arrogant, wild aura returning, tinged with annoyance. She turned her gaze from Jerry to Amelia, eyes ready to spit fire.
"Amelia."
Vera's voice held lazy contempt, every word a rose with thorns. "A rare guest. Doesn't Minister Fudge need you by his side to straighten his crown for tonight's speech?"
Vera tapped her lips with a red-nailed finger, eyes full of provocation, mocking Amelia's marriage to an old man.
Amelia's face showed no fluctuation. She pushed up her glasses, lenses flashing coldly.
"Vera."
Her voice was calm and hard as frozen ice. "My duty is to maintain Ministry law and order. As for Minister Fudge's speech, he has his entourage. I just worry some people are too indulgent and forget the occasion... and their status."
As she spoke, Amelia's cold eyes swept over Vera's open-legged stance and the wrinkled fabric on her chest where Jerry had just touched. Though she didn't look directly at Jerry, the jealousy was palpable.
While the two powerful women faced off, Jerry moved like a nimble ghost.
However, the moment Jerry showed any intention of retreating, Vera's right hand struck like a viper, clamping onto his left wrist with lightning speed. Her grip was so powerful it felt like she might crush his slender bones.
Simultaneously, Amelia's left hand, as if drawn by a magnet, seized Jerry's right arm with undeniable force.
The two domineering women, one on each side, locked Jerry's hands in place.
"Vera, you loose woman, won't you even spare a child?" Amelia's voice was a knife dipped in ice, stabbing straight at Vera.
"Hah, right back at you, Madam Director. Seems you're quite interested in this little fellow yourself!" Vera's seductive eyes flashed like a viper's tongue, showing no weakness.
Their gazes clashed in the air, sparks flying with every collision, neither willing to yield an inch.
Jerry felt both helpless and annoyed. Why did these two women have to drag an eleven-year-old boy into their quarrel? Their verbal sparring was sharp and dangerous, and he was stuck in the middle as their pawn. It pissed him off.
The desire Vera had stoked in him hadn't subsided, and now this pointless conflict fueled his irritation.
Fine. Since it's like this, have a taste of what I can do.
Jerry's hands, seemingly tender and youthful, became cunning hunters under the cover of dim shadows and voluminous skirts.
Hidden beneath the fiery red evening gown, Jerry's right hand slid silently under the high slit of Vera's skirt.
There, her thigh, wrapped in flesh-colored stockings, was tight and elastic under his gentle caress. His palm followed the smooth fabric upward, delving deeper until it touched a softer, more secret place.
His fingertips felt a wet, sticky sensation—a natural yearning exuding from caressed skin. Jerry could even hear a tiny, faint squelch, the lewd sound of damp flesh rubbing against silk.
Vera shuddered as if electrocuted, but her expression remained unchanged. Her haughty lips curled even higher, as if mocking Amelia's incompetence. However, from the root of her thigh, a warm stream of fluid, fragrant with unique female scent, began to snake down her stocking, crossing her straight, springy leg and leaving a scorching wet trail in the cool air.
Meanwhile, Jerry's left hand wasn't idle.
He let it hang by his side, then, seemingly inadvertently, took a half-step outward. At a precise angle, his hand slipped into the skirt of Amelia's conservative black dress.
Her hem was longer than Vera's but had a more discreet side slit.
Jerry's fingers groped in the dark, soon encountering a cool, slippery texture—silk stockings.
He felt the strength and resilience in Amelia's legs, which seemed slender and elastic in his grasp. His warm palm explored the delicate skin of her inner thigh, sensing the bulge confined by black silk, and higher up, looming beneath the skirt, the wet, hot land of dreams.
Amelia didn't tremble visibly like Vera. Her cold eyes locked onto Vera as if to kill her, but her breathing grew inadvertently rapid. A similarly warm liquid began to flow silently down her black-stockinged thigh, a stark contrast to her stern, meticulous appearance.
"Do you think a few clichés can cover up your frivolity and looseness, Vera?" Amelia's voice was an ice blade, slicing through the ambiguous atmosphere thickened by desire. She stared daggers at Vera, trying to cut down the other's blatant provocation with words. Yet, behind her gold-rimmed glasses, the corners of her eyes flushed red from the stimulation.
Vera let out a dismissive, wanton laugh. "At least I'm never afraid to show my true self. Unlike some people who live behind a cold mask, hiding their own desires like crimes."
As she spoke, she lifted her right leg slightly, tapping the toe of her high heel on the ground. The casual movement hiked her skirt higher, making her voluptuous thigh, wet and clinging to the stocking, even more enticing.
While the two arrogant witches attacked each other with words to mask the strange sensations rising from their depths, Jerry's hands beneath their skirts began a more brazen and provocative exploration.
His right hand continued to ravage beneath Vera's red gown. He had completely breached the defense of her stockings, his fingertips touching the entrance of her valley, already slick and messy. The hair there was soft and lush like a meadow, carrying the rich fragrance of a mature woman. He parted her folds gently, feeling the inner walls, smooth and warm as cream.
Vera's body snapped tight. Her voice rose unconsciously during her argument with Amelia.
Every entry and exit of Jerry's finger was accompanied by a subtle yet clear squelch and a surging wet flow from deep within her skirt. Jerry could even feel her flexible valley actively sucking his finger, issuing a silent invitation.
Vera stared at Amelia, trying to use anger to suppress the rolling tide inside her, but her trembling high heel and involuntarily clamped legs betrayed all her pride.
Simultaneously, Jerry's left hand was busy. It had gone deep under Amelia's black dress.
He had pulled the cool, smooth stocking down to her hip. His fingertips were now meticulously rubbing Amelia's smooth, hairless valley. Unlike Vera's lushness, Amelia was completely bare, smooth as fine jade. However, she was unusually dry. Though his intrusion had made her slightly moist, it wasn't the automatic tide like Vera's.
Jerry's fingertips pressed gently on the tender petals, feeling the tightness and shyness there. He deliberately scraped the tiny protrusion with his nail, feeling the subtle tremors caused by this minute stimulation.
Under this teasing, Amelia's face finally lost its pure coldness, tinged with a hard-to-hide flush. Her gesture of pushing up her glasses became stiff, and her voice rasped imperceptibly. "Do you think barking like a bitch in heat proves your nobility, Vera?"
Her words remained sharp, but carried an indescribable weakness. Her high chest heaved violently with rapid breaths. Her eyes flickered behind the lenses, trying not to look at the boy misbehaving under her skirt, yet unable to ignore the waves of pleasure from her most private place.
The two powerful witches, towering over the boy, were like majestic peaks. Jerry was like an agile bird darting through the canyon, conducting an unprecedented poaching raid under their clashing words and cold gazes.
Vera's gaze remained locked on Amelia with arrogance and disdain, but her body began to change subtly. The leg she had stretched out casually now tensed rigidly, her toe stopping its sway. Her fingers curled slightly, as if pressing down hard on something. She could hear her own heart drumming violently in her chest.
Amelia's brow arched. She looked away from Vera's skirt, turning to Minister Fudge, as if declaring her nobility and rationality with this posture. Meanwhile, Jerry's fingertips pressed slowly and precisely around the opening of her smooth valley, mapping it like a cartographer.
"Look, Madam Director," Vera taunted, unable to hide her frivolous tone. She glanced at Amelia's tense body out of the corner of her eye, lips curling seductively. "Can't wait to claim credit from your husband? I wonder what kind of husband can tolerate a woman like you... with no shame, no sense of honor."
Every word was dipped in poison, stabbing at Amelia's most sensitive spots.
Hearing this, Jerry's right hand, buried under Vera's skirt, pushed deep into her valley, his finger pad gently grinding the softest, most sensitive kernel.
Vera shuddered at the intimate contact. Her high-slit skirt trembled with her body, accelerating the spread of the heat.
Cold frost gathered in Amelia's eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses.
"Hah!" She let out a short, contemptuous laugh. Her voice was cold and firm, yielding nothing. "Whether I am loose or not is not for a slut like you to judge. At least I understand boundaries better than you ever will. Do you think your shady dealings can shake my position or question my character?"
Though Amelia's tone remained strict, Jerry could feel the depths of her valley contracting violently like an erupting volcano, sucking on his unruly fingertips. He could even hear the pop-pop of water echoing clearly as his fingers moved.
Minister Fudge was still speaking passionately in the center of the hall: "...Let us raise a glass to the future of the wizarding world, to our unity and prosperity!"
The moment Fudge finished, accompanied by thundering applause, Jerry's eyes turned sharp and excited.
He stopped probing. Almost simultaneously, his right hand plunged deep into Vera's valley, index and middle fingers together, stabbing in crudely at the deepest angle! The fingers churned violently in the extremely narrow, warm wetness, touching the softest depths.
"Mmh... Ah!"
Vera could hold it no longer. A moan of extreme trembling and ecstasy, like a cat being choked, escaped her lips. Short and high-pitched, it was instantly drowned out by the louder applause.
Her body arched forward violently. The muscles of her inner thighs locked. A scorching warm current burst forth like a broken dam, rushing down her stocking-clad leg, soaking the carpet beneath her feet and leaving a dark, shameful stain.
Her seductive eyes lost focus, cheeks flushed, body trembling violently in the aftershocks of orgasm. Her haughty posture collapsed, leaving her limp.
However, this wasn't the end.
The moment Vera went limp, Jerry's left hand didn't stop. Racing against time, he thrust his index and middle fingers just as rudely and directly into Amelia's cold valley.
"Ngh...!"
Amelia's body jolted violently. A muffled groan, more suppressed than Vera's but filled with equal brokenness and extreme pleasure, escaped her clenched teeth. Her hand pushing her glasses froze in mid-air, eyes widening behind the lenses.
A more turbulent, scalding liquid erupted from under her skirt like a fountain, quickly drowning her black stockings and the carpet beneath.
Amelia shook violently as if struck by lightning, her mind blanking instantly. She felt a spasm from deep within. Her body threw itself back against the wall, all strength drained. Her red, swollen eyes stared weakly, yet with a mix of madness and shame, at Jerry's innocent face.
In the end, Amelia won. Vera climaxed first, but Amelia's orgasm was more intense and lasting.
Jerry watched the two tall, mature women rendered limp, disheveled, and flushed by his fingers, a thrill of successful mischief rising in his heart.
Face calm, he quietly withdrew his right hand from Vera's skirt. When he pulled his left hand back, Amelia's thighs were tight, pinching his fingers painfully.
Using the dim light, Jerry covertly wiped the fluids on his trousers, then turned, trying to slip away between the two mountains blocking his path.
But he had barely taken half a step when pressure came from both sides.
Though limp, Vera's hand still possessed extraordinary strength. Her right hand shot out, clamping onto Jerry's left arm, fingernails digging deep into his skin, holding him fast.
"Hmph, trying to run, little one?" Her voice was hoarse from desire but tinged with unconvinced annoyance.
Simultaneously, Amelia, seemingly weak, extended a slender but powerful left hand, grabbing Jerry's right shoulder and yanking him back. Though pale, her eyes behind the glasses regained some sharpness, but the lingering redness at the corners told of the tide still churning within her.
"Do you think this is over, Mr. Rosier?" Her tone was hard, hiding an imperceptible tremor.
Jerry was sandwiched between two incredibly strong witches, unable to advance or retreat. His back was pressed against Vera's soft belly; he felt her burning heat and breath on his neck. Amelia leaned against him from the other side, her fullness rubbing his shoulder, her perfume mixed with a faint scent of blood stimulating his nose.
"Ladies, how about you keep arguing and I..." Jerry tried to smooth things over and escape.
Before he finished, a foot with bright red toenails emerged from a red high heel. Slender and white, now slightly flushed from the intense climax, the foot radiated heat and showed traces of sweat.
Vera's stocking-clad toes were incredibly nimble. Through Jerry's trousers, they climbed up his inner thigh and gently, precisely clamped onto his semi-soft meat root.
The warm, slippery, sweaty touch through the fabric instantly reignited the desire in him.
Vera wore a provocative smile, glaring at Amelia with silky eyes as if saying: So what if you won? This brat still can't escape my grasp!
"I don't accept it!" Vera panted, full of unwillingness. Her thigh rubbed gently against Jerry, teasing him intentionally or not. "Amelia, what kind of win is that? You just broke down faster than me! It only proves my constitution is younger and more sensitive!"
Amelia's cold gaze fell on Vera's sweaty foot clamping Jerry's lifeblood. Complicated emotions flashed in her eyes. This woman was always so wild, so reckless.
Amelia sneered, her tone icy as ever but carrying undeniable aftershocks. "A loss is a loss, Vera. Do you think this... can cover up your failure?"
The applause died down. Minister Fudge began a detailed introduction of the upcoming Thanksgiving feast. The aroma of food, the richness of alcohol, and the faint scent of desire wove a strange, tempting picture in the corner by the fireplace.
Jerry, trapped between two tall, mature women, felt Vera's burning belly against his back and the elastic friction of Amelia's chest. Vera's toes continued to clamp and massage his semi-soft member firmly and meticulously. The warm, damp touch through the thin trousers stimulated his desire clearly.
Jerry knew if he did nothing, this situation might last until the banquet ended—or until they got bored.
"Ladies, how about we change the method... and continue the bet?"
Jerry's voice sounded small between the two mountains, but his proposal made both witches stop arguing instantly, holding their breath.
Vera's scattered eyes refocused, filled with more arrogance and provocation. Amelia pushed up her glasses; her face was still pale, but a dangerous flame lit her cold eyes.
"Bet?" Vera's voice was raspy with disdain and interest. "What trick are you up to now, little one?" Instead of loosening her grip, her toes squeezed harder, reminding him of his "predicament."
"What tricks do you have left, Mr. Rosier? Want to keep playing your cheap games under ladies' skirts?" Amelia's words were sharp, but her hand on his shoulder tightened unconsciously, fingertips feeling the tension in his muscles.
Jerry chuckled, feeling the wet rub of Vera's toes and the heat from Amelia's palm.
"No, not a trick."
His gaze swept over Vera's flushed face and Amelia's red-rimmed eyes, lips curling into a wicked smile. "Since neither lady is willing to yield, why don't we... switch to a harder game?"
He paused deliberately, making them impatient. Vera tapped his meat root with her toe.
"Let's make a bet," Jerry finally said, his voice dropping to a boyish, seductive low. "Bet on who can... make me, tonight, in front of all these people, in front of the whole hall... quietly cum."
Vera and Amelia froze as if cursed. Their eyes lingered briefly on Jerry's innocent yet evil face, then clashed in the air, invisible lightning jumping between them.
Make a boy... cum in front of everyone?
The proposal was bold, absurd, and carried an extreme, subversive thrill.
"You little..." Vera's toes released his meat root, then clamped it tight again, venting her shock.
"This is a way to determine the true winner," Jerry raised an eyebrow, his certainty stunning both witches. He felt Vera's fluids soaking his trousers and the deeper pressure from Amelia's hand.
"Interesting." Amelia's voice was like cracking ice. She adjusted her glasses, thinking. This challenge held a fatal temptation for her. Don't forget, her goal today was to conceive Jerry's child!
"So, let me go first," Jerry continued, tone unquestionable. "Then you find your own opportunities. Whoever can do it... is the winner." He looked at them provocatively. "Of course, since I proposed the bet, there has to be a stake."
Vera's eyes turned playful. "Stake?" Her toes massaged him gently, alluringly.
"Since you brought it up, Mr. Rosier," Amelia said, voice cool but oppressive. "The winner... gets more than just a win. Tonight, you must accompany the winner. How about it?"
Jerry paused, then a wicked smile curled his lips.
"Deal!"