The morning light leaked in through the gap in the curtains, drawing a narrow, golden beam filled with dust motes across the bedsheets.
Catherine woke up.
To be precise, her body woke up, but her brain was still lingering on the edge of a warm dream filled with Jerry's scent, refusing to emerge.
Her feline pupils shrank into two thin vertical slits in the morning light, her eyelashes half-closed, the tip of her nose nuzzling in the hollow of Jerry's collarbone.
Jerry was still asleep.
His arm was wrapped around Catherine's waist, his palm resting on that slightly concave dimple on her bare lower back.
The youth's breathing was steady and long; the rise and fall of his chest drove Catherine's entire body to float slightly up and down with him, like lying in a slowly moving little boat.
Catherine's tail was sweeping leisurely beneath the covers.
That light chestnut long tail extended from the position of her tailbone, covered in a layer of extremely soft short fur, fluffing up in the morning warmth like a sun-dried brush.
The tip of the tail poked out from the edge of the blanket, drawing lazy figure-eights in the air; every sweep brought up a small ripple of folds in the blanket.
She was completely naked.
That beam of morning light slicing in through the curtain gap landed exactly on her exposed spine. The curve from her shoulder blades to her waistline presented a near-transparent whiteness under the light... the feline bloodline had endowed her with a unique skin texture. That skin was finer and smoother than an ordinary person's, the touch somewhere between human skin and a certain high-grade silk, carrying a faint, milky scent evaporated by body heat.
Below the waistline was a pair of buttock mounds with an astonishing curve.
The bloodline of the Cursed Kitten kept Catherine's figure in a contradictory balance... her upper half was as slender as a young witch, her waist so thin it seemed one hand could encircle it, but below the waistline, it suddenly expanded. The plumpness of her buttocks completely exceeded the proportions her slender skeletal frame should have had.
And Catherine's breasts...
Two mounds of soft breasts, so white they almost glowed, so plump they defied the laws of physics, were currently pressing against Jerry's side chest without any obstruction.
Due to the side-lying posture, they drooped downward under the effect of gravity. The two pale pink nipples at the very bottom were pressing against Jerry's ribs, gently rubbing against that firm patch of boyish skin with every beat of her breathing frequency.
Catherine's consciousness slowly floated up.
Her feline pupils opened completely; the golden vertical slits contracted slightly in the morning light.
She felt the temperature of Jerry's palm at her waist dimple, felt the heartbeat coming from his chest, and also felt...
That thing pressing against her inner thigh.
Scalding hot.
Hard.
Absurdly large.
When that length and diameter were placed next to Catherine's delicate lower half, it produced a visual impact that made one suck in a breath of cold air... like an adult's forearm stuffed into the embrace of a cat.
Catherine's tail stopped.
Then... the fur bristled violently for a moment... before she forcibly pressed it back down.
She bit her lip.
Her feline pupils moved from Jerry's face to that tent-like bulge propped up high beneath the blanket due to the presence of that giant object, then moved back to Jerry's face.
He was still asleep.
The corners of Catherine's mouth slowly curled up.
That arc carried a pure mischievousness, belonging to a feline discovering something fun to play with.
She propped up her upper body.
The movement was extremely gentle, like a cat stretching its body from sleep, her back slightly arched, her waist stretching out a beautiful S-shaped curve.
Those two breasts, having lost the support of Jerry's body, violently dropped downward the instant she rose, then bounced back up under the effect of their own elasticity, emitting an extremely faint boing sound produced by the jiggling of flesh.
Catherine crawled on top of Jerry.
"Meow..."
A low, completely reflex-like cat sound overflowed from her throat.
She aimed those two plump breasts directly at Jerry's chest, and then...
Squish.
Pressed down hard.
The two breasts, soft to the point of being nearly liquid, flattened violently against Jerry's firm pectoral muscles, squeezing and spreading outward, completely submerging the skin of his chest in a patch of fair, warm softness. Catherine felt the hardness of Jerry's pectoral muscles... although the boy's muscle lines hadn't yet fully developed to the thickness of an adult, they already possessed an elastic firmness... that hardness formed an extreme tactile contrast with the softness of her breasts.
"Little pervert Master... still not awake..."
Catherine's voice was as soft and sticky as melted toffee, carrying the hoarseness and nasal tone unique to the early morning.
Her body began to move.
Not that deliberate twisting with a clear purpose. But a behavior closer to a feline instinct, using her body to rub against her master... her upper body, using Jerry's chest as a fulcrum, swayed left and right slowly and in small amplitudes.
With every sway, those two breasts pressing against Jerry's chest would undergo a complete deformation along the surface of his pectoral muscles... first being squeezed to one side, turning into a flat oval, then recovering their original shape driven by elasticity, immediately followed by being squeezed to the other side.
Squish... squish...
Catherine's tail stood up high behind her, the tip trembling slightly due to excitement, the fur all puffing out in the same direction, looking like a fluffy little flag.
"Meow-oo... Little pervert Master's body is so hard..."
Catherine's lips pressed against Jerry's chest, giving a light suck on that patch of skin that had been repeatedly ground by her breasts.
Slurp.
The sound produced when her tongue-tip touched that thin film on the boy's pectoral muscles, formed by a mixture of sweat and their bodily fluids.
Catherine's feline pupils completely dilated into two large, round golden disks at this moment... that was the pupillary reaction of felines when producing extreme focus on something they liked.
Catherine lowered her entire upper body, letting those two breasts adhere to Jerry's torso with maximum surface area, then slowly slid downward from his chest, along his abdominal muscles.
Squish-squish... slurp...
Every time the breasts ground over a section of his abdominal muscles, it would produce a stutter... first being blocked by the protrusion of the muscle and stalling briefly, then sliding past with a squish sound due to the continuous downward pressure of her body weight, getting stuck again at the edge of the next muscle.
That intermittent stuttering turned the entire sliding process into a highly rhythmic, wet fleshy percussion.
When Catherine slid to Jerry's lower abdomen, her chin bumped against that giant object.
Catherine's nose tip touched that drop of mucus.
"...So big.
Every time I see it, I think it's so big."
She mumbled; her feline pupils reflected that purplish-black cylinder, which formed an extreme dimensional contrast with her delicate face.
Then she lifted the two breasts from Jerry's abdomen, adjusted the angle...
Smack!
Slapping them directly onto the shaft of that giant object.
The two fair breasts completely wrapped around that thick meat-pillar from both sides.
But because the diameter of that thing was truly too astonishing, even full breasts that violated proportions like Catherine's could only barely cover two-thirds of the shaft... like a small purplish-red hill built from desire.
Squish...
Catherine began to squeeze hard.
Her arms pushed the breasts toward the middle from both sides, letting that giant object be wrapped even more tightly within this warm, soft wall of flesh.
The force produced by that squeezing caused an extremely erotic distortion in the shape of the breasts... the originally round arcs were pressed into inward-caving half-moons; a massive amount of breast flesh spilled from between her fingers, forming a white, constantly writhing soft wave on that purplish-black shaft.
"Little pervert Master... hurry up and wake up..."
Catherine said while using her breasts to clamp that giant object and rub up and down.
Slurp... squish-squish... pfft...
The water sounds rang out wantonly in the early morning bedroom.
Her tail whipped left and right frantically behind her; every whip brought a wave of blanket folds and the friction sound of bedsheets.
The fur at the tip of the tail completely puffed out, fluffy like a chestnut-colored dandelion.
Jerry's breathing changed.
His brows furrowed slightly, his lips moved, and his fingers unconsciously tightened on Catherine's waist.
Catherine felt the tightening of that hand, a gleam of having succeeded flashing in her feline pupils.
Slurp.
"...Meow."
A trace of icy coolness transmitted from the tip of the massive cylinder, making the eyelashes of the deeply sleeping Jerry tremble.
His nose caught a scent—a mixture of the clean, warm milky smell unique to felines and the musky sweetness of female bodily fluids.
The soft, delicate coquettishness carrying a cat's sense of satisfaction finally made Jerry's feline pupils slowly open a crack.
The early morning sunlight sliced in diagonally through the curtain gap, drawing a straight golden beam across the bedsheets.
In the beam of light, Catherine's exquisite face, close at hand, was coated with a layer of fuzzy soft light. Her golden feline pupils were open and wet, currently focused entirely on the terrifying tip of that purplish-black giant object between her cleavage.
Her tongue-tip bore water stains.
"You..."
Jerry let out a long yawn, his voice carrying the muffled hoarseness unique to just waking up.
His right hand slid from Catherine's waist, reaching into the warm, wet, and slippery covers between them, accurately scooping up that light chestnut long tail of hers.
Catherine's tail was coiled in a ball under the covers, the fur color fluffy and soft. The pads of Jerry's fingers pinched the base of that tail, feeling the soft fur there and the rhythm of the muscles deep within.
"...Mmh-hmm?" Catherine's tongue stopped at the tip of that thick meat-pillar in the middle of her cleavage. She looked up at Jerry, her feline pupils carrying a trace of the innocence of being woken up and a look of unfulfilled desire.
"You're fully awake, yet still not behaving." Jerry's left hand tightened somewhat on her bare lower back, pressing her two full breasts—which were suspended in the air because she was leaning over him—even more firmly, thoroughly kneading them into that patch of warm skin on his chest.
"Meow, being petted on the tail by Little pervert Master, how could I behave..."
Catherine's voice softened a few more degrees; the tip of her nose rubbed against Jerry's chin, and then she lowered her head again and gave a lick with her tongue-tip.
Slurp.
Jerry's breathing grew heavy for an instant.
His fingers stroked gently on that soft, fluffy tail of hers, stroking from the base to the tip, feeling the flow of the fine fur between his fingers.
"Where did you run off to all day yesterday?
Tired like this."
Catherine's bare back pressed against Jerry's slightly thin yet still scorching hot chest.
Her tail was being fondled by Jerry's hand; that numbing sensation made her unable to resist letting out a soft "meow."
She adjusted her posture, letting her buttocks adhere even more closely to that massive, scalding presence at Jerry's crotch.
"Little pervert Master is still thinking about my work... truly touching."
As Catherine spoke, she reached her hand to Jerry's chest, her fingertips gently drawing circles on those faintly visible ribs on his chest.
"I chased for three days and three nights in the Ministry of Magic, and finally cleaned up all those rats sent by Olympus."
Her tone seemed lazy, carrying a certain relaxation after completing a mission, but a hard-to-hide excitement flashed deep within her feline pupils.
"Spies sent by Olympus?"
Jerry carelessly toyed with Catherine's tail, his fingers gently kneading that most sensitive area at the base of the tail.
"Meow... mmh-hmm..." Catherine's buttocks involuntarily thrust backward, her entire body curling deeper into Jerry's embrace.
"That's right.
Those deities want to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic.
The people they sent are no ordinary characters."
Catherine flipped her body over, resting her head on Jerry's chest; those two plump breasts swayed violently during the process of rolling over, emitting a "boing," and subsequently pressed softly against Jerry's chest.
"They disguised themselves as newly promoted clerks in the Ministry, library administrators, and even temporary kitchen helpers in the cafeteria.
Mingling among the wizards, wanting to steal intelligence from the Ministry's core database, even targeting those action plans and personnel deployment information regarding your plans."
Catherine's fingertips slid to just above Jerry's navel, pressing gently.
"These guys all thought their disguises were flawless, but they forgot..." A sly gleam flashed in her feline pupils, "Those deities of Olympus always carry that unique, stale, decaying smell on them.
That kind of smell, ordinary wizards can't distinguish it, but under the nose of my feline bloodline, it smells even more obvious than a Death Eater."
Jerry lowered his head and placed a light kiss on the crown of her head, the force of his fingers on her tail increasing somewhat. His thumb and index finger pinched a small tuft of fur, kneading it.
"So... what were the results?"
"The first one was a clerk mingling in the Ministry of Magic's archives room.
A short, fat man with a goatee, disguised as a refined English gentleman.
During the day he organized documents, and at night he would sneak into the core area of the archives room, attempting to use Olympus's 'Soul Rubbing Technique' to copy those classified files."
Catherine's intonation became more animated, and her body swayed slightly in his embrace, following the rhythm of her storytelling.
Her tail was being toyed with by Jerry, so comfortable she couldn't help but emit a soft purring sound unique to felines from her throat, filled with satisfaction.
"I pretended to be working overtime in the archives room and found an excuse to walk past him. Mmh-hmm..." She nuzzled Jerry's chin, "That fragrance on him... cologne mixed with aged divine brimstone smell, I immediately confirmed he was in disguise.
Waiting until he sneaked into the core archives area in the middle of the night, I gave him a game of 'cat and mouse'."
"How did I do it, you ask?" Catherine's feline pupils carried a trace of little-devil-like smugness, "I didn't catch him directly.
Just used some minor magic so that whenever he touched a core file, a page of the file would instantly evaporate in his hand, and then recover its original state in the blink of an eye.
He was scared out of his wits, thinking he had violated some ancient taboo, his magic went out of control, almost scaring himself to the point of peeing."
Slurp... She playfully stuck out her tongue-tip, licking Jerry's chin.
"Mmh... later he finally couldn't take it anymore, talking to himself at the air saying: 'This is even harder to deal with than that damn contraption of Hermes!'
As soon as I heard the name 'Hermes', I immediately confirmed his identity.
Oh right, he was actually an illegitimate son of Hermes, running to the Ministry to gather intelligence for his old man.
Truly a filial son."
"Then how did you catch him?"
Jerry's fingers slowly pressed upward along the path of the vertebrae on Catherine's tail.
He pressed very slowly, with an exploratory, caress-filled pressure.
"Meow..."
Catherine's body violently tensed for a moment; a suppressed, sweet moan came from her throat. She subconsciously clamped her legs around one of Jerry's legs, making her buttocks fit even more tightly, completely against his crotch.
"Oh my, Little pervert Master is asking in such detail..."
Catherine's cheeks flushed slightly. She felt Jerry's fingers currently exploring the deepest part of the base of her tail; that numbing sensation shot straight from her tailbone to her brain.
"Mmh-hmm... I didn't catch him, I just used a Transfiguration Charm to turn him into an... archive lizard when he was preparing to copy another classified file.
He was very good at disguising himself as a file, I just helped him complete the 'return to original nature' of Transfiguration.
Then I locked him in that small cabinet specially used to store contraband in the Ministry archives room.
Waiting for the Auror Office to handle him."
Jerry toyed with Catherine's tail, listening to her recount these thrilling capture processes in a half-true, half-false lazy tone.
The pads of his fingers gently rubbed the softest fluff on the tail, occasionally probing deep inside, feeling the clear segmentation of Catherine's tail joints.
"What about the second one?"
A gleam of smugness flashed across the corners of Catherine's eyes again. She used her breasts to bump Jerry's chest; those two plump breasts continuously collided against his chest, emitting muffled smack-smack sounds.
"The second one was a temporary kitchen helper in the cafeteria.
Mmh-hmm... a chubby middle-aged lady, wearing an apron, always putting a lot of oil when stir-frying dishes.
She disguised herself exceptionally well, except..."
Catherine's nose tip rested in the hollow of Jerry's collarbone, gently rubbing. A look of pondering appeared in those golden feline pupils, "Except every time she finished chopping vegetables, she would habitually chant a segment of an ancient blessing, blessing the abundance of the food."
"Hestia of Olympus?"
Jerry guessed it.
"Correct, Little pervert Master..." Catherine's tongue-tip licked Jerry's collarbone, bringing a patch of hot, wet slipperiness. "That chubby lady was a cleric of Hestia, responsible for secretly tampering with the Ministry's food using the 'Hearth God's Blessing Technique,' implanting some miniature runes that could affect wizards' emotions and memories.
But her disguise was also clumsy; the olive oil she put in always had a faint smell of... temple incense."
Jerry's fingers slid all the way from the base of Catherine's tail to the tip, then slowly slid back from the tip to the base; that soft tail continuously rubbed between his palms, bringing waves of numbness.
"Meow..." A low growl of satisfaction came from Catherine's throat again. She used her smooth instep to rub against Jerry's calf, her entire body sinking limply into his embrace.
"Do you want me to stay in bed and keep your cute little kitten company, mmh-hmm?"
She leaned close to Jerry's ear, her breath like an orchid, "Going out on field missions alone is so exhausting.
Isn't Little pervert Master going to reward me a little?"
Her tongue-tip gently licked Jerry's earlobe, then slid into his concha, gently making a circle there.
Jerry's body violently tensed.
He felt all his blood rushing downward; that giant object wrapped by Catherine's fingers suddenly expanded a notch upward, forcing her fingers wider apart.
"Reward?"
Jerry's voice dropped low, carrying the not-yet-completely-dissipated morning desire, as well as a trace of an aroused, dangerous aura belonging to a predator.
He gripped Catherine's fluffy tail and gave a forceful yank.
"Meow-oo!"
Catherine let out a cry of surprise; her entire body was pulled backward by that force, her legs subconsciously spreading a bit wider.
She felt Jerry's body violently press down, pressing her deep into the soft bed.
That meat-pillar, thick as an iron rod, held in Catherine's hand, violently sprang out from under the covers, and then, carrying a sticky water sound after being lubricated by Catherine's palm...
Squish!
Without warning, accurately, and viciously thrust deep into Catherine's thighs... that warm, soft crevice, still slippery with morning dew, waiting to be filled.
"Mmh-ah...!"
Catherine's back arched; that coquettish moan contained the trembling and pleasure of being forcibly penetrated. Her feline pupils instantly dilated into two massive circles; Jerry's boyish face, carrying aggressive desire, reflected in the golden irises.
"Little pervert Master..."
Her voice was drowned out by the friction sound of the bedsheets and the wet noises made by bodies intertwining deep beneath the covers...
The early morning sunlight still fell diagonally across the bedsheets; dust motes danced in the beam of light.
The Hogwarts students had probably already started enjoying breakfast in the Great Hall, and the clerks of the Ministry of Magic had also begun their daily work.
Just now we went out.
Most of the people in the Great Hall had left.
Traces of breakfast still remained on the four long tables... half-empty pumpkin juice pitchers, a few crusts of toast soaked in butter, a bowl of oatmeal that had solidified into a jelly-like state... most of the students had already grabbed their schoolbags and textbooks and hurried off to their respective classrooms.
The magical dome overhead reflected the real sky outside; a few soft white clouds floated on a light blue background. Sunlight projected down from the ceiling, laying a layer of warm yellow on the oak surfaces of the long tables.
Jerry walked in through the side door of the Great Hall.
His hair was still a bit messy. A few strands of black hair stuck up at the back of his head; those were the marks left after being repeatedly swept by Catherine's tail earlier... he hadn't bothered to tidy them. The top two buttons of his white shirt were unfastened, the collar slightly open, revealing a small section of his collarbone and the patch of skin above his chest turned pale by the sunlight.
When he sat down, the long bench emitted a muffled thud.
That terrifying bulge at his crotch, which hadn't completely subsided due to the intense morning exercise, was mostly blocked by the edge of the table the instant he sat down... but looking from the side, the outline of that thing still extended all the way down along his left thigh to near his knee, propping a scalp-tingling ridge out of the python-skin trouser fabric.
Jerry reached out for a silver plate, piling it with three pieces of toast, two strips of fried bacon, a mound of scrambled eggs, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
He took a bite of the toast.
The butter had cooled, but the bread itself retained a bit of residual warmth. Chewing it, the texture fell somewhere between crispy and soft, pairing perfectly with the savory saltiness of the bacon.
Just as he was about to sprinkle salt on his scrambled eggs, a hurried clamor of multiple footsteps running simultaneously surged in from the entrance of the Great Hall.
Hermione walked at the forefront.
To be precise, Hermione's face was half-blocked by the pile of things she was carrying; she was practically navigating by memory.
Her arms were wrapped around a cardboard box half the height of a person. The box was stuffed full of various brightly colored small objects. Several miniature Quidditch player figurines poking out from the top of the box were buzzing around in the air on mini broomsticks.
Four girls from the club followed behind her.
Everyone was carrying something... cloth bags, wooden boxes, and even a leather suitcase that looked like a small piece of luggage. They formed a single-file line across the nearly empty Great Hall, charging straight toward Jerry's position.
Hermione slammed the cardboard box onto the table opposite Jerry with a thud.
The impact made the scrambled eggs on Jerry's plate jump.
"Here, here, here... look, Jerry...!"
Hermione's face appeared from behind the box.
Because of the jog just now, several strands of her hair had escaped from her originally neat ponytail, sticking out messily beside her ears.
Her cheeks carried a light flush, and a fine sheen of sweat dotted her forehead. Her eyes were so bright it looked like someone had stuffed two lightbulbs inside.
"Everything is done!
The first batch of samples!"
As she spoke, she reached into the box, taking those small objects out one by one and placing them on the table in front of Jerry.
The first row consisted of miniature figurines.
They were palm-sized Quidditch player dolls, each wearing the jersey of a different national team. The craftsmanship was quite exquisite... the facial expressions were hand-painted, the team crests and numbers on the jerseys were embroidered with gold thread, and the base was a small round stand of black walnut engraved with the player's name.
The most ingenious part was those mini broomsticks... each one had a miniature Hover Charm cast on it. Once let go, the figurine would hover in mid-air riding the broomstick, even capable of performing feints and sharp turns.
Jerry poked his bacon with a fork, while his other hand picked up a figurine wearing the Irish team jersey to examine it.
The craftsmanship was indeed not bad; the wood grain texture of the broomstick was very realistic.
"This series is for the general line.
Priced at two Galleons each, or twenty-five Galleons for a full set of fourteen national teams packaged together." Hermione tapped her nail on the table. "The profit margin is around forty percent."
The second row contained scarves and hats.
Miniature samples... not yet enlarged to normal size... but the craftsmanship could already be seen.
The scarves used a certain blended fabric containing magical fibers, the touch extremely soft. The most special part was the color... those scarves were currently all white, but Hermione tapped one of them with her wand, and its color instantly changed from white to the deep red of the Bulgarian team, with the team crest and a golden Snitch pattern appearing on it.
"Color-changing scarves.
Automatically changes color based on the team the wearer supports.
If the supported team scores a goal during the match, the scarf will glow and vibrate."
Jerry took a bite of bacon and nodded.
The third row was interesting.
Hermione moved that leather suitcase onto the table and opened the latch.
The inside of the suitcase was lined with black velvet, divided into over a dozen grooves of varying sizes.
Inside each groove lay an object... their shapes varied, but they shared a common characteristic: their designs were far more... explicit than the merchandise in the first two rows.
A smooth, rod-shaped object about twenty centimeters long made of milky-white magical ceramic; the surface was engraved with fine runes, and a miniature vibrating gemstone was embedded in the base.
Beside it was a bottle of purple liquid with a label depicting two intertwined fairies, the mouth of the bottle sealed with wax.
Next to that was a set of leather goods wrapped in silk, looking like some kind of bondage prop.
In the corner, there were also a few special figurines... unlike those Quidditch players in the first row, the designs of these figurines represented the "other side" of several famous Quidditch stars.
A mini version of Viktor Krum wearing the Bulgarian team jersey, but with just a light tap of the wand on the base, the jersey would disappear, revealing an extremely detailed carving of muscle lines underneath.
"The Adult Series." Hermione lowered her voice, but her tone maintained that organized manner as if giving an academic report. "This series takes the high-end route, with single items priced anywhere from five Galleons to twenty Galleons. The profit margin is over sixty percent. During the World Cup, a massive number of adult wizards will gather, and alcohol consumption will be ten times higher than usual... the demand for this type of merchandise is severely underestimated."
One of the club girls... short brown hair, freckles on her face... poked her head out from behind Hermione to add a sentence: "I designed that vibrating ceramic wand!
I carved the runes myself!
It can adjust to seven speed levels!"
Another girl with twin-tails immediately squeezed over from the side: "And that Fairy Entanglement Potion was brewed by me... applying it to the skin will produce a certain... um... effect that makes the sense of touch extremely sensitive..."
"Alright, alright." Hermione pushed the two girls back with her elbows, facing Jerry again.
She pulled a roll of parchment from the inner pocket of her robes, unrolling it beside the pile of merchandise.
The parchment was densely covered with charts and numbers... supplier lists, raw material procurement lists, production line schedules, logistics plans, estimated sales... every item had its priority marked in different colored ink.
"The suppliers and manufacturing lines are entirely handed over to Madam Padma." Hermione's finger slid rapidly over the chart, stopping on a name circled in red ink.
She looked up at Jerry.
"The Padma family once contracted the franchise rights for Quidditch World Cup merchandise for seven consecutive tournaments. Seven tournaments."
Hermione's index finger tapped twice on the name "Madam Padma."
"Madam Padma herself has confirmed she will fully support our project this time.
She is responsible for providing the production lines... including ceramic processing, textile dyeing, and procurement channels for the special materials of the adult products... all running through their family's factories.
The cost is at least thirty percent lower than if we procured them ourselves."
Jerry stuffed the last piece of toast into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed.
He picked up that milky-white vibrating ceramic wand to look at it, pressing the gemstone at the base with his thumb.
Buzz...
The thing began to vibrate at a low frequency in his hand, the amplitude not large but extremely even.
Hermione's gaze involuntarily slid from Jerry's hand holding the ceramic wand, down to that bulge below the edge of the table—extending from his crotch to his knee, at least three times thicker than this ceramic wand.
Her face flushed.
Then she forcefully pulled her gaze back.
"...Seven speed levels.
Level one is suitable for beginners, level seven... according to tester feedback... the effect is equivalent to a mid-level Nerve Stimulation Charm."
Jerry turned off the ceramic wand and placed it back into the groove of the velvet lining.
That freckled girl poked her head out from behind Hermione again: "Actually, I originally wanted to make it one size bigger, but Hermione said the market doesn't need it to be that big... but if it were made according to your size, Jerry, the cost of that mold would be much higher..."
"Shut up, Lucy!" Hermione's voice went half an octave higher.
Jerry took a sip of orange juice.
The sweet and sour liquid slid down his throat, washing away the aftertaste of bacon and toast in his mouth.
He put the silver cup back on the table, his gaze sweeping over the merchandise samples covering the entire table and that chart full of numbers of Hermione's.
"When can Madam Padma's production lines start operating?"
Hermione's eyes lit up again.
"Next Monday.
As long as you sign to confirm, they can complete the production of the first batch of five thousand pieces within forty-eight hours.
Logistics will go through the Padma family's international Floo Network channel in Calcutta, arriving in the UK within three days."
She pulled another quill and a bottle of ink from her pocket, placing them in front of Jerry.
"Sign here.
Here.
And here."
She flipped to the last page of the parchment, tapping her fingertip sequentially on three signature lines.
Jerry picked up the quill.
The four club girls behind Hermione held their breath simultaneously.
The pen tip scratched across the parchment.
Three signatures.
Hermione rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into the inner pocket of her robes. Her movements were extremely fast, as if afraid Jerry would go back on his word.
Then she took a deep breath, a flush mixing a sense of achievement and excitement, bordering on dizziness, surfacing on her face.
"Excellent.
I'll go send an owl to Madam Padma right now."
"Hermione."
Jerry's voice wasn't loud, but it carried far in the nearly empty Great Hall.
Hermione had already taken five steps.
Her footsteps halted the instant she heard her name; the soles of her leather shoes let out a short squeak on the flagstone floor.
When she turned around, that roll of parchment she had just stuffed into her inner pocket hadn't even warmed up yet, and several miniature figurines that had escaped from the box were flying around her head.
"Forgot to take something."
Jerry reached his hand inside his shirt.
The top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened; his hand reached directly in through the collar, fumbled twice in the close-fitting inner pocket, and then pulled out a handful of things, casually placing them on the table.
Six round little balls rolled beside the silver plate.
Each was about the size of a quail egg; the outer shell was some kind of semi-transparent, highly elastic rubber material. Because they had been carried close to Jerry's body, their temperature was the same as a human body... warm to the touch, carrying the residual body heat of the boy's skin.
Through that thin, semi-transparent rubber shell, one could clearly see the substance filling the inside.
Milky white.
Thick. A viscous liquid bearing a faint pearlescent texture.
Every ball was stuffed full, the rubber shell stretched tight and bulging. In the thinnest few, one could even see bubbles slowly rising and falling within the milky-white liquid. When those balls rolled on the table, the liquid inside produced a delayed, extremely erotic sloshing due to inertia... heavy, so viscous that the liquid surface almost wouldn't produce ripples, merely tilting lazily as a whole from one side to the other.
Hermione's pupils dilated.
That dilation was completed instantly... expanding violently from normal black dots until they almost swallowed the edges of her irises, turning those deep brown eyes of hers into two bottomless black pools in a flash.
Her Adam's apple bobbed.
Unconsciously swallowing a mouthful of saliva.
The four little club witches behind her also saw it. Their reactions varied... the freckled little witch Lucy's ear tips turned red; the twin-tailed little witch covered her mouth with her hand but failed to conceal the curve of her mouth; the other two exchanged a knowing look.
Hermione placed the cardboard box on the bench beside her.
She walked back in front of Jerry.
Her pace was noticeably faster during the last two steps... not walking, almost jogging over. Her hand reached toward those milky-white little balls rolling beside the silver plate; her five fingers produced an extremely minute tremor the instant they touched the rubber shell.
She picked one up.
Held it up to her eyes.
The morning light passed through that layer of semi-transparent rubber shell, illuminating the milky-white liquid inside until it almost glowed. That white was not pure white... it carried an extremely subtle yellow undertone, a warm white somewhere between fresh cream and honey. The viscosity of the liquid was extremely high; when Hermione gave the little ball a gentle shake, the liquid inside almost didn't flow at all, merely tilting at an angle as a whole, and then slowly, stickily reverting to its original state.
"Are there only six?"
Hermione asked.
Her voice was pressed very low, but that urgency in her tone... that uncontrollable craving forged by long-term addiction... even she herself didn't have time to disguise.
Jerry was using his fork to poke the last piece of scrambled egg on his plate.
"Enough to go around."
Hermione looked down at those six balls. Six. Herself, plus the four little witches behind her, made five people in total.
She picked up two.
Held one in her own hand.
Leaving the other four on the table.
She turned her head to look at the four little witches behind her, using her eyes to make a "come here" gesture.
The four of them gathered around.
Each took one.
Lucy cradled that warm little ball in her palm, using her thumb to press the elasticity of the rubber shell. The freckles on her round face seemed to deepen a shade due to excitement.
The twin-tailed little witch brought the little ball right under the tip of her nose to smell it... although the rubber shell was sealed, under the heating of body temperature, the unique musky-salty, slightly alkaline odor of the liquid inside still permeated through the molecular gaps. Her nostrils flared twice, her eyelashes trembling.
Hermione waited no longer.
She placed that little ball between her lips.
The surface of the rubber shell was smooth and warm; the instant it touched her lips, that temperature—almost creating an illusion of Jerry's residual body heat—caused Hermione's lips to part slightly involuntarily.
She bit down.
Squish.
The rubber shell ruptured under the slicing of her incisors. That rupturing sound was extremely minute, yet still clear in the quiet Great Hall... like the wet sound of an overripe grape bursting with juice.
And then...
The thick, milky-white liquid surged from the ruptured rubber shell into Hermione's oral cavity.
That surging was not "flowing"... it was "squeezing." Due to the elastic contraction of the rubber shell, the shell body would automatically squeeze inward after rupturing, shooting all the liquid out from the breach into her mouth all at once, like toothpaste.
Hermione's cheeks bulged in that instant.
"Mmh..."
A muffled grunt, squeezed from her nasal cavity.
Her eyes closed.
Eyelashes densely overlapping, trembling slightly.
That expression... wasn't the expression of eating food. It wasn't the satisfaction of tasting a delicacy. That was a deeper, near-spasmodic pleasure stemming from a certain long-trained reward circuit in the body being accurately activated.
Her tongue slowly churned within her oral cavity.
One could see the irregular concave and convex undulations on her cheeks produced by the movement of her tongue. Those thick, milky-white liquids were smeared, stirred, and savored again and again against the inner walls of her oral cavity by her tongue-tip.
Taste.
That taste was a musky saltiness that was still intense enough to make one's scalp tingle even after being diluted. But buried beneath the base of that musky saltiness was an extremely unique, sweet aftertaste endowed by Jerry's extraordinary magical constitution... like adding a spoonful of honey to a bowl of extremely thick miso soup.
Hermione's throat began to swallow.
The first mouthful.
Glug.
The sound of swallowing formed a clearly visible muscle movement on her fair neck... that patch of soft skin above her Adam's apple first caved inward, then reverted to flat following the wave of esophageal peristalsis.
But there was too much liquid.
The volume stuffed into one ball far exceeded the limit a little witch's oral cavity could accommodate at one time.
Hermione's mouth overflowed.
A strand of thick, milky-white liquid slid out from the right corner of her mouth.
The flow speed of that strand of liquid was extremely slow... due to the extremely high viscosity, it didn't drip straight down like water, but crawled downward along the skin texture of the corner of her mouth at a speed that could almost be described as "creeping."
For that short journey from the corner of her mouth to her chin, it took nearly three seconds.
Then it reached the lowest point of her chin.
There, gravity finally conquered viscosity.
That strand of milky-white liquid pulled a long, thin, pearlescent thread from the tip of Hermione's chin. The thread grew longer and longer, thinner and thinner, swaying twice in the air...
Drip-drop.
It snapped.
Landed on Hermione's thigh.
She was wearing a school uniform skirt today. Beneath the skirt was a pair of white knee-high silk stockings. The fabric of those silk stockings was some kind of material blended from magical silk and cotton fibers; it was woven very densely but was highly absorbent.
That drop of thick, milky-white liquid landed about five centimeters above her right knee... exactly at the boundary between the silk stocking fabric and that exposed patch of thigh skin between the hem of the skirt and the cuff of the stocking.
Half of the liquid landed on the skin, the other half on the cuff of the white silk stocking.
The part that landed on the skin spread into a small, irregular, milky-white spot on the surface of Hermione's fair thigh.
The part that landed on the white silk stocking... because the colors were similar, it was almost indistinguishable... only when light shone at a specific angle could one see that the small patch of fabric at the cuff had become slightly transparent due to absorbing the liquid, faintly revealing the flesh color of the skin underneath.
Hermione felt the warmth of that drop.
She looked down.
Then she used the index finger of her left hand to gently wipe that wet stain above her knee, gathering the liquid remaining on her skin onto her fingertip, and sent it back into her mouth.
"Mmh."
Her finger lingered between her lips for a second. Her tongue-tip circled the pad of her finger, licking all the residue spotlessly clean.
The four little witches behind her also respectively completed their tastings.
Lucy's method was the most brutal... she shoved the entire ball directly into her mouth, biting it open with her back molars, her cheeks bulging like a hamster; the outline of the liquid churning within her oral cavity could be seen on her cheeks. Her mouth also overflowed a bit, but she used her tongue to quickly lick it back, not wasting a single drop.
The twin-tailed little witch's method was the most meticulous... she first used her fingernail to poke a small hole in the rubber shell, then, like drinking jelly, aimed her lips at the small hole, slowly sucking the liquid out from inside. Every mouthful she sucked would emit a tiny slurp... sound; her Adam's apple rolled up and down at an even rhythm.
The other two little witches chose a method similar to Hermione's... biting it open, letting the liquid flood into the mouth, and then slowly savoring it.
An extremely faint, almost imperceptible musky-sweet aura permeated the Great Hall.
That aura mixed with the breakfast smells of bacon, toast, and orange juice lingering in the air, forming an extremely covert, ambiguous undertone that only those present could identify.
Jerry wiped the breadcrumbs from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, pushing the silver plate aside.
Just as Hermione was using her tongue-tip to chase the last bit of residue at the corner of her mouth...
"Jerry...!"
A male voice exploded from the direction of the Great Hall doors.
Hermione's body went stiff.
Her tongue-tip was still paused outside the corner of her mouth.
She was too familiar with that voice.
Draco Malfoy charged in from the doors of the Great Hall with wide strides.
He wore Slytherin's green-trimmed robes, his platinum-blonde hair combed back meticulously, his pointed chin tilted slightly up, his entire person radiating that sense of entitlement unique to scions of noble houses, feeling like he was the main character wherever he went.
His line of sight locked onto Jerry sitting at the end of the long table, and the speed of his footsteps increased a notch. The soles of his leather shoes tapped out an urgent rhythm on the flagstones.
Hermione's tongue-tip retracted into her mouth at the speed of light.
She used the back of her hand to quickly wipe her mouth and chin... that action was rough and hasty, the complete opposite of the exquisite care she had taken to lick it meticulously with her fingertip just now.
Then she looked down and glanced at that slightly transparent wet stain on the silk stocking above her knee, reached out and tugged the lower edge of her skirt, barely covering that spot.
"Go... hurry..."
Hermione squeezed out a sentence to the four little witches behind her, suppressing her voice.
Lucy's cheeks were still bulging... the volume of the ball in her mouth was too large, she hadn't had time to swallow it all.
Her eyes stared perfectly round as she desperately performed swallowing motions while clumsily picking up the cardboard box from the floor.
Glug... glug-glug...
That continuous swallowing sound came urgently from Lucy's throat, like she had chugged a huge mouthful of a thick milkshake in a short time.
The twin-tailed little witch was the fastest... she had already finished swallowing the last mouthful the instant Malfoy spoke up; currently, she was nonchalantly rolling the empty rubber shell into a small ball and stuffing it into her pocket.
Her lips were pressed tightly together, but if one looked closely, they could see a thin, slightly whitish film left over from the thick liquid drying on the inside of her lower lip.
The other two little witches supported each other as they walked toward the door... one of them seemed to have somewhat weak knees, her walking posture carrying a subtle, floating sensation as if having just experienced some intense sensory stimulation.
Hermione was the last to leave.
Carrying that leather suitcase... containing the Adult Series samples... she walked quickly toward the side door.
As she passed by Jerry, her footsteps paused for zero point five seconds.
Her fingers swiped across the desktop.
Remaining on the desktop was a small puddle of milky-white liquid traces that had splashed out when the rubber balls ruptured and had already begun to dry.
The pad of Hermione's finger gently rubbed over that patch of traces, scraping the tiny bit of residual liquid onto the pad of her index finger.
Then she stuffed that finger into the cuff of her robe... looking like she was adjusting her sleeve... but in reality, under the cover of the sleeve, her thumb and index finger were gently kneading that tiny bit of viscous residue, feeling the touch as it gradually dried between her finger pads.
She did not look back at Jerry.
But the tips of her ears were red.
Red all the way to the roots of her hair.
Malfoy didn't notice her at all when she passed by.
His attention was one hundred percent focused on Jerry... accurately speaking, focused on the matter he needed to discuss with Jerry today.
He trotted all the way from the end of the Gryffindor long table to Jerry, didn't even sit on the bench, braced his hands on the desktop; because he had run too urgently, two strands of his platinum-blonde hair had fallen onto his forehead.
The silhouettes of Hermione and the four little witches disappeared through the side door.
The door closed softly behind them.
The sound of that closing door almost blended seamlessly into the quiet of the Great Hall.
Malfoy just leaned on the table, panting heavily twice... he had run all the way up from the Slytherin common room in the dungeons... then raised his head, those gray eyes flashing with a certain complex light somewhere between excitement and anxiety.
Jerry leaned against the backrest of the long bench, placing that emptied silver cup of orange juice onto the desktop.