Jerry hated dinner parties.
Whether it was the hundred-person official Ministry banquets requiring formal wear and bow ties, or the social dinners among pure-blood families where every toast hid three layers of subtext… he hated them all.
Tonight's gathering, however, was of a different nature.
Cassiopeia called it a "private dinner."
Those in attendance were exclusively her close friends, colleagues, and "intimate associates." In other words… they were all women.
The venue was Cassiopeia's private residence in magical London.
Crucially, Isabella was not here.
The building appeared to be a Victorian townhouse on the outside, but its interior had been expanded to at least eight hundred square meters via Undetectable Extension Charms.
The dinner was set in the first-floor banquet hall… a rectangular room with a ceiling nearly five meters high, its walls covered in deep red velvet wallpaper. In each corner stood a silver candelabra as tall as a man, each holding a dozen non-melting magical candles that cast warm, golden patches of light across the velvet.
A long table sat in the center of the room.
The tabletop was draped in a snow-white linen cloth, set with full sterling silver cutlery, crystal goblets, and several opened bottles of elf-made red wine so vintage the labels were barely legible.
Eleven women sat around the table.
Every one of them was around thirty years old.
Every one of them was impeccably and exquisitely dressed.
Every one of them radiated an aura unique to high-society women in the wizarding world—a blend of power, wealth, and confidence.
Jerry sat at one end of the long table.
He was the only male in the room.
He was also the youngest person present.
He wore a tailored dark suit that Cassiopeia had sent to Hogwarts in advance.
His shirt was white, and his collar was open without a tie… Cassiopeia had mentioned that private dinners didn't require such formality.
Over it, he wore a well-fitted black blazer made of a high-grade blend with a subtle luster. His trousers were also black, slim-cut, sharply defining the lines of his long legs.
Among the eleven women, some Jerry recognized… Ministry officials, matriarchs of pure-blood families, and female executives from the magical business circle. Others he did not, but from the way they looked at him, Jerry was certain of one thing… they all knew who he was, they knew his relationship with Cassiopeia, and they knew… exactly what Cassiopeia intended to use him for.
Certain women lingered their gaze on him for far too long.
It wasn't a look of curiosity or idle observation. It was a gaze of… appraisal, marked by clear intent, as if they were scrutinizing a piece of merchandise that was about to become theirs.
Jerry cut a medium-rare steak into small pieces and forked a morsel into his mouth.
The steak was cooked perfectly, charred on the outside and tender on the inside, juices flooding out from between the muscle fibers under the pressure of his teeth.
The seasoning was simple yet precise… sea salt, black pepper, and a hint of rosemary.
As he chewed, he thought back to the conversation in Cassiopeia's office that afternoon.
The Legalization of Basilisk Husbandry.
The core objective of the proposal was simple… to allow wizarding families or institutions holding specific licenses to conduct artificial breeding of Basilisks under supervised conditions.
The goal was to obtain various rare materials from the Basilisk's body… scales, venom, ocular tissue, and spinal fluid… to serve as the primary ingredients for a new type of healing potion.
That potion had been co-developed by Cassiopeia and the Parkinson family.
Jerry had used it himself.
The effects were indeed impressive.
After one dose, necrotic tissue had completely regenerated within six hours.
After a second dose, even the nerve endings had regrown, and the mobility of his left shoulder had recovered to ninety-eight percent of its pre-injury state.
The White Dew potion could not achieve this.
However, the manufacturing cost of the Basilisk potion was…
The cost of a single dose was approximately forty times that of the White Dew potion.
The reason was simple: Basilisks were far too rare.
There were fewer than ten known living Basilisks in the entire wizarding world, and every single one was under strict control.
The annual legal supply of Basilisk spinal fluid required for the potion wasn't even enough to produce a hundred doses.
If Basilisks could be bred legally… the supply would increase… and the cost would naturally drop.
Logically, it made sense.
But what Jerry didn't understand was… why was Cassiopeia pushing for this?
She lacked nothing. Money, power, status, connections… the resources of the Black family were enough for her to navigate any sector of the wizarding world with ease.
There was absolutely no need for her to expend political capital on an "arduous and thankless" potion proposal—to bribe, to lobby, and to battle wits with the hardliners on the Final Review Committee.
Unless what she was considering was far more than what appeared on the surface.
As the current leader of the Death Eaters… that identity itself meant every decision she made carried deeper motives beyond the reach of ordinary people. The legalization of Basilisk husbandry might just be a starting point, a springboard leading toward a grander chess game she had yet to reveal to anyone.
Jerry didn't ask.
And Cassiopeia didn't offer an explanation.
She sat at the other end of the long table… directly opposite Jerry… speaking in hushed tones with a dark-haired witch sitting to her left.
She had changed her outfit; she was no longer in the deep blue official robes from the afternoon, but in a deep purple, skin-tight evening gown.
The fabric was a silk with a faint shimmering effect, shifting its luster in the candlelight with the slightest movement of her body.
The neckline was asymmetrical… her left shoulder was completely bare, while the right was held by a thin spaghetti strap.
Her legs were crossed beneath the tablecloth, occasionally producing the faint sound of silk rubbing against the leather of her chair as she adjusted her posture.
Jerry finished his steak and was about to take a sip from his wine glass when…
"Jerry."
Vivian Rose's voice came from his right.
She was sitting next to him… Jerry suspected this seating arrangement was deliberate on Cassiopeia's part.
Vivian wore a black, form-fitting knee-length dress tonight. The fabric was a high-grade matte material that wrapped her body in a perfect silhouette.
The neckline was circular and modest, but the tightness of the fabric faithfully outlined the shape of her breasts with every breath she took.
On her legs, she wore black silk stockings… the same style as the ones in the office earlier, top-tier hosiery that was so sheer it was almost transparent. She had switched to silver stilettos with heels at least ten centimeters high, stretching the lines of her calves into an incredibly seductive arc even as she sat.
"Care to step out with me for some fresh air?"
Vivian's voice was light, carrying an irrefusable casualness.
She didn't wait for Jerry to answer before standing up from her chair.
Jerry glanced at her.
Vivian's lips were curved, her pale blue eyes holding a meaningful glint that Jerry was beginning to recognize.
He set down his wine glass and rose from his chair.
Vivian led the way.
The heels of her silver stilettos tapped a series of crisp clack-clacks on the marble floor.
Her pace was unhurried, her hips swaying subtly and naturally from side to side under the black dress with every step.
The hem of her skirt rested about eight centimeters above her knees; with every stride, it hiked up slightly, revealing more of her thighs encased in black silk.
She didn't head for the main doors of the banquet hall.
She headed toward a deep red velvet curtain on the side of the hall.
That curtain separated the banquet hall from a small adjacent lounge area… the curtain hung from the ceiling to the floor, thick and heavy, but it was not a wall. It was merely fabric.
Vivian reached out and pulled back a corner of the curtain.
Behind it was a small space of about ten square meters… two single-seat sofas, a small coffee table, and a floor-to-ceiling window leading to the garden.
The curtains were drawn, no lights were on, and the only source of illumination was the candlelight from the banquet hall seeping through the gaps in the velvet.
Vivian stepped inside.
Jerry followed.
The curtain fell back behind him.
The heavy velvet fabric partitioned the two spaces once again… but the separation was incomplete.
There was a gap of about two centimeters between the bottom of the curtain and the floor; the light from the banquet hall bled through, drawing a thin golden line across the ground. More importantly… the sound.
The curtain could block their vision, but it could not fully block out the noise.
The laughter of the women in the banquet hall, their conversation, the clinking of glasses… it all carried through from the other side, softened by about sixty percent by the thick fabric.
Jerry could hear Cassiopeia's voice.
She was telling an amusing story about a Ministry internal audit, her tone relaxed, punctuated by the supportive laughter of the other women.
They were just a wall away.
No… closer than a wall.
Only a piece of fabric separated them.
Jerry was about to say something…
But Vivian's hand was already pressed against his shoulder.
The gesture was not gentle.
It was direct, purposeful, and non-negotiable… her five fingers, nails painted silver, gripped the fabric of his blazer and shoved him backward.
Jerry's back hit the wall.
Thump.
The dull sound echoed in the small room.
Beyond the curtain, the conversation didn't miss a beat.
Vivian pressed her body against his.
She was taller than Jerry.
With those ten-centimeter silver heels, her height approached one hundred and eighty-five centimeters… nearly ten centimeters taller than him.
When she pressed in, Jerry's eyes were level with her collarbones and neck.
Her hand slid from Jerry's shoulder to his waist. Her ten fingers wrapped around his sides, clutching his lower back… five on the left, five on the right, like a pair of pincers.
Then, she jammed her knee between Jerry's legs.
The hard kneecap, wrapped in silk, pressed precisely against Jerry's crotch through the fabric of his suit trousers.
"Vivian…"
"Shh."
She put her index finger in front of her lips, her pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light with the focused, dangerous light of a predator.
"They're right outside."
As she spoke, her lips were curled.
It wasn't a smile… it was an arc born of a mix of sadism and the thrill of risk, bordering on greed.
Her right hand moved from Jerry's lower back to the front… tracing the line of his belt, the contours of his abs, all the way down… and without hesitation, she covered his crotch.
Her palm.
Her entire palm.
She pressed down on that meat-pillar running along his left thigh, which was already thick enough to be suffocating even in a semi-erect state.
Through the fabric, Vivian's fingers followed the outline of the object from its base downward… her fingers traveled a long way… so far that she herself slightly raised an eyebrow.
"…It seems to have gotten bigger again."
Her voice was barely a whisper, meant only for Jerry.
Beyond the curtain, another burst of laughter rang out.
Vivian's fingers gave a squeeze… through the fabric… a force not massive, but extremely deliberate.
Her left hand remained locked onto Jerry's lower back, pinning him between the wall and her own body.
Her right hand began to undo his belt.
The metal buckle gave an extremely faint click.
The zipper was pulled down.
Zzzzt…
The sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet little room.
The instant her fingers touched the real thing, her breathing pattern shifted.
From a steady fourteen breaths per minute, it surged to eighteen.
Not out of nervousness.
But because she remembered how it felt the last time.
That experience…
Vivian swallowed hard.
She yanked Jerry's trousers and underwear down a few inches.
The cock sprang out.
In the dim light, Jerry's shaft was fully exposed to the air.
The skin was dark, covered in engorged veins that looked like twisted vines beneath the surface.
The head was already a deep, bruised red, the edges of the coronal sulcus flaring slightly from the blood pressure.
Pre-cum seeped from the tip, forming a tiny, glistening, transparent bead.
Vivian's right hand wrapped around it.
"Mmh…"
Her fingers tightened. There was a three-degree difference between her palm and the meat-pillar… her hand was cooler… and that temperature gap sent a jolt of stimulation that made Jerry's waist muscles reflexively tighten.
Beyond the curtain, Cassiopeia's voice came through again… this time mocking the fashion sense of a Ministry colleague, drawing even louder laughter.
Vivian ignored the noise.
She released her grip on his cock.
Then she did something Jerry didn't expect.
She bent down… hiked up the hem of her black dress… revealing her long legs encased in black silk… and bunched the fabric into a ball, pinning it against her waist with one hand to keep the dress rolled up.
The silk stockings ran from her ankles to the roots of her thighs.
At the very top, the stockings were held by thin, black lace garters connected to something beneath her dress.
Between the silk and the dress…
She was wearing no panties.
The skin at the root of her thighs was bare above the stocking line, appearing whiter than the rest of her body in the gloom, almost glowing.
Vivian straightened up.
She grabbed Jerry's shoulders with both hands.
And then…
She jumped.
Both legs left the floor simultaneously, knees bending, calves folding back, thighs spreading wide… like a leopard pouncing on its prey. Once airborne, her thighs clamped around Jerry's waist, the silk of her inner thighs pressing against the blazer at his hips, and her ankles locked tightly behind his back.
The silver heels of her stilettos clacked together as she crossed them.
Vivian's entire weight was supported by Jerry.
Jerry's back was pressed even deeper into the wall.
His shoulder blades dug into the cold surface, his spine bearing Vivian's weight… roughly fifty-five kilograms… a weight that meant nothing to a boy who had physically brawled with gods on the frontlines, but the way the pressure was applied rendered him immobile.
Vivian's hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, her ten fingers threading into his black hair and gripping his scalp.
Her face was only five centimeters from his.
Her pale blue eyes were nearly luminous in the dark.
"Don't make a sound."
Her lips were against his ear, her hot breath making his earlobe twitch.
Then she adjusted the angle of her hips.
She lowered herself.
The tip touched her labia at the entrance.
Squish.
An extremely faint, wet sound from the mixture of her fluids and his pre-cum.
"Mmh…"
Vivian let out a highly suppressed moan, little more than a whisper of air.
Her legs tightened around Jerry's waist.
The silk fabric rubbed against Jerry's blazer… rustle, rustle, rustle… a sound so minute, yet deafening in the silence of the room.
Her hips continued to sink.
The meat-pillar pushed inside, centimeter by centimeter, slowly and irresistibly.
The head was entirely submerged.
Then the front of the shaft.
With every inch she took, Vivian's inner walls gave a spasmodic contraction… trying to halt the progress of something so thick… but the contractions were meaningless against Jerry's hardness and the downward pressure of her own body weight.
Vivian's nails dug into Jerry's scalp.
"…Too deep…"
Her voice broke into a gasp.
Beyond the curtain, the crisp sound of glasses clinking drifted in… someone was offering a toast.
"To the smooth passage of Cassiopeia's proposal… Cheers."
A woman's voice.
"Cheers!"
Several voices in unison.
The clink of crystal.
At the exact moment that clink rang out, Vivian's hips completed the final descent.
Her entire body went rigid… as if struck by lightning… her back arched, her head snapped back, her mouth fell open, but she made no sound.
The silver heels of her stilettos dug deep into Jerry's lower back, and the muscles of her silk-wrapped inner thighs contracted in a vice-grip, pinning him in place.
From the outside… her lower abdomen showed a slight protrusion.
It was the outline of the head, poking through from the inside.
Vivian took about five seconds to adapt.
In those five seconds, her breathing was so rapid it bordered on hyperventilation, her chest heaving so much the black fabric of her dress was stretched to its absolute limit.
Sweat seeped from her hairline, tracing from her temples down to her chin.
Then she began to move.
Squish… squish…
The sound of fluids being churned.
The noise was soft… due to the small range of motion… but in the quiet of the small room, it was scalp-tinglingly clear.
Vivian bit her lower lip hard. Her teeth sank into the flesh, leaving a white indentation on her pale pink lipstick.
Beyond the curtain, the women's conversation continued.
"…I heard the Ministry is planning a major personnel reshuffle next month…"
"…Yes, Amelia's department is desperately understaffed…"
"…The pressure on the frontlines is too much, new casualty reports coming in every day…"
Laughter.
Sighs.
The sound of glasses being set back on the table.
Under the cover of those sounds, Vivian's pelvis accelerated its rotation.
The heels of her silver stilettos ground rhythmically against Jerry's lower back in time with her hips… that extremely faint rustling of metal against suit fabric, combined with the wet churning inside her, created a secret, erotic soundscape meant only for the two of them.
The stockings.
Her inner thighs… that layer of sheer, nearly transparent black silk… was pressed tight against the skin and fabric of Jerry's waist.
The silk grew warm from the constant friction, and that heat, added to Jerry's own body temperature, formed a thin, damp film of sweat and warmth between them.
On one rotation, Vivian's left leg slipped slightly… the sole of her silver heel failed to find enough purchase on the blazer fabric at Jerry's back… and her body dropped about another centimeter.
That extra centimeter buried the cock even deeper inside her.
"…!"
Her mouth snapped open wide, but she remained silent… that voiceless scream was more vivid than any shout.
Her fingers clutched his hair, nails leaving shallow red scratches on his scalp.
The curtain moved.
It wasn't someone opening it… it was simply the air current from someone in the hall walking past the curtain, causing the heavy velvet to give a slight sway.
That sway widened the gap at the bottom by a few millimeters.
Through the wider gap, the light from the banquet hall was visible… warm, golden candlelight… along with the blurred shadows of several pairs of high-heeled feet walking in the distance.
Vivian saw the widened gap.
She didn't stop.
She actually sped up.
The amplitude of her hip rotations increased… from small circles only three or four centimeters in diameter to large ones nearly ten centimeters wide.
The meat-pillar churned through a wider range inside her, grinding against more sensitive zones.
Squish… squish, squish…
The wet sounds grew louder.
Vivian covered her own mouth with her right hand.
Five fingers pressed hard against her lips.
Yet extremely faint, smothered moans still leaked through the gaps of her fingers…
"Mmh… mmh… mmh…"
Beyond the curtain, Cassiopeia's voice suddenly became clearer… her tone rose slightly, as if emphasizing a point.
"…By the way, where are Vivian and Jerry?
Did they step out for some air?"
Another woman's voice: "I think they went toward the lounge area."
Cassiopeia: "Mmh.
Leave them be."
That "Leave them be" floated past the curtain and fell into Vivian's ears.
Vivian's lips curled into a smirk beneath her palm.
She knew.
Cassiopeia knew.
They all knew exactly what was happening behind the curtain.
This had been the plan all along.
She was just the first.
Next would be…
Vivian released her mouth and moved her hand to Jerry's chest… through the white shirt… pressing it over his heart.
She could feel his pulse.
Fast and powerful.
He didn't move.
He simply remained there.
The silver stilettos remained locked behind his back.
Her silk-wrapped thighs squeezed his waist tightly.
Beyond the curtain, another round of toasts began.
The banquet hall was finally quiet.
After the sound of the last guest's high heels vanished down the corridor, the magical lock on the front door gave a low click, automatically securing the house.
The mansion's house-elves emerged silently from various corners, beginning to clear the mess of plates and glasses from the long table.
Jerry sat in the single armchair in the lounge area.
The collar of his shirt was soaked through with sweat, his black hair plastered to his forehead.
Though his zipper had been pulled back up, his belt hung loosely, unbuckled.
His meat-pillar was currently in a semi-flaccid state, hanging heavily in his trousers.
Residual bodily fluids remained on the surface... the liquid slowly turning sticky, forming an uncomfortable film against the fabric of his underwear.
The curtain was swept aside.
Cassiopeia walked in.
She held a glass of water... plain water, not wine... and a roll of parchment in her other hand.
She swept her gaze over Jerry.
The amount of information in that single look was immense... from his sweat-slicked forehead and loose belt to the darkening wet patch at his crotch caused by mixed fluids.
She completed her scan and assessment in half a second.
She made no comment.
She set the water glass down on the coffee table.
Then she did something that caught Jerry slightly by surprise...
She squatted down.
Not sitting.
Squatting.
The hem of her deep purple evening gown spread out across the carpet as she descended, forming a dark pool of high-grade silk with a shimmering finish.
Her knees were pressed together, her left hand braced on Jerry's thigh for balance.
Her right hand reached without hesitation for the waistband of his trousers.
"Don't move."
Her voice was not loud, her tone as flat as if she were saying "pass the salt."
Her fingers unbuckled his loose belt, pulled down the zipper, and pushed the waistband aside.
His underwear was also yanked to one side... the movement was crisp and decisive, devoid of any unnecessary teasing or suggestion.
Jerry's semi-flaccid meat-pillar was exposed to the air.
Even in a semi-soft state, its volume was staggering... exceeding twenty centimeters from base to tip.
The diameter at its thickest point was still nearly five centimeters.
The surface of the shaft was covered in a sticky film of mixed fluids and Jerry's own sweat, which was beginning to dry.
The color at the head was gradually fading from a dark red back to a deep pink, white deposits lingering in the folds of the coronal sulcus.
Cassiopeia looked down at it.
The corner of her mouth twitched... whether out of disgust or something else, it was unclear.
Then she opened her mouth.
Her tongue slid out.
That purplish-red, thirty-centimeter-long, bifurcated serpentine tongue extended slowly from her lips.
It glinted with a moist sheen of saliva under the dim lights.
The surface of the tongue was currently secreting something else...
An extremely thin layer of faintly glowing, pale-golden mucus.
This mucus was not ordinary saliva.
It was thicker, less transparent, and presented a warm golden hue like diluted honey under the light.
This was a special secretion Cassiopeia had gained from her Basilisk bloodline modification... a weakened version of Basilisk venom glands.
It lacked the lethality of true venom but retained beneficial bioactive components.
The tip of the tongue touched Jerry's meat-pillar.
Starting from the head.
The two bifurcated tips slid downward simultaneously from both sides of the glans.
The left tip followed the vascular groove on the left; the right tip followed the symmetrical path on the right.
The two slippery, flexible fleshy tentacles advanced in opposite spirals toward the base of the shaft.
Slurp... squish...
The mucus on the tongue mixed with the residual fluids on his skin, producing an extremely wet, sticky friction sound.
Cassiopeia's tongue wasn't just licking... she was cleaning.
Everywhere the tips passed, the residual bodily fluids and dried sweat were scraped away with the precision of a blade.
They were wrapped into the golden mucus on her tongue and brought back into her oral cavity as the tongue retracted.
Her throat moved.
She swallowed.
Then the tongue extended again to clean the next section.
Simultaneously...
The golden mucus triggered a subtle reaction upon contact with Jerry's skin.
Jerry could feel it... on every inch of skin the tongue touched, a thin film of golden mucus remained.
Three to five seconds after contact, it began to permeate.
Not a physical "seeping"... but a process closer to magical osmosis.
The golden mucus seemed to be actively absorbed by the pores, producing a faint, warm prickling sensation at the contact surface.
The sting lasted less than a second before turning into a warm current.
The current seeped into the subcutaneous tissue and diffused through his entire body via the vascular network.
Jerry's breathing steadied instantly.
He could feel it... a recovery process starting from the microscopic level, working from the inside out.
Lactic acid was being broken down, tiny tears in muscle fibers were being repaired, and fatigue signals in nerve endings were being suppressed.
Even his arms, which had been stiff and aching from holding Vivian up for so long, relaxed rapidly as the warm current arrived.
The recovery was visible to the naked eye.
Jerry's slightly pale complexion regained a healthy color within seconds.
The exhaustion in his eyes... that gloom similar to staying up all night... faded perceptibly.
It was replaced by a clear, energetic radiance.
His shoulders straightened from their slumped posture, and his lean against the chair turned from a "collapse" to a "brace."
Cassiopeia's tongue had finished cleaning the shaft.
The two bifurcated tips now returned to the head...
They coiled around the coronal sulcus from both sides like miniature pincers.
They slid slowly along the circular track of the sulcus, scraping out every trace of white sediment from the depths of the folds.
Squish.
A tiny, wet sound of mucus and residue being squeezed in a narrow space.
Cassiopeia's throat moved again.
She swallowed what was in her mouth.
Her tongue continued its work.
At the same time, she began to speak.
Her tongue was still wrapped around Jerry's tip... but she was used to this "speaking while working" mode.
Her pronunciation relied on her throat and nasal cavity; certain consonants were blurred, but the overall clarity remained high.
"Do you think I'm busy running around just to earn myself a few Galleons?"
Her right hand picked up the parchment from the coffee table and held it in front of Jerry.
Jerry looked down.
The top of the parchment bore a standard Gringotts heading... "Certificate of Asset Equity Transfer."
The text below was densely packed with legal clauses in flowery script, with key data highlighted in red ink.
He spotted several keywords...
"Basilisk Breeding Franchise... Parkinson-Black Consortium... Profit Distribution Ratio... Rozier Family... 35%..."
Cassiopeia's tongue tip circled the edge of the head, scraping away the last of the residue.
She brought the two bifurcated ends together like a fine brush.
She performed one last complete sweep from the tip down the center line of the shaft.
The golden mucus left a shimmering trail in the wake of her tongue.
The trail was completely absorbed by Jerry's skin within three seconds.
Another warm current surged into his body.
Jerry's meat-pillar throbbed slightly under the stimulation...
It began to slowly re-engorge from its semi-flaccid state.
Cassiopeia noticed the change.
She did not retract her tongue.
Instead, she kept it in place, the two bifurcated tips pressed against the thickest veins on either side of the shaft.
She felt the rhythmic pulse of blood surging back into the corpus cavernosum.
"35% permanent equity."
Her voice came from deep in her throat, possessing a unique texture of nasal and airy tones.
"From the first day the Basilisk franchise turns a profit, the Rozier family... meaning you and Isabella... will receive 35% of the total profit every year.
No upper limit.
No expiration date."
Her tongue tightened a circle around the shaft... not for cleaning this time, but a slow, stimulating constriction.
Then she loosened it.
"The Parkinson family takes 40%. I personally take 25%. This is distributed after operating costs and taxes are deducted."
Jerry held the parchment, his eyes scanning the numbers.
His brain, invigorated by the physical recovery, began to race...
If Basilisk breeding was legalized, based on the demand for derivative materials, the first year's revenue could exceed five million Galleons.
35%... that was one million seven hundred and fifty thousand.
A massive sum of money.
But not enough to make a woman like Cassiopeia... a woman who lacked nothing... go to such lengths.
Cassiopeia's tongue loosened from the shaft.
The bifurcated tips pressed together, moving slowly up the center line from the base.
They paused at the coronal sulcus, scraping the circular groove twice to coat it in the last of the golden mucus.
Then they moved higher, passing the very top of the head.
The tips stopped at the urethral opening.
The two bifurcated ends acted like tweezers, gently pinching the edges of the opening.
She performed an extremely subtle outward flaring motion...
Stretching the opening just a tiny bit...
Allowing the golden mucus to permeate the shallowest layer of the mucous membrane inside the urethra.
Jerry's waist muscles tensed.
The sensation... was not pain... but an incredibly sharp, scalp-tingling pleasure from the direct stimulation of the nerve endings in the urethra.
"Mmh..."
A very short grunt escaped Jerry's nose.
Cassiopeia's tongue tips lingered in the opening for about two seconds before withdrawing.
She lifted her eyes.
Her deep brown, sharp gaze looked up at Jerry... the angle made her facial contours appear even more severe, her cheekbones like they were carved by a knife.
"You think I'm running around, lobbying, bribing, making political deals... just for this little dividend?"
She rolled her eyes.
The gesture carried a sense of an elder's exasperation mixed with indulgence toward a junior...
It formed an absurd contrast with her posture—kneeling between his legs, her tongue having just pulled out of his urethra.
"I'm doing this for your sake."
Her tongue extended again, returning to the shaft.
This wasn't for cleaning... the shaft was already spotless... but a rhythmic, targeted licking for stimulation.
The tongue slid up from the base... the rough texture of the tongue pressing into every fold and vein... all the way to the tip, then reversing back down.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
At the end of every upward stroke, the bifurcated tips would separate at the coronal sulcus.
They would each travel half a circle around the groove, meet at the back of the shaft, and slide down together.
Squish... squish...
The golden mucus was repeatedly pressed and smeared between her tongue and his meat.
It produced a wet, slightly tacky friction sound.
Jerry's meat-pillar fully recovered its erection under the continuous stimulation...
Swelling from a semi-soft twenty centimeters back to thirty.
The diameter thickened from five centimeters to nearly eight.
The surface of the engorged shaft became more uneven as the vessels dilated.
Those bulging veins produced an extra, granular sensation of friction against Cassiopeia's tongue.
Cassiopeia's mouth was now only three centimeters from the tip.
As she spoke, her hot breath blasted directly against the wet surface of the glans.
It caused the golden mucus to evaporate slightly... a fine mist of moisture rising from the surface into the dim light.
"Amassing more family wealth for you and Isabella... that is one part of it."
Her tongue picked up speed.
The frequency of the up-and-down strokes accelerated from one every three seconds to one every two seconds.
The golden mucus was churned into a fine foam by the high-speed friction, coating the shaft in a sparkling golden shimmer.
"But the main reason..."
Her tongue stopped abruptly as it reached the tip.
The bifurcated tips spread wide, enveloping the entire glans from both sides...
Like two palms cupping a massive fruit...
Then they tightened simultaneously, wrapping the head in a warm, wet bundle of tongue-flesh.
"...is to sustain the Death Eaters."
The tone of her voice changed when she said "Death Eaters."
It was no longer the soft "for your sake" of a family member... it was the cold, hard rationality of an organizational leader assessing assets and liabilities.
Her tongue began to rotate while still enveloping the tip...
Not an up-and-down motion, but a spiral constriction centered on the glans.
The two tips drew circles on the surface in opposite directions at the same speed.
They ground repeatedly between the coronal sulcus and the urethral opening.
Squish... squish...
The sound of mucus being churned inside the sealed wrap of her tongue.
"Those guys... every single one of them is an unstable element."
Cassiopeia's voice came through her nose and throat, muffled by her occupied tongue... but the meaning remained clear.
"Do you think it's easy for me to be the leader?
Someone is making trouble every single day.
One wants a duel with another today, the next thinks the loot wasn't split fairly and wants to rebel tomorrow, and the day after, a few idiots get drunk and go cause destruction in a Muggle area... handling these messes is enough to drive me to drink."
Her tongue released the tip...
As the tips snapped away, a strand of golden mucus pulled into a shimmering thread before snapping with a pop.
The tongue returned to the shaft, resuming the up-and-down strokes.
Even faster now.
One round trip per second.
Squish-squish-squish...
The continuous, dense, sticky friction created an uninterrupted background of wet sound in the quiet room.
"I've tried many ways. Intimidation, bribery, discipline, internal purges... I've tried them all.
Useful, but not enough.
Those bastards are madmen to the core. If you don't give them a large enough space to run wild, they'll do it on your doorstep."
Her tongue lingered an extra second at the base.
The tips circled the skin fold at the junction of the base and the scrotum, cleaning away sweat and residue before heading back up.
"So, I need to buy a world."
Her tongue stopped again at the tip, the bifurcated ends pressed together against the glans with light pressure... not to enter, just a suggestive press.
"A world large enough.
To lock them all inside."
She shifted her gaze from his meat-pillar up to Jerry's face.
In her deep brown eyes flashed the cold calculation of a strategist.
"To keep them behaved... the world cannot be too small.
If it's too small, they'll feel like it's a prison, which would only aggravate the conflict.
It has to be huge.
Large enough for them to carve out territories, build manors, and perform their messy pure-blood rituals.
It has to have resources.
Minerals, forests, waters... things for them to fight over, steal, and trade.
With enough internal entanglement, they'll stop looking outward and focus on their own little plots of land."
Her tongue moved from the tip back to the shaft, continuing its tireless strokes.
"A world like that... in the Ministry's upcoming auction... will conservatively cost at least three million Galleons."
Her voice paused slightly at the figure.
"Three million.
If the Basilisk profits develop as I expect, it will take about three years to accumulate that sum, added to the investments from the other families..."
Her tongue accelerated to a new speed...
Two round trips per second.
Squish-squish-squish-squish-squish...
The friction became a near-constant, uninterrupted wet roar.
Jerry's abdominal muscles began to contract involuntarily.
The frequency of the contractions synchronized with her tongue...
Every time the tongue reached the tip, his abs would tighten; every time it hit the base, they would relax.
His breathing became rapid and shallow.
Cassiopeia felt the change in the meat-pillar...
The surface vessels were more engorged than ever, the hardness increased, and the tip had turned nearly purple.
The fluid seeping from the tip changed from thin pre-cum to a thicker, slightly milky mucus.
She knew he was close.
Her tongue made one final adjustment...
The bifurcated tips snapped away from the shaft, each circling half the glans to cross at the back.
Starting from the junction, they coiled tightly around the entire head and coronal sulcus in opposite spirals.
The tightness of the wrap was stronger than ever before...
The two tips were like two tightening ropes, constricting the head to a critical state between pleasure and slight pain.
"Mmh...!"
Jerry's fingers clamped violently onto the armrests.
Here it came.
The sensation began at the prostate... a powerful, uncontrollable contraction surging forward... through the urethra... rushing toward the tip...
Cassiopeia's tongue released the tip in that instant.
Her mouth opened wide.
Her entire oral cavity aimed directly at the front of the glans.
As the first burst of fluid erupted, Cassiopeia's lips closed around the very front of the tip...
She didn't take the whole thing in; she only engulfed the frontmost two centimeters, sealing the tip completely within her mouth.
Thump... thump-thump... thump...
The sound of the fluid spraying against the inner walls of her mouth was extremely muffled...
Compressed to a minimum by the seal of her lips.
Jerry's waist thrust upward three times involuntarily during the process.
Each thrust corresponded to a jet of fluid... the first was the largest in volume and force, hitting Cassiopeia's palate directly.
The second was weaker, sliding down her tongue to the base; the third was the weakest, merely seeping out to be caught by her lips.
Cassiopeia's throat moved.
Glug.
The first swallow.
The thick, milky fluid gathered from the three bursts was sent down her esophagus into her stomach.
Then her tongue came out.
It poked out from the junction of her lips and the tip...
The bifurcated tips swept slowly across the surface of the glans...
Licking back every drop of the white liquid that had leaked from the seal of her lips.
Her tongue circled the head twice.
Every rotation took away residual fluids...
The mixture of golden mucus and milky fluid presented a bizarre, semi-transparent pale gold luster.
It hung at the fork of her tongue before being brought back into her mouth as she retracted.
Glug.
The second swallow.
Clean.
The surface of the glans was licked spotless by her tongue.
Cassiopeia retracted her tongue completely.
She closed her lips.
Her tongue performed one last sweep inside her mouth...
Gathering the final traces of fluid from the inner walls of her lips and the gaps in her teeth... before returning to its place.
She stood up from between Jerry's legs.
The movement was as elegant as ever...
Bracing her hands on Jerry's thighs for leverage, her hips rose first, then her knees straightened, and finally her spine.
The hem of her deep purple gown fell naturally back to its normal length as she rose.
She reached for the glass of water on the table and took a sip.
She swished it in her mouth.
She swallowed.
Then she set the glass back down.
The entire process... from squatting to standing... had taken about fifteen minutes.
Jerry leaned back against the sofa, his breathing completely calm.
The recovery effect of the golden mucus was remarkable...
If it weren't for the fact that he had just finished, he would have felt even more energetic than when he woke up this morning.
Cassiopeia straightened the collar of her gown and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand...
The action was casual, like she had just finished a cup of tea.
She looked down at Jerry in the sofa.
"Finished reading?"
She gestured with her chin toward the equity certificate in Jerry's hand.
"35%.
Permanent.
That is for you and Isabella."
Her voice had returned to normal... no longer muffled as it was when her tongue was out.
It was clear, low, and carried an unquestionable authority.
"Basilisk breeding is just the first step.
Once the business is stable and profits are sufficient, I will buy a world. A world large enough and complex enough.
Then I will pack up all those Death Eaters and throw them inside."
The corner of her mouth quirked... a tiny arc... bearing the cold satisfaction of a ruler in total control.
"Let them run wild in there by themselves.
As long as they don't come out to cause trouble... I don't care what they do in that world."
She shifted her gaze from Jerry to the window.
The curtains were drawn, but through a gap, one could see the faint starlight in the London sky, polluted to an orange-red by the city lights.
"This is my responsibility as leader.
And my responsibility as your mother-in-law."
She looked back at Jerry one last time.
The look in her eyes was complex... an elder's expectation, a ruler's scrutiny of a pawn, and a woman's subtle emotion toward a man—one she wouldn't admit, hovering between utility and reliance.
"Sign it."
She tapped the last line of the equity certificate with her index finger.
"Then get back to school.
You have classes tomorrow."