"This is not fair!"

Jerry clutched his butt, his youthful face flushed red with pain and indignation. He stumbled up from the floor. His spear, having just been ravaged in turn by McGonagall and Cassiopeia, appeared somewhat flaccid at this moment, yet still thick and conspicuous, bearing traces of body fluids, swaying weakly and exposed to the air.

"Not fair?"

Professor McGonagall didn’t look back at Jerry’s indignant face. Instead, she pulled a delicate magical makeup mirror and a lady’s wand from her Undetectable Extension charm bag.

The mirror floated in mid-air, reflecting her face, which was slightly puffy and pale from desire and shame. Her slender fingertips dipped into the faint light shimmering at the tip of the wand, gently dabbing it onto her eyelids and lips.

The movement was so elegant it seemed as if she were in a luxurious drawing room, forming an extremely ironic contrast with her lower body, which was still in a state of near incontinence.

Splash... Squelch-squelch...

The sticky white paste, mixed with her own copious secretions, was flowing continuously down her originally long and tight inner thighs like an untended waterfall, gathering into a small, steaming puddle on the cold floor.

McGonagall’s wizard’s robe—the old robe bearing all her humiliation—was completely soaked through by this fluid, clinging stickily to her skin. Whenever she shivered slightly from applying her lipstick, the sticky sound of the rubbing grew clearer.

Rrip!

Professor McGonagall’s movements suddenly turned rough.

She grabbed the long wizard’s robe on her body, whose original color was already indistinguishable, and with a destructive anger, starting from the shoulder, tore the filth-covered, sticky fabric right open!

The rags fell to the floor, making a sticky slapping sound soaked in fluid.

Just as Professor McGonagall was almost frantically tearing at her clothes, Cassiopeia turned around elegantly. Her slender fingertip gave a gentle flick, and with a soft click, the dilapidated door of the restroom automatically closed under the influence of magic. It completely blocked out all noise and prying eyes from the outside world, turning this messy space into a truly secret nest belonging only to the three of them.

Cassiopeia’s gaze swept casually over McGonagall’s nearly half-naked, wretched body. There was no sympathy in her snake eyes; even a trace of mockery seemed superfluous.

Like the most professional model, she took her stance in the remaining, relatively clean corner.

Her long fingers elegantly pulled out her Undetectable Extension charm bag. Inside the bag was a brand-new, well-tailored wizard’s robe in dark green, its material far more luxurious than her previous attire.

The color of this robe matched the venomous bloodline flowing in her veins and her deep, viper-like eyes exceptionally well.

Cassiopeia showed no hesitation and no scruples.

Under the gazes of Jerry and Professor McGonagall, her old robe—stained with Jerry’s body fluids and heavily mottled—slid off her gently like shedding skin, revealing her extremely alluring body tightly wrapped in black silk.

Those long legs, looming in the torn high slits, were now completely exposed to the air. Beneath the black stockings, her skin was fair and tight, yet also dotted with semen stains; some had dried, while others still emitted a moist scent.

Cassiopeia’s full and firm, yet curvy buttocks were tightly wrapped by the black silk, propped up high.

When she took the new robe from the Undetectable Extension charm bag, her fair shoulder blades and heaving back glowed with a sensual shimmer under the dim light of the restroom.

Cassiopeia’s snake-shaped high heels stepped clack-clack on the old and new clothes, making heart-pounding sounds, seemingly declaring an ultimate insolence and disregard.

As the new robe wrapped around her exquisite body like flowing water, Cassiopeia’s hair, slightly messy from the desire and combat earlier, instantly regained its arrogant arc.

Those narrow snake eyes, carrying the look of a hunter evaluating prey, swept casually over Professor McGonagall, who was still on the verge of collapse, and a slightly malicious arc curled at the corner of her mouth.

"Tsk tsk..."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from her lips and teeth involuntarily. Like a cold snake’s tongue, it quivered a few times in the air, greedily "tasting" the rich and ambiguous scent in the restroom. That unique fragrance flowing from McGonagall’s flower core, mixed with Jerry’s masculine scent, was incredibly tempting to her.

Her forked snake tongue, even twining with residual drool, gently and extremely sensually licked her own full, plump red lips.

"Minerva, I felt something was wrong a long time ago."

Cassiopeia’s voice carried a hint of playfulness. Her gaze roamed without hesitation over McGonagall’s curvy body, which appeared fragile due to its wretchedness. Especially beneath her torn wizard’s robe, Professor McGonagall’s voluptuous curves unique to a mature woman were now faintly displayed, carrying a suppressed maturity and temptation.

The narrow snake eyes, like a radar, accurately caught Professor McGonagall’s lower body, which was still flowing with white sticky liquid with a splash-splash sound.

Her gaze lingered there, carrying a judgmental scrutiny, as if estimating something, or enjoying something.

"I didn’t expect you, brat, to have such terrifying guts!"

Cassiopeia looked at Jerry. Her words carried a hint of appreciation for young male vigor, rather than true scolding. Her forked snake tongue quivered playfully in the air again, as if simulating some image. "But, tsk tsk, Minerva, I didn’t expect that you could actually play along with him!"

The corner of Professor McGonagall’s mouth rose slightly. That arc was cold and sharp, like her usual expression when reprimanding failing students in class.

She didn’t look at Cassiopeia. Instead, facing the makeup mirror floating in mid-air, she used the tip of her wand to dab a bit of pale pink concealer, accurately dotting it on the dark circles under her eyes, puffy from indulging in desire.

"How do you have the nerve to say that?"

McGonagall’s tone was calm to the point of cruelty, as if the absurd oral sex feast just now had nothing to do with her.

Her fingertips were unbelievably steady, repairing her desire-destroyed makeup stroke by stroke. That composure formed a near-sickly dissonance with the wretchedness of her lower body, which was still dripping white sticky liquid with squelch-squelch sounds.

"Just now, if I hadn’t helped you, you would have lost."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue paused abruptly in the air.

Those dark green snake eyes slowly shifted from Professor McGonagall’s lower body, landing instead on her profile, which had regained some of its arrogance.

After a two-second silence, the corners of Cassiopeia’s lips also curled up. The arc was deeper and more dangerous than McGonagall’s.

"Oh? Helped me?"

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from between her teeth, quivering frivolously in the air twice. "You call that helping? I thought you just wanted to take the opportunity to grope his ass, Minerva."

The hand Professor McGonagall was using to apply concealer paused for half a beat, then continued as if nothing had happened.

Jerry sat on the floor, clutching his butt, his head whipping back and forth between the two women like watching a tennis match.

Cassiopeia moved first.

She pulled a brand-new pair of black lace panties from her Undetectable Extension charm bag. The fabric was so thin it was almost transparent, glowing with a satin-like shimmer under the dim light of the restroom.

Cassiopeia dangled the panties with one hand, supporting herself on the edge of the sink with the other. Lifting one leg and pointing her toe, she kicked off the old panties, stained with semen and sweat, from her ankle.

The movement was as smooth as a snake shedding its skin. The old fabric, carrying a sticky thread, fell silently onto the shattered tiles.

Cassiopeia’s long legs, wrapped in black silk, were now completely exposed to Jerry’s sight.

The skin at the root of her thighs was so fair it was almost transparent, with a few red marks still remaining from the violent twisting earlier.

Cassiopeia unconcernedly slipped one foot into the leg hole of the new panties. The high heel at her ankle made a crisp clack sound, and then, slowly, with a deliberate, provocative unhurriedness, she pulled the lace panties up inch by inch along her calf, knee, and thigh.

"Hiss!"

The snake tongue quivered in the air. Cassiopeia’s gaze crossed over her shoulder, accurately catching Jerry’s green eyes staring dead at the root of her thighs. The arc of her mouth deepened a fraction.

Professor McGonagall caught this scene from the corner of her eye.

She didn’t speak; she simply pushed the makeup mirror gently, making it float to a higher position.

Then, she also took out spare clothes from her Undetectable Extension charm bag.

Unlike Cassiopeia’s highly provocative lace, what Professor McGonagall took out was a pair of cleanly tailored black silk briefs—simple, capable, yet carrying a silent sexiness unique to mature women because of the luster of the silk fabric.

Cassiopeia stood up. Those long legs trembled slightly from the overuse just now, but her back was perfectly straight.

She completely stripped the torn old robe from her body, revealing her figure unique to a mature woman in her thirties—a slender waist that didn’t lack a sense of power, full and firm buttocks, and the curve of her chest, having lost its restraint, carrying a natural fullness.

Her skin was warmer and smoother than Cassiopeia’s, carrying the delicate texture settled by the years; there was even a tiny mole on the side of her waist, looming under the light.

McGonagall bent over, pulling the panties up from her ankles.

Her movements were much faster and crisper than Cassiopeia’s, without any superfluous pauses or display.

However, the moment she pulled the panties past the root of her thighs!

Squelch!

A spurt of white sticky liquid surged fiercely from her flower core, which still couldn’t close completely, directly soaking through the brand-new black silk panties!

The liquid, carrying the scorching heat of her body temperature, instantly spread a dark water stain on the black silk fabric, even sliding downward again along her inner thighs.

Professor McGonagall’s movements froze.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue quivered rapidly in the air twice; a flash of undisguised schadenfreude crossed those snake eyes.

"Minerva... it’s still flowing!"

Professor McGonagall’s face instantly flushed red. She forcefully yanked the panties up, her teeth grinding loudly.

She felt the brand-new panties clinging tightly to her red, swollen, outward-turned petals. The silk fabric, soaked by the sticky liquid, became icy and viscous; every fiber rubbed against her overstimulated, sensitive skin, bringing waves of scalp-numbing, itchy numbness.

She cursed viciously in her heart—It won’t even close, this damn brat!

Professor McGonagall pulled a brand-new pair of black stockings from her Undetectable Extension charm bag, sat on the edge of the sink, and started rolling the stockings up bit by bit from her toes.

Her movements were focused and serious, as if this were the most important thing in the world.

The fabric of the stockings clung to the skin of her calves, which were slightly hot from desire, making a faint rustle sound. As the stockings were pulled past her knees and climbed up her thighs, the black semi-transparent material outlined the extremely alluring lines of her fair, full thighs.

Cassiopeia was also putting on stockings. But her method was completely different—she propped one leg high on the sink, the posture flamboyant and unbridled. The black silk extended upward from her toes along the perfect, sculpture-like curve of her calf. Her movements were extremely slow; every inch pulled higher was accompanied by a light quiver of her snake tongue in the air, as if using this method to declare to everyone present her absolute confidence in her body.

"Speaking of which!" Cassiopeia said casually as she fastened the edge of the stocking to the garter clip at the root of her thigh. "Brat, it seems to be... much bigger than last time."

Her snake eyes glanced at Jerry’s meat-root, which was still exposed to the air, semi-soft yet still shockingly thick. Her tongue-tip unconsciously licked the corner of her lips.

Professor McGonagall pulled the final section of the stocking to the root of her thigh, fastened the garter, and stood up.

She took out a well-tailored dark green wizard’s robe from the Undetectable Extension charm bag, draped it over her shoulders, and buttoned it one by one.

With every button fastened, the skin exposed due to her wretchedness was reduced a fraction, and the majesty and dignity belonging to the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts returned a fraction.

"Big?" Professor McGonagall fastened the last button at the collar, her tone as indifferent as if discussing today’s weather. "What’s the use of being big if he can’t even last three minutes."

Jerry rolled his eyes.

Cassiopeia let out a low laugh; the laughter carried the hissing sound unique to snakes, echoing in the narrow restroom.

She also put on the new robe, adjusting the folds at the collar, but the amusement in her snake eyes grew even thicker.

She turned sideways, checking her makeup against the remaining mirror shards above the sink. Her forked snake tongue popped from her lips and teeth, gently licking across her lower lip, wiping away a residual trace of white.

"Three minutes?" Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow, her gaze falling again on Professor McGonagall’s lower half, which was already tightly wrapped by the robe. "Minerva, the volume flowing out of you doesn’t look like something that could be accumulated in three minutes."

Jerry had originally been leaning casually against the base of the left wall of the restroom, one leg propped up, the other stretched out long. That meat-root, though semi-soft, remained terrifyingly thick, lying completely uncovered on his lower abdomen.

His right hand carelessly gripped the shaft, his thumb tracing circles lazily on the sensitive coronal ridge just below the tip. As the pad of his finger rolled over, the residual white body fluid mixed with Cassiopeia’s saliva made a faint squish sound.

Jerry had a look of watching a show to begin with, his green eyes half-squinted, the corner of his mouth hanging with that punchable smile unique to him, sweeping back and forth between the two women.

Then Cassiopeia’s words fell.

"The volume flowing out of you doesn’t look like something that could be accumulated in three minutes."

The fingers Professor McGonagall was using to button her robe stiffened for a second.

Jerry’s hand also stopped.

He tilted his head, the smile in his green eyes suddenly deepening, carrying a seasoned quality completely mismatched with his eleven years of age.

He released the meat-root, using both hands to support himself on the floor and stand up. The heavy meat-pillar, losing the support of his palm, slapped against the root of his thigh with a thwack, splashing a few drops of residual white liquid.

"Madam Cassiopeia."

Jerry’s voice was crisp, yet his tone carried a deliberate respectfulness, like a young gentleman bowing to a noblewoman in a salon.

"If you have something to say, please say it straight. I did lose just now, didn’t I?"

He spread his hands, as frank as admitting he got an arithmetic problem wrong.

Cassiopeia’s hand, adjusting her collar, paused.

Her snake tongue slowly extended from between her teeth, quivered twice in the air, and then retracted. Those dark green snake eyes, refracting from the mirror shards, landed on Jerry, carrying a lazy scrutiny of someone being amused.

"Oh?"

Just this one syllable.

Then she turned around.

She hadn’t put on her high heels.

Those feet, tightly wrapped in brand-new black silk, stepped barefoot on the cold, shattered tiles. Her toes curled slightly due to the restraint of the stockings, outlining exquisite curves.

Just like that, barefoot, one step, two steps, she walked in front of Jerry.

The downward-looking angle made her snake eyes appear even more condescending; the forked tongue-tip flashed past the corner of her lips.

Then, she lifted her right foot.

The sole, wrapped in black silk, carrying the slight heat of body temperature and the unique slippery touch of the stocking fabric, gently landed on Jerry’s meat-pillar lying across the root of his thigh.

Sizzle!

The moment the stocking contacted the residual sticky fluid on the surface of the meat-pillar, it made an extremely faint wet friction sound.

Cassiopeia’s foot was not large, even elegant; her five toes, through the semi-transparent fabric of the black silk, faintly revealed pinkish-white nails.

However, the thickness of Jerry’s meat-pillar meant her entire sole couldn’t completely wrap around the shaft; she could only use the hollow of her arch to barely clamp that scalding meat-root.

She stepped down.

Not a crushing motion, but a slow grinding carrying a sense of control. Her sole started from the tip, sliding downward along the shaft. The fibers of the black silk, lubricated by the sticky fluid, made a rustle-rustle sound. Every time it passed a bulging vein, Cassiopeia’s toes would curl slightly, as if measuring every inch of this meat-pillar.

"The Young Master of the Rosier family still has taste."

Cassiopeia’s voice was low and lazy. When her sole ground to the base of the shaft, she pressed down hard, pinning the thick meat-root deathly tight against Jerry’s lower abdomen. The stocking fabric was stretched almost transparent; the shape of the meat-pillar and the texture of the veins were clearly visible through the black silk.

Squish.

The sound of sticky fluid being squeezed out.

Jerry didn’t dodge.

He didn’t even frown. His green eyes looked straight at Cassiopeia, the arc at the corner of his mouth increasing instead of decreasing.

His right hand reached out just as naturally, his five fingers landing on the leg Cassiopeia was using to step on his meat-root—specifically, the calf of her leg.

The moment his fingertips touched the black silk, Jerry’s palm began to roam upward.

His hand wasn’t large, the knuckles distinct, carrying a boniness unique to young men, yet it displayed a maturity unbefitting his age when touching a woman’s skin. The pad of his fingers traced the texture of the stocking, sliding from the calf over the back of the knee—Cassiopeia’s knee quivered slightly—and then continued upward, climbing inch by inch along the smooth curve of her outer thigh.

"I happen to have a piece of business as well!" Jerry’s voice carried a smile, his palm already sliding to the middle of Cassiopeia’s thigh, his fingertips sinking into the firm and elastic flesh wrapped in the stocking. "I’d like to discuss it with Madam Cassiopeia."

Cassiopeia’s sole paused for a beat on his meat-root.

Then, her toes curled, forcefully clamping the most sensitive trench just below the tip, and carrying the rough fibers of the stocking, gave it a fierce grind.

"Discuss business?" The snake tongue popped out. "You certainly know how to pick your moments."

Her sole began to accelerate.

No longer the lazy grinding from before, but a rhythm of stroking up and down carrying clear purpose. The arch wrapped in black silk fitted tightly against the shaft of the meat-pillar, sliding from root to tip, then pressing back from tip to root. Every slide was accompanied by a sticky squish-squish water sound; the residual body fluid and saliva were churned into bubbles by her sole, forming a layer of white foam on the surface of the meat-pillar.

Jerry’s breathing became noticeably heavier, but his hand didn’t stop.

His five fingers had already slid to Cassiopeia’s inner thigh; the skin there, even through the stocking, felt hotter than the rest of her body.

His thumb traced circles on the tender flesh at the root of her thigh; every time the pad of his finger rolled over a spot, the toes Cassiopeia had stepping on his meat-root would involuntarily curl tighter a fraction.

Professor McGonagall stood three paces away.

She had put on a full set of clothes, the robe buttoned to the last button, her hair re-bunned with her wand, restoring that dignified look of the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

The rustle of the stocking rubbing against the meat-pillar, mixed with the squish of the sticky fluid being ground, was infinitely amplified in this narrow space.

Professor McGonagall’s thighs clamped together involuntarily.

That brand-new pair of black silk panties was currently soaked through by the sticky fluid still seeping from her flower core. The icy silk fabric clung tightly to her red, swollen, outward-turned petals that couldn’t close at all; every tiny vibration brought by her breathing made that slippery fabric rub against her sensitive spot, creating a scalp-numbing sensation.

Squish... squish-squish...

Cassiopeia’s sole accelerated; Jerry’s meat-root engorged with blood and expanded again under her grinding. The veins bulged one by one, stretching the black silk even more transparent.

Her toes flexibly hooked the tip, repeatedly scraping the thin layer of foreskin, which was rubbed red, with the fibers of the stocking.

Jerry’s palm completely covered the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh, his fingertips nearly touching the edge of those brand-new lace panties.

"So!"

Jerry’s voice carried a hoarseness trembling slightly from pleasure. "Is Madam interested in hearing it?"

Cassiopeia looked down at him, her snake eyes half-squinted, her sole suddenly stepping down hard.

Using the softest hollow of her arch, she pressed the swollen tip deathly tight against his lower abdomen through the black silk.

The stocking fibers became semi-transparent after being soaked by pre-cum; the silhouette and color of the tip printed out clearly through the fabric, like a ripe fruit wrapped in black gauze.

Cassiopeia was in no rush to answer.

But her actions signaled Jerry to continue.

Jerry’s fingers still rested on the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh, his thumb lazily stroking the elastic band at the edge of the stocking that left a shallow mark.

His green eyes narrowed slightly, the smile at the corner of his mouth retracting a bit, replaced by a shrewd and steady look belonging to a businessman.

"According to my understanding!"

His tone suddenly changed. It was no longer that hippie-smiling youthful tone from before, but carried a thin layer of calmness completely unmatched with his age.

"What Madam Cassiopeia is in charge of at the Ministry of Magic is the Department of Large-Scale Events and International Exchange Programs."

Cassiopeia’s toes curled.

"The Quidditch World Cup falls under your jurisdiction too, doesn’t it?"

The movement of her sole stopped.

Not a slow deceleration, but a sudden, complete stop.

Cassiopeia’s foot, stepping on Jerry’s meat-root, was now like it had been hit by a Body-Bind Curse, pressing motionless against that scalding shaft.

The white foam ground out between the black silk and the meat-pillar slowly slid downward along the shaft in the stillness, making an extremely faint sizzle sound.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes opened completely.

In those dark green vertical pupils, all the laziness and playfulness from before were drained in an instant, replaced by a cold sharpness carrying a sense of scrutiny.

She looked down at Jerry, her snake tongue not extending; instead, it was tightly retracted in her oral cavity, the venom sacs on her upper palate trembling slightly.

The silence lasted for three seconds.

Then her arch moved.

Not the rhythm of stroking up and down from before, but using the softest part of her arch, extremely slowly and with a force bordering on threat, to grind the tip of Jerry’s meat-root. The fibers of the stocking scraped against the thin skin at the tip, which had been rubbed red; every circle brought out a sticky squish sound. The pre-cum was spread out by her arch, forming a glistening thin film on the surface of the tip.

"I advise you not to get any ideas in that area."

Cassiopeia’s voice changed. It was no longer the lazy, low pitch from flirting before, but took on a cold hardness belonging to a high official of the Ministry of Magic, unquestionable.

"The Quidditch World Cup is not as simple as you imagine."

The arch ground over the very top of the tip, using the gap between her toes to clamp that sensitive small hole, giving it a gentle twist.

"Venue rental, security contracting, broadcasting rights, merchandise franchising, VIP box allocation—"

With every word, the toes twisted once.

"Everything has already been carved up by the various families."

"I know that, of course!"

Jerry’s voice was crisp and neat, without half a point of hesitation. As he spoke, his right hand slid down fiercely from the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh, accurately grabbing the ankle of the foot stepping on his meat-root.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes shrank slightly.

Jerry didn’t move her foot away from his meat-root, but lifted her entire foot, bringing his hands together, his thumbs pressing dead center on her arch.

Then he started to knead.

The pads of his fingers sank into the softest hollow of her arch, drawing slow and powerful circles along the curve of the arch. The fibers of the black silk made fine rustle sounds under the grinding of his finger pads. Cassiopeia’s sole quivered slightly in his palms—that touch was too strange.

It was icy cold.

Through the stockings, the pad of Jerry’s thumb didn’t touch the soft, warm skin typical of a woman’s sole, but a texture that carried a chill and was unusually smooth. It felt like touching a piece of polished cold jade, or caressing the belly scales of some reptile—smooth, yet not entirely flat. Every time the pad of his finger rolled over an area, he could feel an extremely fine, almost invisible layer of scale patterns beneath the skin. They were arranged neatly and tightly, faintly bulging beneath the wrapping of the stockings, forming a unique grainy sensation.

Jerry’s thumb slid upward along the arch, rolling over the row of tiny joints at the base of her toes. Cassiopeia’s five toes spread and curled unconsciously under his touch. Through the black silk, the skin between her toes could be seen to be paler than the rest of her sole, almost presenting a semi-transparent texture, with the fine blue veins beneath faintly visible. And the edges of her toenails glowed with a very pale dark-green luster, like the faint light refracted by snake scales in the sun.

His thumb pressed into the deepest hollow of her arch, grinding a circle forcefully.

The muscles in Cassiopeia’s calf tensed for a second. Her toes curled abruptly, clamping the tip of Jerry’s thumb. That layer of scale patterns hidden beneath her skin became more obvious at this moment, as if her bloodline had been faintly awakened under this stimulation, those snake-like characteristics that were usually hidden beginning to surface.

The pad of Jerry’s finger could clearly feel the edges of those scales—tiny, slightly upturned keratin—seemingly scraping gently against his fingerprints, bringing a strange numbness.

He didn’t stop his hands; instead, he intensified his kneading. His thumb slid from her arch to her heel, pressing upward along the line of her Achilles tendon, while the four fingers of his other hand gripped her instep, his fingertips sinking into the gaps between her toes, pinching them one by one. Every time he pinched a toe, Cassiopeia’s leg held by him would quiver slightly, and the scale patterns beneath the stocking would surface a layer deeper along with it.

That touch was addictive. Icy, smooth, carrying a fine grainy sensation, like stroking a living, breathing piece of snakeskin apparel. The pad of Jerry’s finger repeatedly rolled over the same densely scaled area, feeling the scraping sensation left on his fingerprints by those tiny keratins, and the smile at the corner of his mouth floated up again.

"Therefore, what I am talking about is not the cake that has already been carved up."

His thumb pressed dead center on Cassiopeia’s arch, grinding downward forcefully and slowly.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from between her teeth, quivered once in the air, and retracted again. Her dark green snake eyes were now staring dead at Jerry’s smiling, youthful face, the vertical slits in her pupils shrinking slightly.

Professor McGonagall stood two steps away, already fully dressed. Her arms crossed over her chest, that face which had regained some majesty was written full of impatience.

However, her gaze involuntarily fell on Jerry’s hands, which were kneading Cassiopeia’s sole. Watching those boyish fingers sink into the gaps between the toes wrapped in stockings, watching Cassiopeia’s long leg quiver slightly due to his massaging—on her inner thighs, that panty soaked with sticky fluid sent another tooth-aching wave of wet and slippery friction.

Jerry’s thumb sank into the softest hollow of Cassiopeia’s arch, the pad of his finger rolling over a dense area of hidden scales, feeling the numbness scraped out on his fingerprints by those tiny keratin edges. His speaking speed wasn’t fast; every word was articulated very clearly.

"I hold a bidding right."

The scale patterns in the arch tilted up slightly under the pad of his finger, as if making some instinctive response to this sentence.

"To be precise, the supplier bidding right for the peripheral events of the Quidditch World Cup. Currently, this right has not completely fallen into my hands; it’s stuck in a few procedural bottlenecks in the middle."

Jerry’s thumb slid along the curve of the arch to her heel. Four fingers gripped the instep, his entire palm wrapping Cassiopeia’s foot, as if weighing a precious artifact.

"Therefore, I need someone in the middle to help me plug these bottlenecks, letting this bidding right fall cleanly into my pocket, and then give me a push during the bidding."

He looked up, his green eyes meeting Cassiopeia’s vertical pupils directly.

"Gold Galleons are not a problem."

Cassiopeia’s toes curled in his palm.

Those dark green snake eyes narrowed, the vertical slits in her pupils shrinking into extremely fine needles. Her snake tongue did not extend; her lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening slightly—this was her standard expression when hearing an unreliable proposal at the Ministry of Magic’s conference table.

She opened her mouth, just about to speak.

"That’s impos—"

Before the second syllable could land, her gaze drifted.

It drifted two steps to the right, where Professor McGonagall stood with her arms crossed over her chest. On that face that had regained some majesty hung an indifference that said this had nothing to do with her. Her brand-new dark green robe was buttoned to the last button, her coiled bun meticulous.

Only Cassiopeia’s snake eyes could see that Professor McGonagall’s brand-new black silk panties were currently dyed a dark color by the sticky fluid seeping from her flower core, clinging wetly to her petals that couldn’t close at all. Every few seconds, a small spurt of white body fluid squeezed out from the gap, dripping down along the stockings on her inner thighs.

Cassiopeia swallowed that half-sentence back.

"...I forgot."

Her tone suddenly became light and airy, carrying the playfulness of sudden realization.

"Professor McGonagall is your guardian."

Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows twitched.

"With Professor McGonagall’s distinguished status as a Senior Council Member of the Ministry of Magic, she can completely act as your guarantor—the procedural bottlenecks, with her signature, half of them wouldn’t be a problem."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue finally popped from between her teeth, quivering frivolously in the air twice. The forked tip deflected slightly toward Professor McGonagall, as if tasting the afterglow of desire still lingering on her.

"However!"

She lowered her head, her snake eyes landing back on Jerry’s face.

Her sole began to move again.

This time it wasn’t grinding, but using her arch to wrap around the tip of Jerry’s meat-pillar—which had already re-engorged with blood and had bulging veins. Her five toes, through the soaked black silk, slowly and one by one, hooked downward, like playing some musical instrument only she could hear.

With every hook, the stocking fibers scraped out a wet friction sound on that thin skin at the tip.

Squish.

"Why should I do you this favor?"

Hearing her own name being used as a bargaining chip, Professor McGonagall’s cold face finally couldn’t hold it anymore. The corners of her mouth sank downward, her steps carrying a suppressed anger as she walked toward Jerry.

"You—!"

Before she could finish her words, she saw Cassiopeia’s foot stepping on Jerry’s meat-root.

The black silk was made semi-transparent by pre-cum and white body fluid; the outline of the tip was printed clearly through the fabric. Five toes were hooking onto that swollen, red tip one by one.

Professor McGonagall’s footsteps paused.

Then she did something even she hadn’t anticipated.

She walked to the other side of Jerry, crouched down, and lifted her own foot—wearing a brand-new black stocking—her sole landing on the base of Jerry’s meat-pillar.

Her stocking was different from Cassiopeia’s. Cassiopeia’s was that extremely thin, shiny transparent black silk, while Professor McGonagall’s was a thicker pantyhose with a matte texture; the weave of the fabric was denser, the touch softer and thicker.

When her sole attached to the base of Jerry’s scalding shaft, two completely different touches acted on the same meat-root simultaneously—at the tip was Cassiopeia’s icy, thin silk with a hidden scaly grain; at the base was Professor McGonagall’s warm, dense, and soft thick stocking.

Squish! Rustle!

The sounds of two types of stockings rubbing the meat-pillar simultaneously mixed together, echoing in the narrow restroom.

"Since you want to use my name to make a fuss!" Professor McGonagall’s voice was as cold as ice shards, yet her sole ground forcefully against the base of the shaft, pinning that thick meat-root deathly tight against Jerry’s lower abdomen. "Then I must at least know what you plan to exchange for it."

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes cast a glance at McGonagall; the arc at the corner of her mouth deepened a fraction. Her toes accelerated the frequency of their hooking, every movement carrying the squish sound of stocking fibers scraping the tip, interweaving with the rustle sound of Professor McGonagall grinding at the base.

The soles of the two women now clamped Jerry’s meat-pillar—which was so thick it completely mismatched his age—one from above and one from below, each using completely different forces and rhythms, exerting their own methods on his shaft.

Jerry leaned against the base of the wall, his green eyes half-squinted, the smile at the corner of his mouth increasing instead of decreasing.

His hands each held an ankle—his left hand was Cassiopeia’s icy, slender ankle with a scaly touch; his right hand was Professor McGonagall’s warm, bony ankle.

"Whatever demands you have, Madam, please state them freely."

His thumbs simultaneously pressed into the soft hollows on the inside of both ankles, rubbing a circle with moderate pressure.

"I would like to hear first, how big your appetite is."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue quivered in the air, the forked tip deflecting slightly toward Jerry.

Her toes clamped the tip, giving it a forceful twist. The stocking fibers made a sharp hiss! sound under the lubrication of the pre-cum.

Professor McGonagall’s sole also exerted force at the same moment, grinding upward from the base. The thick stocking surface flattened the bulging veins on the shaft one by one, then let them spring back; the squish-squish water sounds became more rapid.

The two feet met in the middle of the meat-root. Stocking and stocking squeezed against each other separated by a thin film of sticky fluid, rubbing out a strange sound, somewhere between a rustle and a squish.

Cassiopeia’s toes touched Professor McGonagall’s instep. The gazes of the two met above Jerry’s head—one pair of dark green vertical pupils, one pair of emerald green round pupils, both carrying an unyielding sharpness.

Cassiopeia moved her gaze first, landing back on Jerry’s face.

"Appetite?"

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue retracted into her mouth. Her toes slowly ground a circle at Jerry’s tip, the stocking fibers scraping over the blood-engorged thin skin, making a squish sound.

"Forty percent."

When the number fell from her mouth, it was light and airy, like remarking on the nice weather today. Her arch, however, pressed down fiercely, pinning Jerry’s thick meat-pillar deathly tight against his lower abdomen. The part of the black silk soaked by pre-cum almost became a second layer of skin; the shape and color of the tip were visible in every detail.

"Forty percent of the net profit of the entire project."

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes; her sole paused for a beat at the base of the shaft.

"Since my name is being used as a guarantee!"

Her voice came down from above Jerry’s head, as indifferent as reading classroom rules.

Her arch, however, began to move. The thick, matte black stocking slowly ground upward along the base of the shaft. The dense fabric flattened the bulging veins one by one. The rustle-rustle sounds intertwined with the squish-squish water sounds from Cassiopeia’s side.

"Thirty-five percent."

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes glanced over.

Professor McGonagall didn’t look at her. Her gaze landed on the floating makeup mirror, using the tip of her wand to touch up her lip liner, as if what she was stepping on wasn’t an eleven-year-old boy’s terrifyingly thick meat-root, but a footstool in her office.

"The risk assumed by the guarantor is no smaller than yours, Cassiopeia. Thirty-five percent, no more."

"You certainly know how to take advantage of a situation."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped out, quivering twice toward McGonagall. "I am in charge of approval, you act as guarantor, and this brat provides the money—so in the end, he takes the least?"

The two feet met again in the middle of the meat-root.

The thin silk and the thick stocking squeezed against each other separated by a film of sticky fluid, emitting a strange sound between fabric friction and liquid churning.

Cassiopeia’s toes touched McGonagall’s instep; neither of them gave way.

Jerry leaned against the base of the wall, his hands still holding an ankle each, his thumbs unhurriedly rubbing the soft hollows on the inside of both their ankles. His meat-pillar was clamped in the middle by two pairs of feet—one cold and one hot, one slippery and one dense. Two completely different touches surged simultaneously from both ends of the shaft, converging at that intersection in the middle squeezed by the two soles. The pleasure was so intense it was like someone pouring a pot of boiling Butterbeer into his brain.

His breathing became noticeably heavier, but the arc at the corner of his mouth didn’t change.

"Thirty percent each."

Both pairs of feet stopped at the same time.

"Thirty percent?" Cassiopeia’s snake eyes narrowed.

"I provide all the gold Galleons and assume all initial risks; you each take thirty percent of the net profit, and the remaining forty percent belongs to me." Jerry’s thumb pressed into that densely scaled area on the inside of Cassiopeia’s ankle, grinding a circle forcefully. "Fair, isn’t it?"

Cassiopeia’s toes curled. The hand Professor McGonagall was using to touch up her lip liner paused for half a beat.

The gazes of the two women met for a moment above Jerry’s head—dark green vertical pupils and emerald green round pupils, both calculating rapidly.

Thirty percent.

For a guarantor who only needed to sign and stamp, and a director who only needed to give the green light in the approval process, thirty percent of the net profit was already an extremely generous return.

Cassiopeia’s sole relaxed its pressure slightly; her toes slid off the tip, drawing circles lazily along the coronal ridge. Professor McGonagall’s arch also slowly moved up from the base, using the curve of her foot’s arch to support the middle of the shaft. The two feet almost tacitly formed a soft, stocking-wrapped passage.

They were about to nod.

"However!"

Jerry’s voice suddenly took a turn.

Both pairs of feet stopped again.

"I want to make a bet."

A sly light danced in his green eyes; his thumbs simultaneously pressed against both ankles, preventing them from pulling away.

"If I win, twenty percent each. The extra twenty percent will be considered a reward from you two seniors to me, a junior."

"Bet on what?"

Cassiopeia and Professor McGonagall spoke almost at the same time.

Jerry smiled.

"You’ll know when the time comes."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped out, quivering rapidly in the air three times.

Professor McGonagall’s brows knitted into a knot.

The gazes of the two women met again above Jerry’s head; this time, there was an added layer of vigilance and scrutiny within.

But Jerry said nothing more.

Jerry simply released both ankles, resting his hands behind his head and leaning against the base of the wall. The meat-pillar clamped by the two pairs of feet bounced slightly after losing the fixation of his palms; the pre-cum seeping from the tip pulled a glistening silk thread between the gaps of Cassiopeia’s toes.

Silence spread in the narrow restroom for a few seconds.

Then, Cassiopeia’s foot moved.

Not the grinding carrying a sense of negotiation from before, but a near-barbaric stroking carrying a sense of pique.

Her sole slid fiercely from the tip to the middle; the stocking fibers made a rapid hiss-rip sound under the lubrication of the sticky fluid. Her toes hooked onto the shaft, clamping it forcefully; every up-and-down slide carried a ruthlessness that wanted to squeeze this meat-root dry.

Professor McGonagall’s foot also started moving along.

Her rhythm was completely different from Cassiopeia’s—not that rapid stroking, but using the curve of her foot’s arch, slowly and densely, pushing upward from the base.

The thick matte stocking surface rolled over every bulging vein on the shaft; the rustle-rustle sound was steady and powerful, as if using a more seasoned technique to dismantle Jerry’s defenses from the root.

Two rhythms collided on the same meat-pillar.

Cassiopeia was fast and ruthless, the stocking thin and slippery, the icy scaly touch carrying the stimulation of scraping.

Professor McGonagall was slow and heavy, the stocking surface thick and dense, the warm arch carrying the density of crushing.

The two pairs of feet repeatedly crossed in the middle of the meat-pillar. The sticky fluid between stocking and stocking was squeezed out, making squish-squish water sounds. White foam overflowed from the gap between the two soles, dripping down along the shaft and landing on Jerry’s lower abdomen.

Cassiopeia’s toes touched McGonagall’s instep. Instead of giving way, she stepped on it forcefully, pressing McGonagall’s sole down half an inch.

Professor McGonagall’s arch thrust upward fiercely, squeezing Cassiopeia’s sole away from the middle of the shaft.

The two pairs of feet silently fought for dominance on the meat-pillar. The sound of stocking rubbing against stocking became increasingly rapid and sharp, mixed with the squish of churning sticky fluid and the muffled sounds emitted by the meat-pillar under the double-team.

Jerry’s abdominal muscles began to tense involuntarily. The meat-pillar became even harder under the double-team of the two pairs of feet; the veins bulged one by one, stretching the black silk even more transparent. The color of the tip changed from a flush to deep purple; the pre-cum was no longer seeping out drop by drop, but surging out in streams, soaking the stockings on both pairs of feet thoroughly.

His breathing became heavy and rapid; his green eyes lost their previous composure, beginning to surface with a layer of water mist.

Cassiopeia felt the violent throbbing of the meat-pillar beneath her foot; a flash of smugness crossed her snake eyes.

Her sole accelerated fiercely; five toes deathly hooked the tip, frantically scraping that thin film, which had been rubbed almost raw, with the stocking fibers.

Professor McGonagall felt it too.

Her arch pushed upward fiercely from the base; the thick stocking surface flattened all the veins on the shaft, pushing to the middle in one breath!

In the same instant, both soles squeezed toward the center of the meat-pillar from two directions simultaneously!

Pfft!

A thick pillar of white liquid, like a fire hydrant suddenly turned open, sprayed fiercely from the tip!

The force was so great, and the trajectory so high, it even passed over Jerry’s head, drawing a parabola in the air, and then landed heavily with a splat on the front of Cassiopeia’s newly changed dark green robe!

Immediately followed by the second stream, and the third stream!

White body fluid poured from the tip of the meat-pillar, clamped deathly tight by the two pairs of feet, stream after stream like a runaway fountain, splashing everywhere.

One streak hung on Cassiopeia’s cheek, several strands dripped down Professor McGonagall’s stocking, and a few drops of milky-white liquid even splashed onto the floating makeup mirror above their heads.

The soles of the two women were soaked through by the warm body fluid; the black silk completely turned into white silk. The viscous liquid overflowed from the gaps between their toes, sliding downward along their insteps, gathering into a small steaming white puddle on the floor.

Cassiopeia looked down at her brand-new robe, which she had put on less than ten minutes ago.

On the front lapel, a thick stream of white body fluid was slowly sliding downward, leaving a shocking trail on the dark green fabric.

Her snake eyes rolled dramatically.

"Being with you, exactly how many changes of clothes does one need a day?"

"Right, there’s one more thing."

Cassiopeia pinched the white trace dripping down the front of her robe with her fingertips without even frowning. With a casual Scouring Charm, only a small dark water stain remained on the dark green fabric. Her snake tongue popped from between her teeth, nimbly curled over the small drop of stickiness remaining at the corner of her mouth, swallowed it, and her Adam’s apple rolled slightly.

"What do you think of Isabella?"

The sentence was said too casually.

So casually it was like asking if the pumpkin juice in the dining hall today was sweet.

Jerry was just using his badly torn shirt to wipe the residual liquid off his meat-root; his hand paused for a beat.

Cassiopeia leaned against the edge of the sink, one leg crossed over the other. The tip of her newly changed snake-shaped high heel tapped the floor casually, clack, clack, clack, the rhythm as slow as counting beats.

Her snake eyes were half-squinted, her forked tongue-tip quivering twice in the air, capturing every subtle expression change on Jerry’s face.

"Isabella?" Jerry tossed the shirt aside; the meat-pillar, which remained terrifyingly thick even after being wiped clean, was just lying there openly. He didn’t even think to tuck it back in. "Madam asking that is truly interesting."

"What’s so interesting."

Cassiopeia’s shoe tip stopped, the heel making a clack on the floor tile. "My daughter, your senior—you think I don’t know what relationship you two have?"

The restroom was quiet for two seconds.

Professor McGonagall was using her wand to fix the last stray strand of hair; upon hearing the name "Isabella," her wand, hovering in mid-air, deflected half an inch, and a strand of hair was curled into an unintended arc.

She didn’t look back, but her shoulder blades clearly tensed.

Jerry’s eyes blinked once.

Then, Jerry smiled.

Not the shrewd smile from when they were negotiating business earlier, nor the smile that was half enjoyment and half endurance when he was clamped by the two pairs of feet, but a kind of—openness belonging to a young boy when his secret is poked but he is entirely unpanicked.

"Then what does Madam want me to say?"

"Marry her."

Two words.

Crisp and neat.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue didn’t even pop out. She just stared straight at Jerry; there was no joke in her dark green vertical pupils.

Professor McGonagall’s wand stopped completely.

Jerry sat on the floor, his lower half bare. That thick meat-pillar lay across the root of his thigh, still glowing with a flushed luster from having just been serviced by two pairs of silk-stockinged feet. He just tilted his head up like that, looking at Cassiopeia’s condescending, stunningly beautiful, and dangerous face; something was churning in his green eyes.

"Does Isabella know?"

"She doesn’t need to know." Cassiopeia’s answer was so fast it seemed prepared long ago. "A marriage between the Rosier family and our family benefits both sides. She is my daughter; I have the final say in her marriage."

Cassiopeia stood up from the edge of the sink. Her high heels made crisp sounds stepping on the shattered tiles, walking step by step until she stood in front of Jerry.

Cassiopeia didn’t crouch down; she just stood there, looking down at this eleven-year-old boy sitting on the floor, his lower half bare, his meat-root thick to a degree completely mismatched with his age.

Her snake tongue popped from her lips and teeth, quivering above Jerry’s head.

"The Rosier family’s assets, plus my connections in the Ministry of Magic..." Her voice lowered, carrying the hissing sound unique to snakes. "Tied together, you know what that means."

Jerry didn’t speak; he just tilted his head up and looked at her.

Cassiopeia’s gaze slid down from his face, sweeping past his collarbones and chest, which still carried a bit of childishness, and finally landed on that meat-pillar lying across the root of his thigh. Her snake tongue quivered once; the vertical slits in her pupils expanded half a fraction.

"Furthermore!"

Her voice suddenly became sticky, the tip of her shoe tapping Jerry’s inner thigh.

"My daughter has followed you for so long; you can’t just let her follow you for nothing, can you?"

Professor McGonagall finally turned around.

Her expression was very ugly.

Not anger, nor shock, but a more complex gloom mixed with jealousy and unease.

Her lips were pressed into a line, her eyes sweeping back and forth between Jerry and Cassiopeia twice before finally settling on Jerry’s smiling face.

That panty soaked with sticky fluid sent another tooth-aching wave of wet and slippery friction; she clamped her thighs together forcefully.