Inside the Ministry of Magic’s conference room, solemnity and dullness coexisted.
The long conference table was already lined on both sides with senior wizard officials and departnt heads; their faces were serious, and the air was thick with the scent of ground parchnt and potent potions.
Alia Bones, now holding a high position, gently stroked her slightly bulging abdon with one hand while leisurely sipping the potion in her other hand—a powerful brew specifically ant to stabilize her fetus.
"Why are you late?"
Alia’s gaze, carrying an imperceptible trace of scrutiny, landed on the doorway of the conference room.
Professor McGonagall, walking in high heels, her beautiful straight legs clad in black stockings taking steady steps, arrived belatedly.
Her expression was as serious and calm as always. Her wide, dark green wizard’s robe wrapped her entirely, making even her waist appear sowhat bulky.
A few strands of hair at her forehead were slightly ssy, as if accidentally loosened while rushing over.
"I was delayed on the way."
McGonagall’s voice was cold and apologetic. She walked straight to an empty seat beside Alia, pulled out the chair, and sat down elegantly.
However, she sat sowhat on the edge of the seat, her posture appearing a bit stiff and unnatural.
The mont McGonagall took her seat, a faint fragrance—carrying the body heat of a young boy and a uniquely masculine scent—quietly and inconspicuously spread from beneath her wide robes.
If it weren’t for wizards with sensitive noses, it would have been impossible to detect.
However, the pregnant Alia clearly did not belong to that category.
"Oh?"
Alia raised an eyebrow slightly, the scrutiny in her eyes deepening a fraction.
With a light chuckle, she slowly put down her potion cup. Her gaze swept over McGonagall’s face and paused for a second on her overly wide robes: "The Professor seems to be frequently ’delayed’ lately. It appears official business is quite busy."
Her words carried the vague teasing and gossip typical between close friends.
Professor McGonagall’s fingertips gently brushed the inside of her robe—a tiny, imperceptible arc responding to Alia’s probing.
Beneath the robes, a small, thin body was tightly wrapped by her massive garnt, pressed closely against her side and between her legs.
Jerry’s boyish face was currently buried between McGonagall’s two full peaks, feeling the slight, rhythmic vibrations at the professor’s heart with her breathing and speech.
Jerry had wanted to "watch" the eting, and McGonagall, having been tornted until she had no other choice,
resorted to this thod, hiding this energetic brat under her wide mage robes, wrapping him as tightly as a baby in swaddling clothes.
However, a little demon is ultimately a demon.
Even though he was hidden by Professor McGonagall’s magic and currently confined in such a narrow, cramped space, he remained restless.
Jerry’s spear, that giant dragon, was currently deliberately and wickedly clamped between McGonagall’s black-silk-clad thighs. He felt the tender petals beneath that thin layer of fabric, and the continuous seepage of hot, wet nectar carrying an elegant fragrance from within.
Jerry’s thick "murder weapon" was now completely subrged in Professor McGonagall’s most private and hidden depths, feeling the warmth and tightness inside the flower core, and the twitching of every flesh wall vein.
Under Professor McGonagall’s robes, inside her skirt, his youthful and slightly cool cheek was pressed tightly against her warm inner thigh, feeling every inch of her body shivering.
And Jerry’s spear, within this narrow space, was almost thoroughly swallowed by McGonagall’s wet, hot flower core.
Every tiny sway of her body allowed the giant dragon deep inside to receive the ultimate enveloping and grinding.
McGonagall’s legs gave a violent jolt the mont Jerry’s spear was completely sucked in by her flower core, but her face maintained the most perfect calm.
She picked up the teacup from the table and took a gentle sip; the action ford a sharp contrast with the hidden lewdness beneath her robes.
"Indeed!
After all, dealing with a bunch of little ones always requires being a bit busy and responsible."
As McGonagall spoke, her right leg moved slightly to the left under the table. That leg was currently deathly clamping Jerry’s inserted, unbearable spear; every slight movent brought a grinding sensation that pierced to the bone.
Jerry’s face was currently buried between her peaks, while his long, thick spear, deep inside her body and soaked in nectar, was clamped deathly tight by her thighs, unable to move, yet shivering all over from that ultimate sense of tightness.
Her usually ticulous face appeared sowhat blurred in the dim light, but deep in her eyes flashed an elusive pleasure carrying both punishnt and teasing.
Alia’s sharp eyes continued to sweep back and forth over McGonagall’s face, but ultimately, she seed not to find anything abnormal.
She took another sip of her potion and returned her gaze to the docunts in her hand.
"The war has been tight lately, and the Ministry’s affairs are as nurous as ox hair."
Alia put down her dicine cup, her tone carrying a hint of concern. "We just received news that another secondary world has been discovered in the Olympic world cluster.
The divine power fluctuations there are abnormally strong, and it has already attracted widespread attention from the frontline battle groups."
Professor McGonagall’s body tightened abruptly upon hearing this news. Beneath her robes, her thighs—which were originally clamping Jerry’s spear—also contracted sharply, deeply and roughly clamping the spear again, twisting it inward fiercely.
The ultimate pleasure made Jerry’s face, which was already buried between McGonagall’s peaks, sink even deeper. His nose was heavily pressed by McGonagall’s massive, soft orbs, nearly suffocating him.
While enduring the intense pain and pleasure deep in her body, Professor McGonagall’s voice remained calm and steady: "Indeed, the power of those gods is spreading. It seems the other side has also been hiding their true strength.
The current situation does not allow us to develop as slowly as in the past."
Her gaze swept over Alia’s face.
Alia didn’t respond directly. She simply stroked her abdon gently, a flash of maternal tenderness in her eyes.
The playful smile at the corners of her mouth looked like mockery.
"However, there is at least one thing to be thankful for right now!"
McGonagall’s tone carried a hint of sarcasm. Under the table, the leg clamping Jerry’s spear gently yet wickedly rocked, twisted, and squeezed against it, ensuring that every nerve in Jerry could feel the ultimate pleasure: "You are pregnant, Alia; this is more important than any battle record.
After all, this is the ’Seed of Hope’ personally certified by Minister Fudge."
McGonagall deliberately emphasized the words "Seed of Hope."
"Oh, Professor McGonagall, you are too kind," Alia rolled her eyes, but quickly covered it up.
"By the way!"
As if suddenly rembering sothing, Alia’s gaze fell on McGonagall’s face again, carrying a hint of curiosity and suspicion. "Does Hogwarts have the conditions to host the Triwizard Tournant this year?"
Jerry’s head, originally buried between McGonagall’s peaks, jerked upward from this sudden intense stimulation.
Professor McGonagall tried hard to control her emotions. Her usually calm face now bore an imperceptible flush.
She reached out and gently smoothed her slightly ssy hair, yet her voice maintained its steady tone.
"Well, didn’t I already send you the specific situation in the form of a docunt?"
As McGonagall spoke, the leg pressed deathly tight against Jerry’s spear gently yet wickedly ground and squeezed back and forth on his shaft under the table, using the most private and shaful way to feel every one of Jerry’s shivers. "But Hogwarts is, after all, an educational institution, not a gladiator arena.
We must still prioritize the students’ safety and academic research."
Alia’s gaze, carrying a hint of inquiry, landed on Professor McGonagall’s face, which was trying hard to maintain its calm.
The corner of her mouth hooked into a playful arc, as if seeing through Professor McGonagall’s insincere cover-up.
"It seems the Professor’s considerations are indeed... thorough."
Alia spoke with a double aning, drawing out her words, full of teasing and insight.
Just then, the heavy oak doors of the conference room creaked open once again.
Several figures stepped in, adding a bit more oppressive weight to the already heavy conference room.
The two leaders were familiar faces.
Walking in front was Cassiopeia—the one from an ancient pure-blood family whose words and actions always carried a harsh edge.
Don’t forget, she was Isabella’s mother.
On her well-maintained face hung a formulaic smile. Her sharp gaze swept the room, as if evaluating everyone’s worth and intentions.
Following closely behind was Agnes, the "butch" mother of Cressida. Her eyes were cold and sharp; an exquisite yet tough wizard’s robe made her aura even stronger, commanding authority without anger.
The arrival of these two ant a hardliner force that could not be ignored was stepping into the venue.
McGonagall’s body stiffened abruptly the mont the two newly arrived senior council mbers entered the door.
Beneath the robes, her flower core—which had originally been made wet and scalding by Jerry’s spear thrusts—contracted sharply due to her tension and physical stiffness, deathly sucking and entangling Jerry’s spear even tighter.
Jerry’s mouth, which was originally greedily sucking Professor McGonagall’s flower core, also felt an unprecedented tightness and pressure due to McGonagall’s violent bodily contractions.
On McGonagall’s face, which was trying hard to maintain its dignity, hung a slight, imperceptible twitch.
The fingertips McGonagall placed on the conference table curled subconsciously, her knuckles turning white from excessive force.
She tried hard to control the moan that was almost overflowing from deep in her throat, but her rapid breathing, as if suffocating, had already betrayed her struggle beneath the robes.
Her chest heaved violently from the rapid breathing. Jerry’s head, buried between McGonagall’s peaks, clearly felt the dull and powerful trembling of those two plump, soft orbs with every breath.
"Cassiopeia, Agnes."
Alia’s voice, carrying its usual steadiness and majesty, broke the montary silence of the venue.
She nodded slightly to the two new council mbers, but her gaze lingered for half a second on McGonagall’s stiff profile, seemingly without intention.
"Apologies, we’re late."
Cassiopeia’s voice was as arrogant and cold as always. Her gaze accurately caught the trace of uncoordinated dignity on McGonagall, as well as the deliberately suppressed flush on her face at this mont.
An inexplicable inquiry, carrying a hint of female intuition, instantly swept across her narrow, snake-like eyes.
Under Cassiopeia’s inquiring gaze, McGonagall’s body tensed unnaturally again.
Beneath the robes, she contracted sharply, wrapping Jerry’s thick spear even tighter.
Jerry’s spear, almost sucked dry, felt the frantic devouring and entangling from the flesh walls of her flower core between his school trousers and McGonagall’s core.
"Mmh!"
McGonagall felt a heat flow instantly surge from deep within her flower core. That intense burning sensation almost made her climax on the spot.
McGonagall opened her mouth unconsciously, emitting a broken and extrely endured low moan, but she deathly suppressed that moan deep in her throat, turning it into a slight "mmh-hmm" like a kitten.
"Professor McGonagall, you don’t seem to be looking well?"
Agnes’s cold and sharp gaze also landed on McGonagall’s forced face.
Her eyes, accustod to scrutiny and judgnt, seed to notice the unusual redness on McGonagall’s face and her overly wet gaze.
Professor McGonagall’s pupils contracted sharply.
Her hand reaching for the teacup surprisingly trembled a bit.
She took a few large and rapid breaths; the panting sounded exceptionally muffled beneath the wide robes.
"Thank you for your concern, Agnes."
McGonagall’s voice carried an unnatural hoarseness. On that face twitching from desire and humiliation, she forced a smile. "Grading students’ essays last night... I was a bit... too absorbed."
Her left hand, under the conference table, silently and punitively pressed down, pinching a small patch of sensitive skin on the back of Jerry’s neck, and then, carrying a retaliatory force, gave it a fierce and vicious twist!
Jerry’s body tensed abruptly. His spear, buried deep in McGonagall’s flower core, trembled and spasd from this sudden intense pain.
"Too absorbed?"
Cassiopeia’s voice carried a hint of teasing.
Her narrow snake eyes now patrolled back and forth like a blade across McGonagall’s pale face bearing an unnatural flush.
The corner of her mouth outlined a aningful arc, as if having seen through the more unseemly "secret" hidden behind McGonagall’s "too absorbed."
Beneath the robes, Professor McGonagall was being frantically tortured by Jerry’s at-root.
At this mont, within her robes, honey juice carrying the scent of flowers was continuously gushing out. Soon, her already wet and slippery black pantyhose were completely soaked by her body fluids.
That warmth crept down her hemline, dripping silently.
"Ahem!"
Cassiopeia’s voice carried an impatient coldness. "Before the eting officially begins, can we start discussing so real business?"
"Professor McGonagall!"
Cassiopeia’s voice beca clearer and more direct now. "I have a proposal here, and I hope to get your support in today’s eting."
As she spoke, she lightly pushed a parchnt scroll to the center of the conference table. The scroll slid smoothly to stand before Professor McGonagall, as if waiting for her to make a choice.
Professor McGonagall’s body shuddered violently.
Beneath the robes, Jerry’s thick at-root forcefully entered and exited deep within her flower core once again!
Squelch... slurp...
The faint water sound, isolated by Professor McGonagall’s robes in the quiet conference room, still rang clearly in Jerry’s ears.
Jerry could feel his at-root currently being deathly entangled and swallowed by Professor McGonagall’s soft flesh walls, as if trying to squeeze out every drop of essence from his body.
McGonagall’s fingertips gripped the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles white.
She hadn’t heard the other party’s words clearly at all.
However, it didn’t matter!
McGonagall’s current performance was just right.
Because Hogwarts produced a healing potion that was highly renowned throughout the wizarding world and was also a necessary purchase for the frontline battle groups.
It was considered military supplies.
Now they were actually asking McGonagall to abandon Hogwarts’ interests and support potions from other families.
Agnes’s gaze fell on McGonagall’s face.
With her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes were written with unquestionable scrutiny, as if trying to see through all the hesitation and calculation in Professor McGonagall’s heart.
"Professor McGonagall doesn’t need to be put in a difficult position."
Agnes’s voice carried unquestionable certainty. "This proposal is a special healing potion developed after decades of painstaking effort by our family.
It has passed the strictest clinical trials with outstanding results.
Now it only needs the Ministry of Magic’s vote to be sold normally."
"I am sure Professor McGonagall is aware of the value of this potion.
In this special period, its contribution to the wizarding world will be imasurable."
Cassiopeia’s voice also softened a bit now, as if enticing, as if promising.
Her gaze took another deep look at McGonagall, a mysterious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
The corner of Professor McGonagall’s eye twitched unconsciously.
Her body, beneath the robes, was being fiercely and continuously thrust in and out by Jerry’s thick, long at-root, ti and ti again.
The warm flower core was now ground red by the at-root. Every thrust caused intense uterine contractions deep within her flower core, swallowing that scorching heat and massive size.
"Oh?
A special healing potion?"
Alia’s voice, carrying unquestionable suspicion, broke the deadlock.
She put down her potion cup, her gaze falling on the faces of Cassiopeia and Agnes, a hint of inquiry in her eyes. "Since it is a special healing potion, why wasn’t I inford in advance?"
Agnes’s expression stiffened slightly.
Cassiopeia’s gaze, also carrying a hint of vigilance, landed on Alia’s face.
"Alia, in your current condition, you should prioritize resting.
Just leave these trivial matters to us," Cassiopeia’s voice carried a hint of distance, attempting to exclude Alia.
Alia chuckled, the laugh full of mockery: "Cassiopeia, you forget, I am now the Head of the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent.
I have the right to inquire into any proposal that might involve the laws, regulations, and personal safety of the wizarding world.
Furthermore, this concerns the wounded on the front lines; my duty does not allow to stand by idly."
Her gaze landed on McGonagall’s face again, her eyes carrying a hint of worry and concern that only close friends could understand.
Squelch... squelch-squelch-squelch...
The clear water sounds beca louder and clearer with every tremble of Professor McGonagall.
Jerry’s thick, long at-root, currently between his school trousers and McGonagall’s flower core, endured the violent contractions of her thighs, as well as the frantic swallowing and entangling of her internal flower core.
He could feel Professor McGonagall’s flower core acting like the most thirsty suction cup, tightly gripping his at-root, wishing it could swallow every single drop of essence inside him.
"Since Alia is interested, we naturally welco her participation."
Agnes’s voice carried a hint of reluctant compromise.
Cassiopeia’s gaze, also carrying a hint of helplessness, swept across Agnes’s face.
She knew that with this bitch Alia here, it would probably be impossible to easily secure McGonagall’s vote as they had before.
"Professor McGonagall!" Cassiopeia’s voice rang out again, carrying a hint of restarting negotiations. "Since everyone knows the value of the potion, then how much... is your vote worth?" Her voice was full of probing.
Alia’s gaze, carrying a hint of inquiry, landed on Professor McGonagall’s face, which was trying hard to endure.
Her long fingers gently tapped the conference table, making a crisp sound.
"Cassiopeia, Agnes," Alia’s voice carried an unquestionable majesty. "The value of this special healing potion cannot be asured by a re vote."
Her gaze swept over Cassiopeia’s slightly stiff face. "After all, a miraculous potion capable of saving lives should have a higher value, shouldn’t it?"
Cassiopeia’s expression had now beco sowhat ugly.
Agnes’s gaze, also carrying a hint of urgency, looked at Cassiopeia.
McGonagall’s body, the part beneath the robes, was now completely spasming.
You brat! You... you’re asking for death!
Professor McGonagall’s consciousness was almost completely washed away by Jerry’s endless in-and-out.
She felt her flower core currently burning with a spicy pain from being ground by Jerry’s at-root, as if it were about to be torn apart.
However, mixed within that severe pain was unsuppressable ultimate pleasure, almost causing her rigid and serious face to break down completely.
Jerry’s massive at-root fiercely pounded deep inside Professor McGonagall’s flower core a few more tis. He felt the violent contractions of Professor McGonagall’s flower core, and that devouring force that wished to squeeze him dry.
"Alia is right."
Professor McGonagall’s hoarse voice, carrying ultimate raspiness, squeezed out from deep in her throat. Her wet eyes, carrying a survival instinct, looked at Alia. "The value of the potion lies in treatnt.
My vote also lies in... its value."
Her left hand, under the conference table, silently and highly retaliatorily gave another fierce twist to that sensitive patch of skin on the back of Jerry’s neck!
That imnse pain made Jerry’s body arch abruptly, but his at-root buried deep in Professor McGonagall’s flower core beca even harder and thicker as a result.
"We don’t just want your vote."
Cassiopeia’s gaze, carrying unsuppressable greed, swept over McGonagall’s face. "We also want all the support Hogwarts, which you represent, can give regarding the reform proposals." Her voice was as cold as a viper, yet carried fatal temptation.
Professor McGonagall’s body shuddered violently upon hearing "all the support Hogwarts can give." Her face, struggling to maintain its calm, flushed again due to the ultimate tension and pleasure within her body.
Squelch... slurp, slurp...
"All the support of... Hogwarts?"
Alia’s voice carried unquestionable calmness. "Cassiopeia, isn’t your appetite a bit too big?"
Her gaze, carrying a hint of threat, landed on Cassiopeia’s face.
Cassiopeia gave a light laugh, the laugh full of disdain: "Alia, now is not the ti to fight over territory.
This war concerns the survival of our wizarding world.
We desperately need Hogwarts’ resources and expertise."
Agnes changed the subject, her tone carrying obvious oppression. "But at such a critical mont, our goal must be unity and efficiency.
Any delay, any favoritism, is irresponsible to the lives of frontline soldiers."
She deliberately emphasized the word "favoritism," as if reminding McGonagall that she carried not only her personal choices but the interests of the entire academy.
McGonagall’s face was now flushed purple. She felt waves of indescribable itchiness and numbness surging from the deepest part of her flower core. The intertwining of ultimate pleasure and sha made her almost forget to breathe.
Jerry’s thick at-root slowly thrust and withdrew deep in her flower core, as if trying to hollow out her very soul.
Every ti his nectar-covered tip hit a sensitive spot, McGonagall’s body would spasm violently like a reflex, from her thighs to her waist, and then to her tight buttocks—none was spared.
"I... I will never show favoritism."
Professor McGonagall’s voice beca even hoarser from trying her hardest to suppress the pleasure, yet her tone was surprisingly firm. "The students of Hogwarts... they also have the right to enjoy the best protection."
Under the table, her left hand fiercely grabbed Jerry’s earlobe, giving it a hard yank, punishing his constantly deepening movents.
Jerry emitted a muffled groan, but beca even more excited instead. As if in response, his at-root thrust an inch deeper, grinding the petals inside her even hotter.
Alia sighed softly at this mont, her long fingers stopping their tapping on the tabletop. Her gaze landed on McGonagall’s near-distorted face, carrying a complex emotion.
Her eyes swept over Cassiopeia and Agnes, finally settling on McGonagall, containing the insight and pity that only a close friend could understand.
"I understand Cassiopeia and Agnes’s urgency, and I also understand Professor McGonagall’s persistence."
Alia spoke in a deep voice. Her steady and powerful tone instantly quelled the undercurrents in the conference room. "The value of the special healing potion is unquestionable, but Hogwarts’ centuries of reputation and influence are not to be underestimated either.
Only a combination of the two can exert the greatest power."
Alia’s tone carried unquestionable leadership. She sat up slightly straighter, gently stroking her bulging abdon, looking firmly at Cassiopeia: "How about this, Cassiopeia.
Hogwarts can fully support the promotion of the special healing potion.
But at the sa ti, Hogwarts’ reform proposals must also receive your unconditional support.
All andnts regarding educational philosophy, curriculum setup, and student protection chanisms must be passed according to Professor McGonagall’s wishes."
Her gaze turned to Agnes again. "And in exchange, we can give your family so preference in the supply ratio and priority of the potion.
How about it?"
Pfft, pfft... squish... sizzle...
Professor McGonagall’s head fell back weakly. Her usually rigid and ascetic face was now filled with a madness that carried relief and a bit of a breakdown before the release of desire.
Her wet eyes beca dazed; her entire person trembled violently as if struck by an electric current.
She subconsciously lifted her leg, coincidentally intending to push Jerry away, but she was tightly coiled by Jerry’s small body, unable to move.
It looked like anger, but in the end, she endured it and agreed to Alia’s compromise plan.
Cassiopeia and Agnes shifted their gazes back and forth between Alia and McGonagall.
They weighed the pros and cons, exchanging complex looks.
The terms Alia offered seed biased toward Hogwarts, yet cleverly took into account the interests of their own families. Furthermore, given Alia’s forceful attitude, they knew it would likely be difficult to squeeze anything more out of McGonagall.
"Deal." Agnes finally spoke coldly. Though unwilling, the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.
Cassiopeia also nodded, a victor’s smugness faintly showing in her eyes, even though she knew this "victory" did not completely belong to her.
At the very mont the agreent was reached, the doors of the conference room opened wide once again.
Accompanied by several top-tier figures of the wizarding world, they filed in like stars surrounding the moon.
Walking at the very front was Minister Cornelius Fudge. He wore an official smile on his plump face, but his eyes swept vigilantly over everyone present.
Following closely behind was Dumbledore, his white hair and beard flowing. His blue eyes, sparkling with wisdom, cast a aningful glance at McGonagall—seemingly noticing sothing, or perhaps just taking a routine look around.
There was also the Head of the Auror Office, stern-faced as a stone statue, and even the patriarchs of several ancient families rarely seen on ordinary days. Their arrival undoubtedly made the atmosphere in the conference room heavier and more tense.
Professor McGonagall’s body reached the verge of collapse at this instant.
Beneath the robes, Jerry’s at-root also gave a fierce, violent quiver in the deepest part of Professor McGonagall’s flower core along with the impact of climax, pouring out a scalding essence entirely and unreservedly.
The boiling liquid instantly filled her flower core, washing over every inch of the sensitive flesh walls. It made McGonagall’s entire body arch sharply as if struck by lightning, that intense electric sensation rushing straight from the deepest point to her brain.
McGonagall’s usually rigorous face now completely lost all color, becoming pale as paper.
Professor McGonagall’s hands gripped the edge of the table tightly; her knuckles sank deep into the wood, nearly leaving marks.
McGonagall snapped her legs together tightly, wanting to deathly clamp Jerry inside her flower core, to let that thick at-root rge thoroughly with her body. But due to the extre stimulation of the climax, she trembled like a fallen leaf swaying in the wind.
Slurp... squelch!
The thick liquid inside the flower core mixed with Jerry’s erupting essence made an unprecedentedly loud sound the mont the at-root was withdrawn.
It wasn’t just a sticky water sound; it was more like so extrely taut structure inside the body finally being released due to massive pressure, carrying a secret and unbridled satisfaction.
Professor McGonagall went entirely soft, nearly slumping to the floor, yet she still relied on her powerful willpower to deathly maintain her upright sitting posture.
From the corner of her wet eye, a crystal tear slipped down, falling silently along her pale cheek.
Jerry’s wet at-root, covered in white liquid, withdrew slowly for a bit, bringing out a sweet-musky scent that was instantly enveloped by the unique, moist fragrance welling up from beneath McGonagall’s robes.
His youthful face also bore the satiety of having enjoyed himself; his small tongue-tip lightly licked the corner of his mouth, savoring that unique scent.
"Minerva, you don’t look well?"
Dumbledore’s voice carried its usual peacefulness, yet contained a trace of insight.
McGonagall forced herself to hold on, lifting her eyelids that felt as heavy as lead. Her wet eyes reflected Dumbledore’s familiar half-moon spectacles.
McGonagall opened her mouth, trying to make a clear sound, but the depths of her throat felt as if they had been scoured by sandpaper, carrying a tearing, stinging pain.
"Dumbledore!" McGonagall forced out a few words. Her voice was so hoarse she could barely recognize it herself, and the trembling was so obvious it couldn’t be completely hidden. "I... I might be feeling a bit unwell."
McGonagall’s left hand was currently pressing deathly tight against her abdon, trying to use this insignificant movent to suppress the tide of passion that was almost surging out of her body. That burning heat and slippery wetness made her feel incredibly ashad, yet powerless to control it.
Dumbledore took a deep look at her. A faint light, imperceptible to others, flashed in his wise blue eyes, as if he had seen through all the wretchedness and pain beneath her disguise in a single glance.
He didn’t say much more, rely nodding slightly and spitting out a single, low word: "Go."
Having received permission, McGonagall practically fell out of her seat.
Her two straight, beautiful legs clad in black silk were now weak and powerless; every step felt like stepping on cotton, full of uncertainty.
With every step she took, the soft flesh deep in her lower flower core spasd and contracted unconsciously. That sticky nectar, mixed with Jerry’s essence, ford a heavy package between her legs, flowing slowly down her inner thighs. The cold air stimulated the extrely flushed skin, bringing a more unbearable itch.
McGonagall could even feel that white liquid mixed with desire sliding down her soaked black stockings drop by drop, warm and sweet-musky, all the way to her ankles.
McGonagall bit her lip deathly tight, using all the strength in her body to barely keep herself from letting out any moans.
McGonagall’s wide robes now served as her best cover, barely hiding the total ss of her lower body from everyone’s sight.
She stumbled past the long conference table, through the curious, confused, or concerned gazes cast by those senior wizard officials and departnt heads.
McGonagall’s ears were buzzing, and everyone’s words beca blurred. McGonagall only knew that she had to leave this place as quickly as possible, leave these gazes, leave this sha and pleasure that made her not know what to do with herself.
Finally, McGonagall stumbled to the restroom outside the conference room.
The mont McGonagall’s hand touched the heavy wooden door, it felt like a salvation.
McGonagall pushed it open forcefully, almost charging in, and imdiately backhanded the door shut hard. The loud bang almost startled her herself.
Click!
The iron latch made a crisp sound as it slid into the lock, completely isolating everything outside. Professor McGonagall could hold on no longer at this mont; she leaned against the cold wooden door, slowly sliding down and slumping to the floor.
"Bastard! Little mongrel!"
McGonagall cursed in a low voice, almost trembling. Her voice carried ultimate humiliation and anger, yet was mixed with a trace of uncontrollable afterglow of desire.
She snapped her legs together, shafully feeling her flower core still pulsing silently at this mont, as if Jerry’s at-root were still wreaking havoc inside.
Her hands, red from desire and sha, trembled as they reached for the buttons inside her robe. This custom-made robe, which she was usually proud of, now felt incredibly heavy and in the way.
With trembling fingertips, she laboriously undid the clasp. As the restraint around her waist loosened, the wide robes slid slowly to the sides, as if released from imprisonnt.
The mont the robes were completely open, she looked down and saw the incredibly ssy state of her lower body.
The black wizard’s skirt had been pushed up to her stomach, exposing the black suspender stockings and thong underneath. They had completely lost their supporting ability by now, leaving only a few strands of torn fabric barely hanging at the root of her thighs. The already soaked black stockings gathered in wrinkled piles between her plump gluteal cleft, soaked sticky and transparent by thick white liquid and nectar.
Her two long, beautiful legs were spread weakly now. On the white skin of her inner thighs, several bruised finger marks remained—the traces Jerry had unintentionally left when he hugged her tightly earlier.
And her usually tight, alluring flower core now looked as if it had been forcefully torn apart—red, swollen, turned outward, as if it could never close again.
The turbid white liquid, mixed with her own copiously secreted nectar, was flowing down along that opened passage like a flood breaking a dam. It ran glug-glug down the ravaged flesh walls that were turned outward so far the inside couldn’t be seen, forming a winding, viscous waterfall.
That scene made one feel an ultimate rot and erotica.
Splatter! Splatter!
The sound of flowing liquid was so clear, falling in the silent restroom as if magnified countless tis. Professor McGonagall’s lower body was no longer just wet; it looked as if it had been soaked in water, every fold saturated full and plump.
She panted heavily, struggling, trying to push away the "little guy" who was still clinging to her.
Jerry’s head was currently buried comfortably in the depths of her wet flower bud. A flush of satisfaction sat on his youthful cheeks; he even rubbed against her soft flesh, as if treating that softness as his private property.
"You... get off right now!"
Professor McGonagall’s voice carried crying tones. Her body trembled slightly from exertion as her weak hands tried to pry away Jerry’s arms wrapped around her waist. But the eleven-year-old boy, displaying a brute force disproportionate to his age, actually clung to her tightly, unwilling to let go.
McGonagall felt Jerry’s tip unconsciously rub a few tis against her clitoris, which had already been fucked red and swollen. That wet, sticky warmth stimulated her nerves that had already been ground to the limit, making her unable to hold back another broken low moan, accompanied by an uncontrollable spasm deep in her lower flower core.
"If you don’t let go, I’ll throw you out the window!"
McGonagall’s voice was full of threat, yet carried a weak powerlessness, unable to even perfectly disguise a shred of anger.
Jerry finally shifted a bit, his hands finally releasing Professor McGonagall’s waist.
His body slid slowly out from the depths of her flower core. That massive at-root, as it left Professor McGonagall’s body, made a faint sizzle sound at the entrance of the flower core, like pulling out a slippery plug. It brought out another large amount of turbid white liquid, spilling onto Professor McGonagall’s incredibly sticky upper thighs.
Professor McGonagall felt a wave of cold air instantly pour into her body; that sudden emptiness and coldness made all the hairs on her body stand on end. She shafully felt her flower core, after the massive contraction and relaxation, actually unable to close completely, and the white liquid mixed with her nectar and Jerry’s essence surging out like a continuous small waterfall from deep within the flesh walls.
McGonagall used her trembling hands to blindly grab a clean wizard’s robe, clumsily covering her lower body.
Her cheeks were burning hot, her heartbeat like a drum. Every violent throb made the flower core in her lower body feel waves of numbing shivers.
Her eyes, usually so majestic, were now full of confusion, sha, and... a trace of hidden desire she hadn’t even noticed herself.
Jerry slid completely out of the entrance of the flower core he had propped open, which was still squirming slightly. His massive at-root, still hanging with viscous sap and spots of blood, swayed on its own in the air.
The wizard’s robe Professor McGonagall had blindly pulled over barely covered her lower body, but it fundantally couldn’t completely hide the sweet-musky scent surging from that wet, hot area, and the sticky fluid constantly dripping between her legs.
He didn’t get up imdiately, but used those youthful eyes, carrying a bit of teasing mixed with a satisfied smile, to look up at that face distorted by desire and sha above him.
His fingers were playfully stroking that swollen, reddened at-root at this mont, spreading the sap mixed with body fluids over it bit by bit.
"Professor, don’t you think... it was very thrilling?" Jerry’s voice carried a crispness unique to a young boy, but the ending tone hooked with a mischievous, evil charm.
That fingertip covered in white sticky fluid flicked toward Professor McGonagall’s cheek, leaving a wet trail.
"Thrilling my ass!"
She practically scread it out; the angry roar carrying crying tones shook the small restroom.
McGonagall’s erald eyes, usually majestic and piercing, were already unfocused and dazed, covered by a layer of crystal mist. That sense of sha hit her like a tsunami, making her wish she could pass out on the spot, yet she was tortured worse than death by the itchiness and throbbing in her body that had still not completely faded.
She raised her trembling hand, wanting to wipe off the sticky fluid Jerry had flicked onto her cheek, but found her hands shaking so badly she couldn’t steady them at all.
Her entire body was trembling. The waterfall-like white paste between her legs was still flowing downward, thoroughly soaking her black wizard’s skirt.
That over-dilated flower core, currently spasming and contracting again due to Jerry’s provocation and her own anger, squeezed out more nectar and residual essence, leaving sticky water stains one after another on the floor.
Right amidst this ultimate indignation and chaos, Knock, knock, knock!
Three steady and rhythmic knocks exploded like thunder on the tightly closed wooden door of the restroom.
A cold female voice carrying a bit of arrogance ca from outside the door; it was exactly Cassiopeia.
"McGonagall?
The eting is still waiting for you." Her voice penetrated the door panel, reaching Professor McGonagall’s ears clearly, carrying an imperceptible trace of scrutiny and doubt.
McGonagall’s body stiffened abruptly, as if hit by a "Petrificus Totalus" spell.
McGonagall’s cheeks, originally flushed from anger, quickly lost their color, becoming pale as paper.
McGonagall’s eyes contracted sharply, full of terror and disbelief. She never expected it would be Cassiopeia!
McGonagall covered her mouth tightly, afraid of making any unusual sound that would expose her current wretchedness.
She felt her flower core uncontrollably contract and spasm again; that ultimate tension and sha caused the residual sticky fluid in her body to spurt out again, thoroughly soaking her wet panties.
"I... I-I’m fine!" McGonagall struggled to squeeze a few words from deep in her throat; her voice was hoarse and trembling, carrying a weakness bordering on a voice crack.
McGonagall didn’t even dare to breathe, afraid that the rapid, disordered panting would pass through the wooden door and be heard by Cassiopeia in the slightest.
However, Jerry beside her revealed an evil smile.
User Comments
0 comments from readers