Catherine's brow furrowed in a slight frown. On the bed, she felt Jerry stir.
"It's fine," Jerry's voice came out as a tired, muffled rasp from the pillow. "Go and deliver dinner to that little Princess. Keep an eye out for any of her little schemes while you're at it."
Catherine looked back and saw Jerry wave his hand dismissively, signaling her to ignore the woman at the door. Understanding his intent, she leaned down, her soft lips pressing a lazy, lingering kiss onto the corner of his mouth. Her warm breath fanned across his face.
"Then I'm off, my little lecherous Master," Catherine whispered into his ear.
Straightening up, she walked gracefully toward the fireplace in the corner of the room. She grabbed a handful of glittering Floo powder and tossed it into the hearth. With a soft whoosh, emerald flames roared upward, enveloping her petite frame and swallowing her whole. In an instant, she was gone.
The room returned to silence, save for the deliberate, steady knocking that started again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Jerry slowly sat up, rubbing his throbbing temples. The rhythm of the knocks seemed to beat against his very nerves. He didn't rise immediately; instead, he let the sound echo through the quiet room for a few moments, a silent declaration of whose territory this was.
Finally, he slid out of bed. The deep-seated exhaustion in his muscles made his movements sluggish. He glanced at his ruined, mud-caked robes, grimaced with disgust, and tossed them into a corner. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a set of soft, black silk pajamas.
The cool, smooth fabric against his skin offered a slight reprieve from his fatigue. Taking his time, he meticulously fastened every button and straightened his collar until he looked as composed and dignified as ever. Only then did he turn toward the door and speak in a flat, unhurried tone.
"Come in. The door is unlocked."
The door swung open silently. A tall, slender figure stepped inside, carrying an undeniable aura of opulence and a light, knowing smile. It was Cassiopeia.
The pure-blood noblewoman's attire was starkly out of place in a student's dorm. She wore a deep emerald velvet evening gown, its hem embroidered with intricate silver vine patterns. The cut was provocative, clinging to her mature, voluptuous curves like a second skin, accentuating a body that was as ripe and succulent as a prize peach. The neckline was perfectly calculated, exposing her elegant neck and a tantalizing expanse of snowy-white skin without appearing overtly tawdry.
In the dim room, the wall lamps cast a soft glow over her. Her features were sharp, aristocratic, and stunning. Her upturned almond eyes carried a natural, effortless allure. Her skin had the texture of ivory, and time seemed to have been a generous lover, leaving not a single mark on her face.
As she approached, a unique fragrance filled the air—a complex blend of rare orchids and crisp cedar. It was rich and intoxicating, yet it felt like an invisible barrier, a high-born aloofness that warned others to admire from a distance but never dare touch.
Around her neck hung a necklace of fine emeralds, each stone shimmering with a deep, haunting light like the eyes of a serpent. On her slender white fingers were two rings: one bearing her family crest, and the other a massive, square-cut black diamond the size of a pigeon's egg, reflecting a chilling light in the gloom.
Cassiopeia's gaze swept over the dorm with the critical, judgmental eye of a pure-blood aristocrat before finally settling on the boy in black silk who looked visibly drained.
Just as she was about to speak, her small, pert nose twitched almost imperceptibly. Her expression shifted instantly. Her powerful bloodline gave her a sense of smell and a perception of heat far beyond any normal human.
In this small room, she could clearly distinguish several scents and heat signatures. There was Jerry's unique musk—youthful, clean, with a hint of metallic blood. And there was another... a young woman's scent, sweet like vanilla. It was fresh, meaning she had only just left.
Most importantly, her specialized vision caught the lingering heat trace of Floo magic near the fireplace, a shimmer that hadn't yet fully dissipated.
Cassiopeia's gaze moved meaningfully from Jerry to the hearth. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curled into a smile of pure intrigue, as if she had just found a very entertaining piece of prey.
The smile, under the dim lights, was devastatingly seductive. She walked to the center of the room with the graceful, predatory gait of a cat, her eyes never leaving Jerry.
"I hope I'm not intruding, visiting so late, Mr. Rosier?"
Her voice was like fine velvet—smooth, rich, and laced with a hint of amusement. She offered a slight, perfect curtsy, the picture of a refined lady. "I am Isabella's mother, Cassiopeia. I assume you've heard of me."
It was a polite introduction, yet it dripped with condescension, as if she were receiving a subordinate in her own parlor rather than standing in a student's bedroom.
Jerry, however, didn't play along. He didn't even stand up. He sat back on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. He looked up at the gorgeous noblewoman with a lazy, almost insolent gaze, his lips tugging into a faint, rude smirk.
"We've met, Lady Cassiopeia."
His voice was casual, as if discussing the weather. "A few days ago, you pulled back that tapestry depicting the troll hunt." Jerry paused, his dark eyes locking onto her almond ones, tearing through her facade of politeness. "I was busy with Cressida at the time. Tell me, My Lady, was my performance to your satisfaction?"
Faced with such a blunt, provocative revelation, Cassiopeia's smile didn't waver. It remained that perfect, distant curve of a noblewoman. It was as if she hadn't been the one caught spying, and Jerry was merely telling a trivial joke.
However, deep within those calm eyes, a flash of genuine, offended irritation flickered for a microsecond. Internally, she spat a curse at him. This brat was even more arrogant and disrespectful than she had imagined.
She parted her red lips, her words carrying a lazy mockery. Every syllable felt like a plucked harp string, yet each one had a barb.
"One can never truly judge satisfaction without firsthand experience," she purred. Her eyes roamed suggestively over Jerry's silk pajamas before her tone shifted to one of blatant contempt. "Besides, I've never had much interest in... little toothpicks."
Jerry didn't care for the insult; he just chuckled. He didn't bother arguing. He stood up, his bare feet touching the cold stone floor, and walked unhurriedly to a low cabinet on the other side of the room. He pulled out a bottle of high-quality Sherry and two clean crystal glasses.
"I prefer something with more fire. Firewhisky, for instance," Cassiopeia said, watching him as she crossed her arms, as if giving an order to a loyal house-elf.
Jerry didn't look back. He pulled the cork, and the rich aroma of the wine filled the air. He poured a shallow amount into both glasses. Turning around, he walked back to her, holding the drinks. He held one out to her, his gaze steady and filled with an undeniable pressure.
"This is all I have. Drink it or don't—it's up to you."
He used no honorifics, speaking to her as an equal—or perhaps an inferior. Before she could take the glass, he held his grip, staring into her dark eyes.
"Now, tell me the real reason for your midnight visit, Lady Cassiopeia. I doubt you came all this way just to critique my size."
Cassiopeia finally took the glass. Her long fingers, tipped with deep red nails, shimmered in the light. She didn't drink; instead, she swirled the amber liquid, watching it coat the glass.
"Critique your size?" She let out a soft, honey-sweet laugh that had an underlying metallic chill. "No, Jerry. I came here to see what the current Head of the Rosier family is actually made of."
She paused, bringing the glass to her lips. Her vivid red mouth brushed the crystal rim, but she didn't sip. Her gaze pierced him over the edge of the glass, her tone shifting from a noblewoman's flirtation to something ancient, non-human, and cold.
"And you should understand, Rosier brat... some things aren't measured in inches."
She slowly set the glass down and held out her left hand, the one without rings. She spread her fingers before him, as if showing him something hidden.
"You see," she whispered, "history is far older and more... complicated than the common folk know. The things flowing in our veins aren't just wizarding magic."
As Jerry watched, something chilling happened. Cassiopeia's tongue slowly flicked out between her lush lips. It was... forked. A serpent's tongue, tasting the air for a split second.
The movement was gone in an instant, fast as a hallucination. But in that moment, the human warmth of Cassiopeia vanished, replaced by the lethal aura of a cold-blooded predator.
"My bloodline comes from the Gorgons. And it is of the highest purity."
She revealed her secret with a sickly charming smile. "That means I can smell things you can't, and see things you don't. For instance... the scent of that little canary that escaped through your fireplace a few minutes ago. Sweet, fragrant... like a freshly baked vanilla cake dusted with sugar."
Jerry's expression didn't change. He listened in silence, his eyes like bottomless lakes without a ripple. He took a slow sip of his Sherry, letting the liquid warm his throat before speaking. "And so, My Lady, did you come here tonight just to brag about your noble bloodline?"
Cassiopeia laughed again. She took an elegant sip of her wine, seemingly enjoying this game of cat and mouse.
"Brag?" she repeated, shaking her head. "No, Jerry. I'm simply stating a fact. A fact that is very important for both of us."
As she spoke, Jerry felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. This woman was far more dangerous than Professor McGonagall. This was an unmasked threat, a top-tier predator. He subtly rubbed his family ring, feeling the connection to his own icy magic, which calmed his nerves slightly.
Cassiopeia noticed the movement, but she didn't call him out. Her smile just grew wider. Like a magician, she pulled a scrap of cloth from her gown's pocket. It was black, with jagged edges where it had been torn by something sharp—a corner of a robe.
"Though I have retired from the war legions at the front," she began, her voice low and heavy with pressure, "the Ministry still pays me handsomely to handle... delicate problems. It is no exaggeration to say that serpents are the greatest trackers in existence."
Her gaze fixed on Jerry's face like a physical weight. "This was found near a Gringotts vault that was recently robbed. It was covered in layers of Polyjuice and several layers of Confundus charms. Even a Niffler couldn't trace the source..."
She leaned forward, the scent of orchids and cedar becoming aggressive. "But my nose is ten times more sensitive than a Niffler's!"
She stared into his eyes, enunciating every word. "I can smell what's left on this. A hint of black powder... and old parchment. The exact same scent on you."
The moment she finished, a cold system notification exploded in Jerry's mind.
[Emergency Quest: The Gorgon's Probe] [Description: The eyes of the pure-blood Gorgon, Cassiopeia, have locked onto you. She is intrigued, but more than that, she carries the predator's instinct to kill what it doesn't understand. Your every move determines your life or death.] [Objective: Survive this encounter and successfully provoke a deeper 'interest' in her.] [Rewards: Family Prestige +50, Unlock Cassiopeia's Chain Quest line.] [Failure Penalty: Complete and irreversible petrification by the Gorgon's Gaze. The quest will fail permanently.]
Jerry's heart sank. The chill on his spine finally found its source. It wasn't a psychological trick or a reaction to her words. It was a tangible, ice-cold... mana lock.
He realized now that from the moment he stepped toward her, her almond eyes had never truly "looked" at him. This was something higher—a magical gaze born of bloodline instinct.
An invisible, viscous mana, like countless transparent tentacles from an abyss, had silently coiled around his limbs, seeped into his skin, and was even beginning to slow his blood flow. His movements became sluggish, as if the air had turned into thickening glue. Every breath was a struggle.
This was the source of his horror. He was locked down.
With a single thought from Cassiopeia—or even just a prolonged gaze—this cold mana would explode, turning him from a living person into a lifeless, perfect stone statue.
And she, this depraved noblewoman, was clearly enjoying it. She loved watching her prey go from composed to realizing the danger, finally being swallowed by fear. It was a game that satisfied the sadistic nature of her Gorgon blood far more than a simple kill.
And petrification was irreversible.
Those words made him break out in a cold sweat. Damn this bitch! Jerry cursed internally. He had been too exhausted, his focus too scattered. He hadn't noticed her mana lock immediately.
Slowly, he set his glass back on the table. The clack of the crystal against the wood sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
"I don't know what you're talking about, My Lady. That scrap of cloth likely just picked up similar scents. That's common in the magical world."
Seeing his "blustering" front, Cassiopeia's grin widened. Her forked, red tongue flicked out again, licking her lush lips. It was an alien, hauntingly beautiful gesture, like a predator tasting the fear of its prey.
"Is that so?" she asked in a sing-song voice. "Perhaps. But I prefer to trust my own nose. For those of my blood, scent is the evidence."
She didn't push further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. Her emerald skirt slid up, revealing a length of shapely leg encased in sheer, black silk stockings.
"However, I didn't come here tonight for Ministry business," she said lazily. "The Rosier family... such a powerful name once. And you are its sole heir. Your value is far greater than a few small vaults at Gringotts."
Jerry remained silent, weighing his options. He knew no amount of denial would work. This woman hadn't planned on giving him an exit.
"What do you want?" Jerry finally asked, his voice raspy.
Cassiopeia laughed, her heavy breasts shaking with the effort. "What do I want?" she repeated as if it were a hilarious joke. "Brat, you still don't get it. You should be asking what you can give me to earn my... silence."
Jerry's fist clenched. The time for negotiation had arrived.
"I can give you whatever you need. Name your price," he said, staring into her eyes.
"Name my price?" Cassiopeia's smile faded, her eyes turning sharp. "An interesting phrase. But Jerry, I don't believe a single word you say."
She extended her foot, clad in an exquisite black high heel, toward him. The shoe was sharp and elegant, its needle-thin heel and pointed toe accentuating the aggressive curve of her silk-covered foot. She used the toe of the shoe to mockingly hook into the hem of his pajama trousers.
"Do you like it?" she whispered. "If you like it, come closer."
Jerry looked at the perfect foot hovering before him. He could feel the warmth radiating from her and the faint scent of her skin. A surge of unprecedented humiliation washed over him. But the threat of "irreversible petrification" hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
Jerry took a deep breath, making a decision. He slid from his chair and knelt on one knee on the cold floor.
Cassiopeia watched with predatory delight. This eleven-year-old boy, though not yet fully grown, was kneeling at her feet, looking up at her. The taboo image of a youthful boy forced to submit to a mature noblewoman made her serpent blood boil with heat.
Jerry reached out, his hand trembling, and grasped her ankle. Even through the thin silk of the stocking, he could feel the smoothness of her skin and the delicate structure of her bones. He lowered his head, his lips drawing closer to the sharp toe of her shoe.
Just before his lips touched the leather, Cassiopeia moved. She hooked her toes, allowing the shoe to slide off her foot and fall silently onto the carpet.
A perfect, shapely foot encased in black silk was now presented to him without obstruction. Her five toes were painted with the same deep crimson as her fingernails, looking like five ripe cherries in the dim light.
"I don't like things being in the way," Cassiopeia said with a husky laugh. "I want to feel the most direct... sincerity."
Jerry closed his eyes, surrendering to his fate. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against the arch of her foot. Then, he flicked out his tongue and began to slowly, meticulously lick the silk-covered sole of the Gorgon.
Jerry's movements were clumsy, like a novice performing a ritual for the first time.
His tongue swiped across the mesh of the stockings, the texture rough and alien against his taste buds. He could clearly taste the synthetic fibers of the silk, mingled with the faint, intoxicating scent of Cassiopeia—a heady mix of musk, expensive perfume, and the slight saltiness of a woman's sweat.
Cassiopeia leaned back against the chair, her head tilting back as a satisfied, cat-like sigh escaped her throat. Her fingers instinctively gripped the armrests, feeling the rhythmic, warm, and wet sensation radiating from her sole. Jerry's tongue was powerful; even through the layer of silk, she could feel the deliberate pressure of his licks.
He was meticulous. He moved from the arch to the ball of her foot, then to each individual toe. When he took her large, crimson-painted toe into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip, a jolt of electric pleasure shot from her foot straight up her spine.
"Take them off..." Cassiopeia's voice was thick and breathless.
Jerry stopped and looked up. He saw a feverish flush creeping across her face, her almond eyes clouded with a misty, dazed haze. Without a word, he gripped the edges of the stockings and slowly, inch by inch, peeled the black silk down her calves.
As the fabric fell away, a pair of flawless feet, looking as though they were carved from white jade, were exposed to the dim light. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, revealing the faint tracing of blue veins beneath. Her toes were rounded and perfect, her nails trimmed neatly and gleaming with a healthy, natural luster.
"Continue," Cassiopeia commanded.
Jerry lowered his head again. This time, his tongue made direct contact with her warm skin. The sensation of her smooth, supple, and elastic flesh was a hundred times more intense than it had been through the silk. He took her toes into his mouth, his tongue exploring every crevice between them with painstaking detail. Then, he licked his way up her instep toward her delicate ankle.
Cassiopeia's breathing grew ragged. Jerry could hear the stifled, high-pitched moans vibrating in her throat. Her legs rubbed together subconsciously, and beneath her skirt, something was clearly changing.
Jerry knew the moment had come.
As his tongue reached her calf, he suddenly stopped. He looked up, and the humiliation and reluctance in his dark eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating light.
In the next heartbeat, the submissive boy lunged!
The hands that had just been worshiping her feet erupted with a blinding, violent light! His left hand crackled with silver arcs of lightning, while his right hand surged with roiling, dark crimson flames. These two opposing, primal forces were controlled with impossible precision, lashing out like two living vipers as he gripped Cassiopeia's legs.
Zzzzt!
With a piercing crackle, the remnants of the black silk couldn't withstand the sudden surge of power. They were charred black, shredded, and vaporized into a fine soot by the sheer heat and pressure.
However, when the twin serpents of magic slammed into Cassiopeia's pale skin, they seemed to disappear into an abyss. Her skin remained as smooth as before, without even a faint red mark, as if the metal-melting heat and the air-shredding lightning were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Her smile turned disdainful and icy. She looked down at the boy who dared to resist her, and her body underwent a terrifying transformation.
Cassiopeia's flesh became translucent and crystalline, like a diamond. Her blue veins and pulsing organs were visible through her skin, radiating a non-human, inorganic beauty. Simultaneously, her alluring eyes turned a deep, bottomless sapphire. A frigid, soul-chilling mana leaked from them, locking onto Jerry's very essence.
"You really aren't a good boy, are you?"
The laziness was gone from her voice, replaced by the cold finality of a judge. The petrifying magic was coiled and ready to strike, capable of turning him into an eternal statue in a heartbeat.
But Jerry's goal hadn't been to harm her.
The moment she transformed, he let go and launched himself backward like a cannonball. He slammed into the edge of his bed, using the momentum to flip back and create distance between them in the cramped dorm.
The small room instantly turned into a lethal arena.
Jerry unleashed a combat prowess that defied his age. Without incanting a single word, spells erupted from his fingertips like a torrential downpour. Stunners, Disarming Charms, Impediment Jinxes, and various dark curses wove together into a suffocating web of death, screaming toward Cassiopeia.
The desk, chairs, and wardrobe were pulverized instantly by the magical shockwaves, sending splinters and stone flying everywhere.
Cassiopeia just stood her ground. She didn't even draw her wand. Her diamond-like form was entirely immune to these low-tier spells; every curse that hit her simply rippled across her body like a pebble in a pond before vanishing into nothingness.
"Too weak, Rosier brat. Is this all you have?" Her voice cut through the roar of magic, dripping with mockery.
Jerry's face was grim. He knew conventional magic wouldn't work. He took a deep breath, and a ball of eerie green flame, pulsing with an ominous aura, began to coalesce at his fingertips.
However, just as he prepared to unleash the forbidden curse, a violent, irresistible stiffness surged from his spine through his entire body. It was the Petrification Gaze that had been locked on him from the start.
In the middle of the chaotic exchange, Cassiopeia had maintained her focus, and the moment his concentration wavered to cast his ultimate spell, she struck.
Jerry froze mid-motion. His skin lost its color at a visible rate, turning grey, cold, and hard. He was being transformed from flesh into living stone.
Cassiopeia elegantly shed her diamond form, returning to her voluptuous, fleshy self. She walked toward the semi-petrified Jerry with the stride of a conqueror, a cruel, lazy smile playing on her lips.
"Game over, you disobedient pup."
Cassiopeia lifted her foot—the one with the shredded, scorched stocking—and ground it ruthlessly into Jerry's chest, pinning him to the floor. Her high heels had been lost in the struggle; now, it was her soft sole, wrapped in the filthy remnants of black silk, that pressed against him.
Jerry lay on the cold stone, most of his body paralyzed, but his mind remained agonizingly clear. He could feel her foot through his thin pajamas, the weight and heat of a mature woman bringing a crushing sense of pressure and shame.
But because of the extreme humiliation and the thrill of near-death, a different part of him reacted in complete opposition. His loose silk pajamas were thrust upward by a massive, veiny, and engorged erection, forming an impossible tent. His hardening shaft throbbed violently against the fabric, a silent testament to his involuntary lust.
Cassiopeia noticed the dramatic change. She looked down at the towering bulge of his youthful virility, then up at his stone-cold face, which was twisted in a mask of fury and shame. A surge of sadistic, twisted desire welled up within her.
"Oh? Even at a time like this, you're still so... energetic down there?"
She chuckled, and the foot on his chest began to slide down with malicious intent. The sole of her foot, clad in the ruined stocking, traced the lines of his stiffened abs before coming to a precise halt at the tip of the tent.
She began to grind her heel into the head of his cock, rotating her foot in slow, agonizing circles.
"Ngh!" A muffled groan escaped Jerry's throat. His body was frozen, but his most sensitive part was enduring a shameful, expert teasing.
Cassiopeia had found a new toy. She used her toes to deftly hook the drawstring of his pajamas, pulling them down until his massive, straining cock snapped free, throbbing in the open air.
"Quite a... formidable little thing," Cassiopeia praised genuinely, before adding with a smirk, "Definitely not a toothpick."
Then, she lowered her silk-clad foot directly onto his shaft.
She used her flexible arch to clamp onto the burning rod, while her toes curled around the base. She began to move. Her foot slid up and down, the soft skin of her arch and the rough edges of the torn silk alternately frictioning against the thick, pulsing meat. The frayed edges of the stocking scraped over the bulging veins of his shaft, sending waves of unbearable stimulation through him.
Squish... squelch...
Her movements weren't fast, but they were expertly rhythmic. She could feel the scorching heat of his cock thumping against her sole. The pre-cum Jerry secreted from the intense stimulation mixed with the sweat on her foot, creating a slick lubricant. Every stroke produced a distinct, wet sound.
Jerry's eyes turned blood-red with humiliation. He was paralyzed, forced to watch as this high-born woman used her foot to toy with his manhood. Cassiopeia, meanwhile, was drowning in the pleasure of total domination. Seeing this genius boy—who had dared to fight her—now reduced to a helpless fish on a cutting board, being pleasured in the most degrading way possible, made her pulse race.
Her pace quickened. Her arch tightened, her toes twitching as she used her foot to simulate the act of sex. The wet, rhythmic slapping echoed in the silent dorm. Jerry's senses were pushed to the breaking point; he felt like his brain was going to melt.
Finally, after a frantic burst of friction, Jerry's stiffened body jolted. A hot, thick torrent of semen erupted from the tip of his cock like a broken dam, coating Cassiopeia's white, silk-clad foot.
The thick, viscous cream splashed across her sole and toes, carrying the potent musk of a virile youth. The force of the climax made Cassiopeia's toes curl involuntarily.
She looked down at her mess-covered foot. There was no disgust on her face, only a flush of morbid, satisfied lust. Her pale toes began to wiggle in the pool of cum as if they had a life of their own. They clamped together and then spread wide, savoring the "tribute" of the defeated. Every flex of her foot smeared the thick fluid between the mesh of her stocking and her skin, producing a series of wet, squelching sounds.
She savored the feeling for a moment before finally lifting her foot. She found her discarded heel and, without bothering to clean herself, shoved her cum-soaked foot back into the narrow shoe.
Squelch...
As her foot squeezed back into the tight heel, a sound like a wet sponge being crushed filled the air. The thick semen was mercilessly compressed between her skin and the shoe's lining, oozing out from the gaps like overflowed cream, leaving white streaks on the exterior of the black leather.
With that finished, Cassiopeia leaned down. With effortless strength, she scooped up the boy—who was half her height and still partially paralyzed—as if he were a large doll.
Jerry was held in her arms, stiff and helpless. Cassiopeia ignored the death glare he was giving her. She brought his face close to hers, wearing the smile of a victor, and pressed her lush red lips against his.
A cold, slimy sensation entered Jerry's mouth. Cassiopeia's forked tongue forced his teeth apart, sliding into his oral cavity to entwine with his frozen tongue. Along with the movement of her tongue, she channeled a flow of cool, fragrant saliva into his mouth, which he was forced to swallow.
Magic happened. As soon as the liquid hit his stomach, the leaden stiffness of the petrification began to recede. The first thing to regain sensation was his tongue.
Almost the instant he regained control, Jerry retaliated. His tongue lashed out with vengeful energy, wrapping around hers, invading her mouth with a wild, sucking intensity that produced loud, wet smacking sounds.
Cassiopeia hadn't expected such a rapid counter-attack. She let out a muffled groan but didn't pull away; instead, she engaged him with even more fervor. They kissed like two battling beasts in the ruined dorm.
When they finally broke apart for air, Cassiopeia tossed the now-mobile Jerry back onto the bed like a discarded toy. She stood up, straightened her ruffled skirt, and turned toward the door.
"You owe me a favor, little puppy," she said without looking back, her voice heavy with post-coital languor. "When you're a bit older, I'll come to collect."
She walked toward the door with an elegant, provocative sway of her hips. With every step she took, the pressure of her weight caused a fresh bead of thick, white semen to squeeze out of her shoe, dripping onto the cold stone floor.
Drip... plop...
The sound was agonizingly clear. Cassiopeia left a trail of filth and temptation behind her. Her rear rhythmically swayed as she walked like a sated succubus—alluring, sexual, and lethally dangerous.
As the door clicked shut, the room fell into a deathly silence.
The system notification chimed in Jerry's mind.
[Quest Completed: The Gorgon's Probe] [Evaluation: You survived despite an absolute gap in power and managed to provoke a deeper 'interest' in the target through unexpected means.] [Rewards: Family Prestige +50, Cassiopeia's Chain Quest line is now active.]
A new quest popped up.
[New Quest: The Gorgon's Summons] [Objective: Wait patiently. Cassiopeia will summon you when she feels the time is right.] [Hint: Patience is not a Rosier trait. Approaching her daughter—Isabella—might significantly shorten your wait.]
Jerry lay on the bed, unmoving. Although the saliva had cured the petrification, the cold mana still lingered in his system like icy needles, leaving him weak and drained. It took five minutes before he could fully move his limbs again.
He sat up and surveyed the wreckage of his room. Finally, his eyes landed on the floor. From the bed to the door, there was a string of damp footprints, each glistening with the white, viscous evidence of his defeat.
Jerry stared at the trail for a long time. Then, slowly, his lips pulled back into a grin of pure, calculating intent. He licked his lips, tasting her perfume, and whispered the names like he was savoring prey:
"Cassiopeia... Isabella!"
"I can't beat you yet? Fine. I'll start with your daughter."
In Selina's staff quarters, the air was thick with the smell of strong alcohol.
The door opened, and Cassiopeia stepped in. Selina was slumped on the sofa, clutching a glass of Firewhisky, her eyes glazed. When she saw Cassiopeia, her eyes sharpened instantly. She sat bolt upright.
"Well? Was it the little bastard?" Selina's voice was shrill with desperation.
Cassiopeia didn't answer immediately. She tossed the scrap of black cloth onto the low table between them and let out a long, lazy yawn. She bent over, her long fingers hooking the edge of her ruined stockings, and began to pull them off.
As she did, her bare feet—the ones that had just come out of the messy heels—were exposed to Selina.
Selina's pupils contracted. She saw that Cassiopeia's pale soles and toes were smeared with a semi-dried, sticky white fluid. Aside from the alcohol, a faint, metallic scent of male essence filled the air.
"Where have you been?" Selina asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Cassiopeia tossed the ruined stockings aside and sank into the opposite armchair, propping her long, jade-like legs up. She dipped a finger into the liquid on her sole, brought it to her nose, and sniffed it nonchalantly.
"He's fine," she said dismissively. "I've confirmed it. He isn't the one you're looking for."
"Impossible!" Selina nearly screamed. "The timing, the location, the talent he shows—it all fits!"
"But the scent doesn't," Cassiopeia interrupted with finality. "That is a fact. You can choose not to believe me and find someone else to test him. But I imagine you took a great risk stealing that 'evidence' from the Ministry's evidence locker. I suggest you don't do it again."
She looked at Selina's face, which was twisted with grief and hatred, and softened her tone. "Listen, Selina. His father was indeed one of the men who killed your parents. But those Death Eaters were executed, weren't they? I believe you were at the trials yourself."
"Let the previous generation carry their own sins. Don't force your hatred onto an innocent child."
Cassiopeia's words acted like a fuse, detonating Selina's suppressed agony.
"Innocent?" Selina's voice rose to a shrill, raspy peak. She looked hysterical. "Were my parents not innocent? What did they do wrong to be slaughtered like cattle in their own home by those filth?"
Selina lunged up from the sofa, her glass nearly slipping from her hand. Her eyes were bloodshot, glaring at Cassiopeia as if her old friend were the murderer herself.
Cassiopeia simply shook her head. In her deep sapphire eyes, there was no sympathy, only the exhaustion of someone who had seen it all.
"That's all the help I can give you," Cassiopeia said coldly. "If you don't believe me, so be it. I'm sure you'll find other 'evidence' with your skills. But I am done helping you with this. I'm sorry."
This icy dismissal hit Selina like a bucket of freezing water. She trembled, her hysterical energy vanishing. She slumped back into the sofa, clutching her glass in silence.
Cassiopeia didn't offer any comfort. She poured herself half a glass of Firewhisky and topped off Selina's glass. She raised hers, tilted her elegant neck, and drained the burning liquid in one go.
Thump.
The glass hit the table hard. Selina was still staring blankly at the black cloth on the table.
Suddenly, Cassiopeia moved. She didn't sit back; instead, she lunged across the small table, snatched the glass from Selina's hand, and slammed it down. Then, she gripped Selina's chin, forcing her to look up.
"Stop thinking about it," Cassiopeia rasped.
The next second, she kissed Selina hard.
The kiss was violent, tasting of Firewhisky and raw aggression. Selina jolted, her body fighting back at first, but soon the invading heat overwhelmed her senses. She found an outlet for her grief and began to respond with desperate intensity.
The two women kissed across the table, their teeth clashing, producing loud, wet sounds. When they broke apart, both were panting, their lips swollen and their eyes burning with the same desperate fire.
Cassiopeia walked around the table, hauled the limp Selina up, and shoved her down onto the soft wool rug. She climbed on top, her voluptuous body pinning the other woman down as she knelt between Selina's legs.
Their hands became frantic. Cassiopeia ripped open Selina's blouse, exposing her black lace bra and her bursting breasts. Selina's hand reached under Cassiopeia's evening gown, finding the warm, wet center of the Gorgon.
"You're wet, too..." Selina rasped, her voice a challenge.
"Your little bastard did that," Cassiopeia admitted without shame. She leaned down and took Selina's earlobe into her mouth, her forked tongue flicking against it. "But now, I want to taste you."
She stripped Selina's trousers and panties, exposing her neat, damp mound to the air.
"Nnnh..."
They sighed in unison as they began to grind against each other with a rhythmic, desperate heat. Selina's legs wrapped tight around Cassiopeia's waist, her nails digging into the smooth skin of the other woman's back, leaving red welts. Cassiopeia controlled the pace, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through them both.
Squish... slop... clap...
Clear fluids leaked down their thighs, staining the rug. But it wasn't enough for Selina. Her dazed eyes caught sight of Cassiopeia's bare foot. A mad idea took hold of her.
Selina surged with strength, flipping Cassiopeia onto her back. She grabbed the Gorgon's foot, using her fingers to scrape off the semi-dried, sticky white semen from the sole. She gathered the mixture of the boy's essence and the woman's musk onto her fingertips.
"Use this!" Selina panted, her eyes manic. "Use the bastard's filth... to fuck me..."
Cassiopeia didn't stop her. Instead, she let out an excited, indulgent laugh.
Selina smeared the sticky liquid between their grinding centers. The scent of the youth's virility mixed with the women's lust, creating a scent of pure depravity. They kissed again, their joined groins becoming a swamp of friction and filth until they both arched, screaming and convulsing as they reached a violent, messy climax, fluid gushing between them to signal the end of the night.