"Hahaha! I didn't expect you to be this unlucky, my little lecherous Master!"
Accompanied by a silver bell-like laugh of pure, unadulterated schadenfreude, the light and shadow within the large classical oil painting at the head of Jerry's bed twisted. The noblewoman who had been sitting regally in her lavish court dress—Catherine in her magical disguise—"flowed" out of the frame like melting syrup.
She had been there the entire time. It was precisely because of her presence that Jerry had been able to locate all the surveillance charms in the room so quickly.
Catherine landed lightly on the plush carpet, her bare feet sinking into the pile. Her complex gown had vanished, replaced by a silk nightgown so thin it was nearly transparent. The fabric was minimal, barely covering her most private areas. Her massive, snow-white peaks were almost entirely exposed, swaying like two mounds of trembling, elastic custard with every step she took.
Jerry sat on the edge of the bed, his face dark as he brooded over the trouble Professor Babbling had brought him. Catherine, like a cat in heat, pressed herself against his back. Kneeling on the bed, she leaned her upper body forward, sandwiching Jerry's head directly between her enormous breasts.
"Mmm..."
A soft, warm, and milky-scented mass completely enveloped his vision and breath. Catherine didn't give him a chance to react; she began to vigorously rub and knead his head between her cleavage. It didn't feel like a massage; it felt like a bowling ball being scrubbed between two giant, warm, water-soaked sponges. The heavy, fragrant weight of her side-boobs nearly suffocated him, leaving him with nothing to inhale but the scent of her skin and the musk radiating from the depths of her valley.
"I thought Selena alone was enough to give you a headache!" Catherine giggled into his ear, her hot breath making him shiver as she continued to pummel the back of his head with her chest. "Now there's Babbling too. My, my, the men of the Rosier family truly have a knack for attracting women who come bearing grudges and open legs!"
After having his head "washed" between those heavy globes of flesh for a while, Jerry gave up all resistance. His body went limp, as if his bones had been removed, and he fell back entirely into Catherine's warm, soft embrace. The back of his head sank deep into her breathtaking cleavage.
"When you have a thousand lice, one more doesn't make you itch; when you owe a million, one more debt doesn't make you worry," Jerry's voice came out muffled from between the giant breasts, sounding weary and indifferent. "It's all trouble. What difference does one more make?"
Feeling her young master stop struggling, Catherine let out a throaty laugh. Her massive breasts bounced with her mirth, squeezing Jerry's cheeks even tighter. She found his resignation adorable, which only made her want to bully him more.
One of her hands slid down his chest like a sleek snake, reaching lower.
"Oh wow..."
Even through two layers of fabric, the size and heat of what she found made Catherine let out a satisfied moan. Her fingers skillfully traced the silhouette of the massive shaft, from the thick base to the swollen head. She could feel the veins throbbing beneath her palm.
"Master, the 'louse' down here is bigger than anyone's," she teased with a lewd lilt, her movements becoming bolder. She began to knead and stroke him with a firm palm.
Jerry shuddered as waves of numbing pleasure radiated from his groin. He closed his eyes, seemingly used to her harassment, and changed the subject. "Business first. Is Elania... back yet?"
"Elania?" Catherine's hand paused for a split second before she resumed her stroking with even more vigor. She ground her palm against the scorching tip while pressing her soaking wet crotch firmly against Jerry's lower back. The friction of the fabric produced a distinct, squelching sound. "That little elven virgin? Not yet. But she's close; she should be on her way back."
There was a clear hint of jealousy and disdain in Catherine's voice.
Listening to her, Jerry's eyes remained remarkably clear. He could feel the heat of her palm, smell the pungent sweetness of her drenched nether regions, and hear the "glug-squelch" of her arousal leaking out. However, beneath the surface, Jerry saw the truth: a faint, almost uncontrollable tremble deep within her.
Catherine's laughter sounded reckless, but Jerry could feel her heart racing against his back. It wasn't the rhythm of pure lust; it was a frantic beat born of anxiety.
Catherine... was afraid.
Jerry understood instantly. This exaggerated, almost desperate display of horniness was a clumsy, frantic shield. She was using her body to build a mental barrier for him. She wanted to fill his head with sex so there would be no room left to think about the "World Crystal Wall"—a place filled with unknown death and risk. She would rather her master be a lecherous brat than a hero crushed by fear and pressure.
The irritation he felt toward Professor Babbling vanished. Instead of pushing her away, Jerry slid back further, embedding himself deeper into her soft embrace and the hot, wet cleft of her buttocks. He reached back and accurately caught Catherine's hand as it worked his cock.
Catherine froze, thinking he was rejecting her. But Jerry simply covered her hand with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't worry, Catherine." His voice was still muffled by her breasts, but it was as sharp as a scalpel, cutting through her facade.
Catherine's entire body went rigid. The laughter, the teasing eyes, the grinding hips—it all stopped. The erotic atmosphere in the room deflated like a punctured balloon. After a few seconds of silence, a warm drop of liquid landed on Jerry's cheek.
It wasn't sweat, nor was it her juices. It was a tear.
"Can you... just not go?" The hot tear felt like a branding iron on Jerry's skin.
Jerry didn't speak. He gently pulled her hand away from his crotch, turned around, and broke free from her suffocatingly soft embrace to face her. He reached out and cupped her face. His hands were small, but they were warm and strong as they held her trembling chin.
Then, he leaned in and kissed her lips, which were still slick with salty tears.
The kiss was gentle at first. Catherine forgot to cry. She felt Jerry's nimble tongue tentatively pry open her teeth. She complied, and a second later, a tongue far more skilled than she expected slid inside.
"Mmm... nhh..."
Jerry's tongue began a gentle conquest of her mouth. He hooked her bewildered, soft tongue, guiding it, intertwining with it, and sucking on it. Thick saliva flooded between their locked lips, making wet, rhythmic "slurp-squelch" sounds that echoed in the quiet room.
Gradually, Catherine stopped trembling. Her body softened, and her arms instinctively wound around Jerry's neck as she began to respond with raw, unpracticed passion.
When they finally broke apart, Catherine's eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed with deep arousal. The sadness and fear had been washed away by that powerful kiss, replaced by devotion to the boy before her.
"Listen, Catherine," Jerry said, wiping a strand of saliva from her lip with his thumb. His eyes were calm and steady. "I need your help. Not as a grieving woman crying in my arms, but as my 'shield' and 'spear'."
His words instantly awakened her pride as a powerful witch.
"Based on the intel, the space behind that Crystal Wall is likely filled with natural and man-made arrays and seals designed to repel outsiders. Even the spatial turbulence is a defense mechanism," Jerry's voice dropped, becoming serious. "In this field, I admit, I am a total amateur. But you... you are an expert."
Jerry looked into her eyes with total trust. "Remember Gringotts? Without you, I couldn't have cracked those ancient curses and linked arrays so easily. I need you now, Catherine. Teach me everything you know about warding and curses—attack, defense, illusion, teleportation. I want to know exactly what I'm facing before I step through."
This cold pragmatism comforted her more than any empty consolation. She saw that Jerry had found the best way to fight fear: knowledge and preparation. She sniffed, wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and regained her usual air of lazy confidence.
Catherine climbed off the bed. Her sheer nightgown, dampened by her tears and arousal, clung to her body, highlighting every curve of her ripening figure.
"My little Master," she said, her voice regaining its confident edge. "If you want to learn how to cast lethal hexes, kill silently with curses, or break dirty blood-line jinxes, I am the best teacher you'll find."
She paused, walking slowly around him, her eyes evaluating him like a piece of prize merchandise. "But... when it comes to warding and arrays—especially those complex, high-logic defense systems and spatial seals... there is someone far better suited to give you the crash course you need to stay alive."
"Who?" Jerry asked. He knew Catherine rarely admitted anyone was better than her in magic.
Catherine stopped in front of him and leaned down, bracing her hands on her knees to shove her cleavage into his face once more. She winked mischievously, her red tongue darting out to lick her lips. Her voice was low and sultry.
"Why, that noble, saintly, and incredibly uptight pureblood... Isabella, of course!"
"Isabella Avery..." Catherine spoke the name with a mix of respect and distaste. "You have to understand, Master. 'Wild' witches like me and those pureblood aristocrats don't walk the same path."
Catherine walked to the mini-fridge and poured herself a glass of red wine. She swirled the crimson liquid, looking at it like flowing blood. "I specialize in the 'dirty work'—curses, mind-breaking, things that act directly on flesh and soul. My magic is destructive, chaotic, and driven by desire."
She took a sip, her lips stained red. "But Isabella is different." She leaned against the bar, her rounded buttocks stretching her silk gown into a tempting curve. "The Avery family is world-renowned for protection and construction spells. Their library is filled with ancient texts on arrays, barriers, runic geometry, and energy structures. Boring enough to make a mountain troll fall asleep, but incredibly powerful."
"And Isabella herself..." Catherine curled her lip. "She inherited the purest blood of the Averys. She has a natural affinity for rare Light-element spells, which are unrivaled for purification and defense arrays. Watching her weave a ward isn't casting; it's art. Her control over mana flow and runic nodes is as natural as breathing. It's an instinct bred into her bones—something a 'wild' path like mine can't match in a lifetime of study."
She finished her wine and slammed the glass down. "So, Master! For poisoning and killing, I'm your woman. But if you're going into a hellscape of ancient arrays and want to come out in one piece... Isabella is the teacher you need."
Jerry smiled and stood up. He walked to the bar and, with a natural intimacy, used his thumb to wipe a drop of wine from Catherine's lip. He then put the finger in his own mouth, tasting the wine and her lipstick.
"Do you have a plan?" he asked, his tone possessing a composure far beyond his years. "I'm not exactly in the mood to 'beg' her."
"Beg?" Catherine laughed. she wound her soft arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Why would you use such a... humble word? If you don't want to beg, change your approach. Perhaps... you should try 'dating' her."
"Lunch? With you?"
At the massive doors of the library, the scent of old parchment and ink filled the air. Isabella Avery was clutching a stack of magical tomes taller than her head when a figure blocked her path.
It was Jerry Rosier. He stood there casually, hands in his pockets, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. "Are you free tonight, Senior? I'd like to take you to dinner."
Isabella's arms tightened around her books. Her face, as perfect and cold as a classical sculpture, remained expressionless. She tilted her chin up, looking at him as if he were an insignificant passerby.
"Mr. Rosier, I don't believe we are on 'dinner' terms," she said, her voice like clinking ice—polite, yet distant.
However, beneath her mask, her heart skipped a beat. A tiny, feather-light spark of joy flickered in her soul. He's actually asking me out? But that joy was quickly replaced by suspicion. She hadn't forgotten how many times she had been outplayed by this little brat. Behind that harmless smile lay nothing but trouble. He wants something, she thought.
"I'm busy," she said curtly, stepping to the side to bypass him.
But as she moved, a tiny moment of hesitation slowed her step. She glanced back out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he would look disappointed like her other suitors, or if he would just give up.
In that moment of hesitation, a warm, firm body pressed against her back without warning.
"Ah!" Isabella let out a short gasp as the heavy books "clattered" to the floor. She was encircled by a pair of arms that were surprisingly strong, her back pressed flush against a lean, solid chest.
It was Jerry! Has he lost his mind? she thought. Before she could struggle, a warm palm pressed against her flat, smooth stomach. The hand lingered for only a moment before sliding downward, ignoring the fine fabric of her uniform skirt.
"Wh-what are you doing! Let me go!" Her voice trembled with a fear she didn't recognize. They were in a deserted corridor deep in the library, but anyone could walk by.
Jerry ignored her protests. His other hand reached around and clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries into incoherent "mmph" sounds. He pressed against her like a shadow, his chin resting in the crook of her neck, his hot breath ghosting over her earlobe. His left hand slid lower, stopping at the most private, hidden triangle of her body.
Isabella went completely rigid. Through her skirt and silk panties, she could feel the boy's palm pressing firmly against her secret mound. An indescribable, alien surge of electricity shot through her entire body.
"Senior," Jerry's voice was low, raspy, and teasing in her ear. "What do you think would happen if I slid my hand inside right now?"
As he spoke, his fingers began to experimentally press against the soft slit of her crotch through the fabric.
"Mmph... stop it!" Isabella's body began to fail her. Deep inside her, a long-sealed switch was flipped. A sudden, hot flow of moisture soaked into her panties. She could feel something hard pressing against her backside.
Even through layers of clothing, the size and rigidity of the "spear" poking her rounded buttocks made her heart race.
Squelch... drip...
A tiny, wet sound echoed in the quiet hallway. It was the sound of her own juices being squeezed out of the fabric by the pressure of Jerry's fingers. Jerry chuckled, the vibration of his chest sending goosebumps across her skin.
"Hear that?" Jerry's fingers became more aggressive, circling the center of the sodden silk. Every rub sent a jolt of paralyzing pleasure through her brain, making it hard to stand.
"Dinner," Jerry commanded playfully. "Are you coming or not? If you say no, I promise my hand goes inside next, and I'll let everyone who passes by hear how loud and wet you are down there."
The blatant threat filled her with shame. Yet, in the depths of that shame, a stronger, foreign excitement grew like a vine. A hidden part of her actually wanted him to put his hand inside. But her pureblood pride wouldn't let her break so easily.
"Stop!" Isabella grabbed Jerry's arm, trying to hurl him off. A sliver of holy white light—the Avery family's Light magic—flickered at her fingertips.
But when she felt the massive shaft against her ass throb with even more aggressive hunger in response to her struggle, a mad, bold thought entered her mind. Why am I the only one being toyed with?
The light at her fingertips died. She let go of his arm and reached down with lightning speed. Through his uniform trousers, she grabbed his thick, terrifyingly hard cock in a firm grip.
"Hiss!" Jerry inhaled sharply. Isabella's hand was cold, but her grip was vengeful and strong, squeezing his most sensitive part like a vice. It was a sharp mix of pain and pleasure that shot straight to his head.
Jerry's eyes darkened with a predatory ferocity. He clamped his hand harder over her mouth while his other hand brutally yanked aside the silk edge of her panties and forced its way inside.
"Mmph-nnn!"
Isabella's muffled cry was caught in her throat. She felt two cold fingers push past her soaked labia with irresistible force. It was a stinging sensation, followed by an explosion of alien pleasure.
Plop... squelch...
With a clear, wet sound, Jerry's fingers buried themselves in her warm, tight mud. Because it was her first time being penetrated, the walls of her passage were incredibly tight, clenching around his fingers like a death grip.
Isabella arched her back in pain, but that pain was immediately followed by waves of intense, brain-numbing pleasure radiating from her deepest point. She didn't back down. She gripped his cock even harder, her nails digging into the fabric of his pants as she felt the head of his shaft leak a bit of pre-cum against her palm.
Isabella squeezed and kneaded his thick shaft with all her might through the fabric, desperate to make him taste the same agonizing mix of pain and pleasure she was enduring. In that silent corridor, the two of them were locked in a bizarre, erotic struggle—hurting each other while simultaneously driving each other to the brink. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their heavy, ragged breaths mingled against the palm of Jerry's hand.
Just as the tension reached its breaking point, the sound of laughing underclassmen drifted from the far end of the hallway.
The sound hit Isabella like a bucket of ice water. Her status! She was a seventh-year Slytherin Prefect! She was the noble, elegant, untouchable Isabella Avery! How could she be here, cornered like a bitch in heat, with a boy's fingers buried in her cunt while her own hand gripped his...
Seventeen years of cultivated pride overrode her lust and spite.
"Mmph... Mmmph! (I give up! Let go!)" Isabella struggled violently, releasing his "spear" and slapping frantically at the hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with panic and silent pleading.
Jerry watched her frantic expression, a victorious smirk playing on his lips. He abruptly yanked his fingers out of her tight, soaking passage. As if on purpose, the withdrawal created a loud, wet pop, followed by a string of glistening juices.
He released her mouth and leaned in, whispering into her ear before she could even process the shock:
"Seven o'clock tonight, the Hog's Head. I'll be waiting, Senior."
With that, he let her go. Before she could rearrange her disheveled clothes or her shattered composure, he strolled away toward the other end of the hall, whistling a casual tune as if nothing had happened.
Isabella spun around, but the corridor was empty. There was no trace of Jerry—only the heavy tomes scattered on the floor and her own erratic breathing. A surge of fury ignited in her chest. That bastard! To do something so lewd and shameless and then dare to leave first!
Gritting her teeth, her flushed face twisted with rage. She looked down, frantically trying to fix her uniform. Buttons were loose, her skirt was wrinkled, and most humiliatingly, the edge of her panties was still caught uncomfortably. To avoid detection, she hadn't dared reach in to fix them properly; they were now bunched up against the top of her thigh, creating a wet, sticky friction with every step that made her want to kill someone.
She managed to pull herself together enough to maintain the facade of a cold, dignified Prefect. But as she looked up, she saw a few younger students peering curiously around the corner, whispering and glancing between her and the books on the floor.
"What are you looking at!" Isabella's eyes were like daggers. The students flinched under her aura and scurried away.
"Bastard! I'm not going!" Isabella stomped her foot so hard it nearly cracked the marble tile. She didn't even care about the precious ancient texts anymore. She turned and stormed out of the library, her robes billowing behind her.
When she finally threw open the heavy wooden door to her dormitory, the panel slammed against the wall with a dull thud. She immediately saw Catherine lying languidly on her bed. Catherine was wearing a skin-tight black lace nightgown and sheer stay-up stockings, her long legs crossed casually. She was reading a trashy romance novel, looking so relaxed it made Isabella's blood boil.
Isabella marched over and, without a word, delivered a stinging slap directly to Catherine's plump, stocking-clad buttocks.
SMACK!
"You bitch!"
The sharp sound of the impact echoed through the room.
"Ah! My!" Catherine shrieked dramatically, dropping her book. She rubbed her smarting rear, looking utterly innocent. "What was that for, Isabella? Why hit me out of the blue?"
Seeing that fake look, Isabella's heart sank for a moment. Maybe... it wasn't her? But then the memory of the shameful sensations in the library and Jerry's lewd threats rushed back. No one else was close enough to Jerry to coordinate such a thing.
"Stop acting!" Isabella's logic was swallowed by fire. She growled like a lioness and lunged, flipping the "innocent" Catherine face-down onto the soft mattress. Isabella straddled her waist, using her weight to pin her down. She yanked up Catherine's lace gown, exposing her rear perfectly outlined by her thong and garters.
SLAP! SLAP-SLAP!
Isabella rained blows down on the elastic mounds of flesh. The whites of Catherine's buttocks quickly bloomed into a deep, enticing red.
"It was you! Don't you dare play dumb!" Isabella yelled, her voice shaking with humiliation. "That little bastard... in the library... he actually... he..." She couldn't even finish the sentence.
"Ah... that hurts, Isabella... you've gone mad!" Catherine moaned. It wasn't a plea for mercy; it sounded more like a lazy, almost blissful sigh of enjoyment. She wriggled her hips, making the reddened flesh jiggle like jelly.
Isabella paused, infuriated by the response. "You... you're enjoying this?"
"What of it?" Catherine laughed, looking back with watery, bedroom eyes. "So Jerry touched you a bit. Look at you, acting like the world is ending. Deep down, you're just frustrated, aren't you?"
"I knew it!" Isabella hissed. "Frustrated about what?"
"Frustrated that a little brat could make you feel that good, right?"
The words were like a poison needle, hitting Isabella exactly where it hurt. Her hand stayed raised, but it didn't fall.
"Stop acting crazy, my Lady," Catherine continued in a sweet, venomous tone. "With that deadpan face of yours, always acting so high and mighty... a boy like Jerry, who likes to have fun, would never truly want you. You're just a toy—a little kitten who hasn't tasted meat yet."
"Shut up!"
"Oh? Did I hit a nerve?" Catherine teased, intentionally arching her reddened bottom. "Let's make a bet then, Isabella. Let's bet... whether you can actually 'get' him."
Catherine's eyes turned predatory. "You think you're so noble, so charming? Prove it. Go seduce him. Make him cum for you, and bring me a vial of his seed as proof."
Isabella's face turned a violent shade of crimson.
"If you do it," Catherine purred, "I'll win. I'll get down on my knees and lick your 'noble valley' clean from top to bottom. But..." she paused, her voice dripping with mockery, "if you lose... you're the one who gets on your knees. And you'll lick my feet—every inch, from the heel to the gaps between my toes—until they're spotless." She shook her foot, dangling a red high heel.
The room fell into a deathly silence. Isabella's chest heaved. Finally, she squeezed out a single word through her teeth:
"...Fine."
"Just you wait to drink my piss, you slutty bitch," Isabella added. To seal the pact, she delivered one final, brutal slap to Catherine's purple-red, swollen ass.
CRACK!
This one was harder than all the rest. Catherine let out a piercing scream that broke into a moan as her body jolted. Isabella climbed off her, standing straight like a victorious queen.
Catherine lay there, panting. She touched her burning skin, wincing at the heat. "Master... my poor ass really suffered for your sake..." she whispered to herself.
But she quickly turned her attention back to Isabella, who was stripping out of her uniform. Isabella pulled off her damp panties—which left her skin with a distinct, sticky shhhwick sound—and tossed them into the bin like trash. She reached into her wardrobe for the most conservative cotton bra and a long grey skirt she owned.
Catherine nearly rolled her eyes out of her head. She hobbled over—her sore rear making her walk funny—and snatched the "antique" bra before Isabella could put it on, tossing it into the trash.
"Hey!"
Catherine didn't listen. She pressed forward, her hands cupping Isabella's firm, perfect breasts. She kneaded them like dough, watching the small nipples harden under the rough treatment.
"Tsk, tsk. With these? No one would be interested," Catherine sneered. She pulled out two small flower-shaped nipple pasties. She turned Isabella around and pressed the cold pasties onto the rock-hard peaks.
"Ah..." Isabella let out a soft moan. The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her groin, which was already starting to throb again.
Next, Catherine produced a black g-string that was little more than a few thin strings. "Put it on."
"No!" Isabella flushed.
"If you want to win, you wear it. Unless you want my feet for a midnight snack." Catherine grabbed Isabella's leg, propping it on her shoulder in a shameful pose, and forced the tiny triangle of fabric over her secret forest, yanking the string up until it was buried deep in her butt-crack. The string acted like a wire, emphasizing the roundness of her cheeks.
Then, Catherine threw a black, high-slit leather skirt and a deep-V silk blouse at her. "Hurry up, my Lady," Catherine purred, her eyes burning. "You better put these on. I'm going to put on my boots and keep my feet cooped up until tonight... the scent is going to be exquisite."
Isabella's face burned. She could almost imagine the scent of Catherine's feet after a day trapped in leather boots. The thought made her breath hitch and her core turn wet and hot. Catherine always knew how to trigger her.
Isabella dressed herself. The leather skirt was like a second skin, the fabric hissing against her thighs. The high slit exposed her upper thigh and the hint of the string buried in her rear. The silk blouse slid over her breasts, the deep-V showcasing her cleavage and the pasties beneath.
"Perfect," Catherine smiled, adjusting Isabella's collar while her fingers lingered on her chest. "Noble, yet slutty. Just like a pureblood lady should be."
Finally, Catherine took Isabella's heavy, oversized Prefect robes and draped them over her. The thick wool hid everything—the leather, the silk, the skin. Isabella felt a surge of false security. The robes were a shroud for her secrets.
As she enjoyed the moment of "safety," Catherine knelt and pulled a pair of white lace socks and Mary Jane shoes onto Isabella's feet.
Isabella looked in the mirror. Outside, she was a perfect Prefect. Inside, she was a dizzy mess of leather and silk. But then, she felt a strange sensation—like something was being peeled off her skin.
She looked under her robe. She was naked.
The clothes were gone. She spun around to find Catherine holding a glowing crystal ball. Inside the ball, the sexy outfit was hovering, shrunk down to a miniature model.
"These are expensive," Catherine laughed, squeezing the ball. Instantly, the tight, sensual sensations returned. Isabella was physically naked under her robes, but she could feel the leather against her thighs, the silk on her nipples, and the string cutting into her ass.
Catherine tucked the cold crystal into Isabella's pocket. "Don't get caught naked, Lady. If you lose now, you really are coming back to eat my feet."
Isabella stared at her, suspicious. "Why are you helping me?"
Catherine laughed until her breasts shook. "Oh? You don't want it?" She gestured to the crystal. "Give it back then. Or better yet... take off your 'clothes' right now."
Isabella gripped the crystal tighter. Returning it meant admitting defeat. It meant the feet.
"I thought so," Catherine smirked, walking back to her bed and swaying her bruised hips. "Don't let me down. My feet are already looking forward to it."
Isabella straightened her back, her pureblood pride flaring. "Don't worry," she said coldly. "You won't get to use your smelly feet tonight. In fact, since you 'helped' me, I'll give you a reward. I'm going to drink plenty of sweet cherry mead tonight. When I return... my piss will be sweet. I hope you enjoy the taste, Catherine."
She turned and marched out.
Catherine snorted. "Sweet piss? Childish pureblood..." She reached under her pillow and pulled out an identical crystal ball. "My Lady... did you really think you were the only one playing this game?"