"Magnifique."
Was it vain to refer to herself in the mirror that way? Probably. Fleur wasn't going to pretend she was humble. Not today. Not on her wedding day. This was a day for her, and it was a day where she would all too happily revel in how gorgeous she looked, mere hours away from marrying Bill and happy to prepare herself for him. She stood in front of the mirror not yet in her wedding dress, but in the sleek lingerie she'd have waiting for Bill beneath it, pure white and lace, emphasizing her slender body with an elegance she knew would drive Bill mad. She wanted him to enjoy the night, and as she shifted about, posing and prodding with her want at little bits of it, she was trying to perfect the look.
In her delight, she traded a little bit of grace for pure excitement, which led to her dropping her wand in the midst of waving t around. Fleur gasped and leaned over, bending down to pick it up and sticking her ass out on the belief nobody was around. That made the suddenness of a hand smacking down across her ass a whole lot more shocking, and a whole lot more infuriating. "Quelle?" she gasped, jerking upright in surprise. She saw the smirking reflection of Harry through the mirror, which made her snap up even faster, a flare of anger searing up through her. "Harry!"
But Harry was ready only to be more handsy, his touch descending firmer upon her as he started to grope her without even the semblance of decency. "You look beautiful today."
"I look beautiful for the man I am marrying today," she said, trying to shove his hands away. "Did you forget that? That this is my wedding day."
"I didn't forget, I just think you're wrong about who you're marrying." Harry had no trouble overpowering delicate, slender Fleur, forcing her in against him and into a kiss. A fierce, aggressive kiss. It was the sort of kiss Bill definitely wasn't going to give her, but she didn't think about that as a positive. Not while she struggled against him with increasing panic and confusion, worried about what he was doing and why. He held her arms up while he manhandled her, dominant and forceful in the way he kissed her. "You're not marrying Bill. Bill isn't the man for you."
This was a deranged burst of attention that left Fleur deeply baffled and panicked, a growing concern sweeping up through her while she struggled against his way-too-insistent touch. She didn't know what to make of how he touched her, but as her arms went limp and resumed feeling up her body, she felt just dizzy enough not to complain about whatever this was.
Harry shoved his hand into her panties unceremoniously, stuffing fingers into her. "I'm going to make you my wife and my fucktoy," he told her, and everything about his treatment flew in the face of how a man was supposed to treat a woman, and yet Fleur's knees were weak, shaking under a growing confusion and want. "You want it. I know you do." He kissed her again. And again. Dizzy efforts wore harder at her. "I'll prove it."
"Want what?" Fleur asked, only for Harry to press her tongue down with his thumb. His fingers continued to ravage her pussy with a roughness that only contrasted even more frustratingly against hoe little he did up top, but she began to suck on his thumb, obedient and staring him in the way, wondering how to deal with this while growing less and less sure what was happening or what she was supposed to do with it. She was baffled, and in her inaction, she let him keep using her. Fleur was the one in charge. Fleur was the one who did these things, not Harry, and yet every push forward made her feel weirder, made her head spin with the haze and the struggle of something truly confounding. She didn't want to be taken like this, didn't want to be treated like a sex toy by a man, and yet, she'd never felt wetter.
"I've wanted to do this to you since the Triwizard," he growled. "But now I can make sure you don't marry Bill, and that you marry me instead." He pumped faster, fingerfucking Fleur with desperate intensity, certain that the best way to make her bend to his will was to shove harder forward in the name of making her bend. He didn't let up, didn't slow down, just used her and pushed her body to a state of pleasure she'd never experienced before, one where the only option before Fleur was to fall completely apart in the name of giving in to it.
The shock of this all made her so much more vulnerable, confused and hopeless and suddenly cumming under the wild spectacle of such intensity She didn't understand it, her body trembling in the face of chaos and worry. She came, all while sucking on his finger, and as the pleasure swept up through her body, she fell to her knees in front of him, guided by the push down of his thumb against her tongue with insistence. She couldn't believe this was happening, but as she sank down, she found herself greeted with Harry's cock, already out and ready and rigid.
"You'll behave like a good girl, won't you?" he asked, taking his cock in hand and slapping it down across her delicate features. Fleur shook, still sucking on his finger while he began to slap across the side of her face, insisting himself harder into the moment, imposing his will upon her before he withdrew the digit and brought his head against her lips. "Will you behave?"
"I'm an engaged woman," she said in some hopeless measure of effort to resist all of this, to at least some erratic degree.
That was the wrong answer. Harry grabbed her hair and rammed his cock past her lips in punishment, a bold and swift shove into the chaos and spectacle of wanting to make sure that she learned her lesson, even if it wasn't fully clear what that lesson was. "You'll learn," he told her, hammering forward and cramming his cock down her throat, able to tell from his first stroke that she was woefully unprepared and inexperienced, but that only made him happier and hungrier. Harry was going to have fun with this.
Fleur gagged on the fat cock forcing its way down her throat, learning to an unsettlingly intense degree that Harry was packing something serious, something she had no idea how to contain, and each dizzy second left her struggling for control and for focus. This was a lot, the overbearing fever of a pressure meant to make something weirder and hotter build up. Choking rougher and harder on the cock that kept up its brutal pace down her throat, Fleur realized how unprepared she was for it, but this wasn't about her, and it wasn't about her pleasure. Harry gripped her hair and yanked on it, tugging at her scalp in the name of indulging rougher in her.
"I've waited years to fuck this pretty face," he growled. "You look so good on your knees like a whore for me. You're going to make such a good wife for me, aren't you?" He jerked her head along, not letting her answer him while he pounded her so mercilessly. This was the delight of control he wanted, a reckless, relentless rush of heat to continue carrying on with, and there wasn't even a little bit of mercy in how he used her. This was about control, and it was a control he held onto ruthlessly while he took this from her.
Fleur remained outraged, but she also remained powerless, struggling to even begin dealing with how Harry violated her trust and her thoughts, and all she could do was take it. Drool dripped down her chin as his battering misuse of her throat kept her gagging and sputtering, unable to swallow any of her saliva amid Harry's brutal use of her. Fleur was stuck simply struggling, aching, trying to push him away but being met the bitter, harsh insistence of what he wanted from her, and all Fleur could do was fall deeper into his clutches. Her eyes stared up with a growing sense of utter panic, a delirium and a fever leaving her unable to mount nay kind of reasonable argument about the pleasures behind these feelings, a throbbing rush of burning panic and heat that took her to places she didn't want to go.
All the while, Harry reveled in this power. His thrusts were merciless and callous, brutally driving forward to lay waste to her and to make her fall into the depths of his touch, a powerless wreck thinking only about how far he could take this. Every slam of his hips forward was a burst of greed and spectacle meant to make her completely falter, and he knew he could continue lording this dominance over her amid his senseless shoves forward, brimming with power and aggression aplenty, making sure that with every motion of his hips, he was plunging her into a worsening state of utter delirium. This was too much, but in all the ways he wanted it to be. In the ways that forced Fleur to struggle and choke and fall deeper into the greedy clutches of someone who cared only about ruining her.
Harry didn't warn her when he came, didn't afford her that moment of dignity. Instead, he slammed his cock down her throat to make her cough and choke, then pulled back to flood her mouth his jizz. Fleur choked harder on it, and she tried to pull back, he seized her hair, keeping her in place and fighting her urge to resist him. "Take it," he growled, making sure he pumped every drop down her throat, making sure he threw himself into the maddest and wildest of passions, all in the dizzy name of making her his.
Revulsion held onto Fleur tightly, but for reasons beyond her understanding, something hotter and weirder rumbled underneath the surface. He let go of her hair, but he kept his dick in her mouth, and she didn't know why, but she began to push forward against him, bobbing her head and giving to his cock a motion and an attention that clearly marked a turn around in her thoughts. He didn't thrust. He didn't pull. Fleur did it. Slowly, she worked along his cock, her lips tight, her eyes starting to waver.
"That's a good whore," Harry told her, and the words sent a joy rushing up her spine. A rush she didn't want, a rush that made her feel weirder, but she was giving him this attention. Her head continued to bob, starting to slurp on his cock while she dealt with these dizzy worries. She didn't understand why she was giving him this, why she would be responding to this abuse and cruelty this way? She wanted to be better than this, but her thoughts were distant, aimless, and she was giving slowly deeper up to pressures and lusts that kept building. Fleur's confusion only left her more desperate, more insistent, and the pleasure continued to pull her into a stranger state where none of this made sense to her.
Drool continued to drip down her chin. she sank deeper, feeling bolder and weirder, dizzier, ultimately sinking her way into taking him back into her throat. She kept picking up speed, and for someone who didn't want to do this, Fleur certainly was pushing harder forward, opening herself up to stranger heat, into the excitement escalating weirder inside her. Before she knew it, she was fucking her face down onto Harry's cock, giving him everything that he'd wanted from her and offering her throat up with struggles growing bolder and louder with each push. It was raw, unbearable, and it disgusted her to be doing this when she was supposed to be getting ready to marry Bill.
But she kept doing it. All of it. Back and forth her head bobbed, persistent in her surrender to the pressures of Harry's ever vulgar desire. She kept sucking him down, choking on his cock, volunteering herself for this treatment. Fucking her face down onto his cock, she expressed the most delirious and hopeless of passions, a pleasure rumbling messier through a body hopelessly ready only to be conquered and ruined. To be tamed. She felt powerless to stop this, loving every second of the growing chaos and worry that this granted her, until she was surely about to break down completely. Until she felt like her self-respect had completely fallen apart and all she had left was an aimless, delirious sense of throbbing hunger to be consumed by.
Harry pulled back, and Fleur had a moment of brief awareness, a realization of what she was being taken by and how bizarre this all was. He lifted his cock up and pressed forward again, shoving his heavy balls forward, and without hesitating, Fleur dove forward, compelled in dizzy panic and diving forward to begin licking all over his balls, worshipping them all the same. "You want it so badly that once you start being treated this way, it's all you want," he growled. Slapping his cock down against her face, he let the slimy shaft rub across her features, smearing spit along her and trying to ruin her make-up. Tears welling in her eyes already started to challenge her mascara. It was all about setting her up to completely unravel, to fall to pieces.
Slurping on his balls and rubbing her face on his cock, Fleur descended deeper, slavish and hopeless, letting him feel the desperate praise and the growing lust that continued to overwhelm and ravage. The ruinous heat of these pleasures induced a lot of pressure and frustration she didn't know how to handle, but as Harry's meaty cock throbbed against her face, she felt dizzily like she just needed to be taken to the limit, like surrender was all she really wanted or needed. All while Harry stood over her, looming and judgmental, letting her slurp on his nuts in preparation for a lesson. Fleur didn't know that a man could cum from this.
Not until Harry was blowing his load all over her face.
The spectacular eruption of hot cum all over her face left a deeply panicked Fleur struggling to wrap her thoughts now around everything happening to her. The tremble across her body brought with it a crushing panic as it streaked all over her, ensuring a mess that Fleur wasn't sure she was going to be able to clean up and fix before the ceremony. A ceremony that still held onto her thoughts. But as the warm, sticky, gooey bliss held onto her skin, she let out moans that expressed something deeply, deeply deranged. The upsetting reality of these growing confusions kept her in an utterly desperate state.
"Put on your dress," Harry told her, gesturing over to it. "Then I'm going to fill you up."
"No," she said, snapping back to some degree of reason again. "No, Harry, I can't d--I need to marry Bill. I can't do this with you."
A finger in her mouth and a hand feeling up her chest silenced her effectively. "I want you to be a good whore and put on your dress so I can fuck you in it. Don't you want to get fucked by me? Don't you want this hard, throbbing cock to use your cunt? I used your mouth twice and it's still rock hard." He rubbed it against her chin, thrusting lazily back and forth to apply the pressure and to make sure that Fleur was truly powerless to stop him.
When her pulled back, Fleur felt speechless and confused, but she accepted it, moving over to her dress and wiping her face off before she began to pull on her elegant dress. It was an elegant, frilly white dress with a pair of black phoenixes meeting and kissing, forming the shape of a heart in what was meant to be a romantic symbol. Now, her breasts were being groped through it as she set herself into it only for Harry to feel her tits up, to palm her body and indulge in a rougher sense of pure greed and fire. "You look beautiful," he told her, dragging her back toward the mirror so she could look at herself in it while pulled back against his body and being fondled so aggressively. "And I'm going to ruin it."
Fleur's eyes shut tightly, her jaw trembling and a shaky rush of utter confusion holding tightly onto her, making her head spin in raw confusion while she tried to make some kind of sense of these wicked pressures. This felt awful, felt like a grand spectacle of a chaos and a wrongness she wanted no part of. This wasn't right, wasn't sane. She needed to fight this. Instead, she let him pull the frilly lower half of her dress up and bend her forward. Fleur braced her hands against the mirror to try and fight for stability while Harry pulled her panties down and promptly slammed his cock into her, making her howl in surprise and worry. There was no time for sense or grounding as Harry began his merciless efforts, wicked pressures pounding forward in rough sweeps of spectacular chaos.
"Tell me I'm better than Bill," he commanded, his hands on her slim waist, hips pounding madly forward, almost trying to make her grasp on the mirror break enough for him to shove her face up against it. The destructive fever he swept through Fleur with was nothing short of brilliant. When he plotted this out, he knew it would feel good, but he was stunned by just how madly aggressive and exciting the pleasure turned out to be, how wickedly forceful and frenzied he could get when he committed himself to absolutely ruining her. This was all Harry cared about, all he wanted, and his maddest, most frenzied slams forward pushed on with a desperate need to challenge every notion of control and restraint inside of Fleur.
"You're better than Bill!" It came with such heat that he knew she wasn't just telling him what he wanted to hear. Fleur's moans were strained and erratic, her every ache of passion pulling her into a weirder frontier of pure chaos. "Bill's never touched me like this, and I--" She broke off into a flurry of frantic, panicked French. Harry didn't understand it, but it sounded angry, full of vulgarity and self-loathing while she slid into deeper chaos and fury, into the sort of bitter frenzy of wicked panic that seemed completely divorced from sense. Harry didn't care. Harry kept hammering into her snug hole, able to feel how little she'd been getting a proper fucking before from how tightly she held onto him.
"And you love it, don't you?" he asked, slapping her ass.
"Yes!" she screamed, and she didn't care how loud it was or who heard it. She just screamed like a bitch in heat, her hips slamming back to meet Harry's thrusts while every senseless spectacle of chaos and lust pulled her deeper. "I love it. I love all of it. I love being mistreated by a strong, dominant man, and I can't ever marry Bill, he won't give me what I need!" Fleur couldn't believe what she was saying, couldn't fathom how easily these unraveling words came out of her, expressing the desperate and dizzy spectacle of finally admitting aloud how unsatisfied she was with her sex life. "I need to cum. Make me cum!" She was a screaming wreck, in danger of Gabrielle coming back at any minute to see her older sister in the throes of this wild chaos, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Harry continued to pound her into submission and drive her to the deep end of chaos, to a pleasure and a heat messier than she could bear. He wasn't surprised when Fleur came before he did. Her pussy squeezed madly around his cock and signaled the desperate, shivering lust that kept her completely lost to these pleasures, to an even madder and wilder spectacle she just had to accept. She got watch her expression twist in euphoria and surrender, sloppy and hopeless, ready to betray her husband and finding herself unable to deal with the burning heat of pure acceptance. This all hit her too hard to deal with, wicked and mad and bringing her to let everything go.
Harry pulled out of Fleur, and she hit her knees, staring at herself in the mirror, tears running down her face. She felt amazing. She felt so good that she could not in good conscience marry a man she had just fallen out of love with. But Harry had more surprises for her. "You can come in now, slut," he said. "Come give your whore sister a kiss so the two of you can get used to being intimate with each other."
"Sister?" Fleur asked, turning around with a panicked gasp. She watched as Gabrielle walked in, sheepishly wearing a ripped-up version of her maid of honour dress, cum all over her face and running down her thighs. "Gabrielle!"
The eighteen year old sank quickly down to her knees in front of her sister, a bit dizzy and glassy-eyed, already having been completely broken down by the allure and passion of Harry's cock. She pushed hopelessly forward, forcing a kiss upon her sister while Fleur simply shook in confusion, stunned into silence and panic under these attentions. Fleur was baffled, left with so many questions about what Harry had done to her sister, but as she melted into the kiss, she decided to accept all of them, and to let Harry begin beating off in her face, stroking his aching cock and happily pushing harder forward, indulging in the wilder and madder spectacle of pure insanity. This was all happening, and she was left with no choice but to take it.
Harry stroked himself to the sight of the two inhumanly gorgeous sisters making out in front of him, his cock slapping down occasionally upon their cheeks. He was already close, needing only a few pumps. "From now on, you two sisters will do whatever I tell you if it makes me hard, understand? I don't care if incest is wrong, you're my sluts, and you'll do exactly what I tell you." The girls both moaned in agreement while he blew his load all over their gorgeous faces, and as nice as kissing Gabrielle was, Fleur needed no convincing that swapping Harry's cum back and forth with her sister could prove even better still.
*************************************
Friends and family alike sat in the rows of seats laid out in the yard of the Burrow, a place just perfect for accommodating the sheer volume of people in attendance. Bill and Fleurs' closest loved ones and colleagues sat elegantly dressed and waiting for the bride to arrive. Or the groom, for that matter. The groom wasn't out yet either, but nobody thought anything of that; he was only a few minutes late. Bill wasn't going to come to see them, though. Bill was collapsed in his old bedroom, a petrification charm having turned him stiff as a board, but not in the way he hoped to be that night. Bill wasn't going to be out here, and he wasn't going to see what Harry had planned. In a way, that might have been a mercy.
Gabrielle stepped into the tent and announced, "The bride is coming! The ceremony is about to begin." All eyes turned toward her, both because she was giving an update, and because the bride was not supposed to be the one out first. Gabrielle's news was not the most distressing part of her arrival, though; that would be the way her dress was torn up to reveal her body and to reveal cum all over her skin, her face above her ruined make-up, and dripping from her holes. That earned appalled gasps from the crowd, in particular from Gabrielle's mother. The sight of her was a disaster, but it was only the beginning of what was to come, because at Gabrielle's visible, nonverbal urging, someone began to play the wedding music, and the beautiful bride was walked down the altar.
Impaled on Harry's cock.
Fleur was a similar state of sloppy disaster to her sister. Her dress had been torn from the waist down, revealing her garter belt and stockings, but no underwear. The expensive frills were gone, her dress ruined, but so was her make-up and her face, thanks to the cum and dried mascara tears. She was a complete wreck, looking fully detached from anything resembling decency now, and as Harry carried her in, he held her legs up and spread, offering a view of the sloppy sight he was making of her pussy as he bounced her with each step up and down on his thick cock. She didn't look like a woman walking down the aisle to happily greet Bill. Not anything close.
"The wedding is cancelled," proclaimed Harry, who was happy to make Fleur bounce and heave atop him while he marched toward the front and toward the officiant, who looked absolutely mortified by what was approaching him. "Bill ran away like a fucking coward, and he doesn't deserve Fleur, so instead, this ceremony is going to be about making this half-veela fuckslut into my toy." He strode forward, Gabrielle following behind him while a furor erupted in the room and every last bit of outrage fixated itself on the absolute insanity playing out before them. The Weasleys in particular were shocked and baffled by all of this. But he kept marching forward without a care.
When he reached the end of the aisle, Harry turned her around to face everybody, letting of one leg so he could seize his wand from his pocket. He cast a fertility charm right over her womb and then slammed her down one final time onto his cock, properly creampieing and breeding his new 'bride' while everyone watched in absolute confusion. Fleur's moans were erratic, fierce joys, an ecstatic mess of passions and worries that came on ever stronger. "Knock me up, Harry," she moaned, seemingly detached from reality and from the cruelty of this action, a shameless and wanton mess of a woman who seemed fully focused now on falling apart above all else. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and all of the dizzy excitement slid into a state of hopeless, vulgar ecstasy, a pleasure reducing her fully to mush.
Harry dropped her to the floor and he left her to linger there disgraced, his sticky cock smacking against her face, and all she did was stick her tongue out to offer herself up to these aching passions. "Gabrielle," he said authoritatively.
Gabrielle pulled out some papers from her pocket and handed them to the officiant, who took one look at them and visibly balked at what he was handed. "I can't read this," he said.
Fleur held onto the base of Harry's cock, kissing it with fluttering attention. "I've already paid you. Read it." She spoke with a sharp, furious tension, only to follow it up with a sweet, adoring coo of, "I want to be yours, Harry."
Clearing his throat and trying to deal with the very nervous insanity of this, the officiant began to read, sounding absolutely baffled, "We are gathered here today to see the joining of master and bi--" He stopped, taking a sharp breath. The bride was sucking a man's cock in front of him, slurping loudly on the head and running her hand along his shaft, so completely divorced from sense that it didn't seem real to her.
"Read the fucking script," Harry snarled.
"Yes, my apologies, sir." This was insane, but he did it. he had to. "We are gathered here today to see the joining of master and bitch in the bonds of sexual submission. For life, this nasty whore will serve the needs of her owner, and be a good breeding bitch for him." His face scrunched up in disgust and discomfort, all while the louder, sloppier spectacle of Fleur noisily sucking on his cock continued. Gabrielle took her place not by the side of the altar like the maid of honour should, but behind Harry, feeling his strong chest up through his clothes. Everything here was in mad defiance of any semblance of taste, a reckless and vulgar spectacle building up with sickening intensity.
The officiant continued, "Fleur, do you accept your inferiority as a woman and your desire to be dominated and owned by a man for life?"
Drawing back with spit strands dripping from her chin, Fleur moaned, "I do," with wanton, aching intensity before pushing back toward his cock to resume her sloppy sucking. Fleur was thoroughly broken and unable to deal with this.
The ceremony may have been going on, but the audience was in chaos. Several Weasleys ran out of the tent to try and find Bill, certain that the claim he abandoned her and ran away couldn't be true. Other people stared in absolute disgust. There were calls of insults, complaints from people who called this display disgusting. Several extended cousins of the Weasleys outright left rather than watch the sight play out, while Fleur's extended family was mortified by what their darling flower was doing.
The officiant said, "Do you agree to serve every request your master makes of you, no matter when or where, and concede all freedom, to be owned by a man? Do you agree that your wants don't matter, and that you are only a fuckdoll to be used however you're asked to be?"
Again she pulled back and moaned, even louder, "I do! I do! Harry, I want to be owned by you!" Slamming forward, she let go of his cock so she could throat him down to the base, jerking back and forth in sloppy desperation, gagging him down.
The sound of his throat squeezing added a tension to the officiant's voice as he tried not to throw up. "Harry, do you accept this wanton, useless whore to be your property and your fucktoy?"
"I do," he said, his hands rising up to show off how thoroughly these passions were Fleur's and not hers. This was a show of mad spectacle, a chaos and a fever that kept Harry burning hotter while he embraced these passions and their worsening delights.
"Do you agree to provide for your whore, and as long as she obeys your commands and serves your cock, provide for her and treat her like she deserves?"
"I do," Harry groaned. Gabrielle kissed all over his neck while her sister deepthroated him down to the base. These unruly spectacles continued, making a bolder mockery of the wedding ceremony and of what was supposed to be happening here.
"Then, I will ask the audience; are the any objections to the joining of this cumslut and this stud in--"
"I object!" Hermione finally jumped up to her feet and barged out of her seat. "Harry, what are you doing?' she shouted. "The Weasleys have done so much for you, and you're doing this to them!" She was furious, marching into the aisle and getting ready to charge him.
Harry pulled out of Fleur's throat and pointed down to the floor, then did the same for Gabrielle. Both set down into place on their knees, Fleur not even bothering to wipe the spit off of her chin while it dripped. Storming forward to intercept Hermione, Harry grabbed her dress and ripped it right off of her with a clean, swift motion, one that made Hermione shriek and brought on a myriad of gasps. Harry was getting forceful with another woman now, too, and this time, he had an audience when he took sharp advantage.
Forcing Hermione down to her knees, Harry shoved his cock into her face and slapped her a few times with it before he held her head back by the hair and told her, "Open your mouth or you'll regret it." In her shock, Hermione did, and Harry responded with a golden, bitter stream of acrid piss right onto her face and into her mouth. More noises of disgust, more shock from the audience. Ron wasn't here to see this or stop it, and calls for mercy from some of the other Weasleys slid right by his notice while he pissed on Hermione's face. "Does that taste good? You're going to swallow it. You're going to swallow every drop of my piss like a good bitch, or your things all go in the lake."
Shock left Hermione in a state of bafflement so steep that all she could do was begin to force down mouthfuls, swallowing the horrific taste of his urine while her face furled up. There was so much piss, all of it splattering onto her, even guided then down toward her chest before coming back up, and she swallowed every bit she could to find some sort of mercy. She was afraid. Afraid of Harry, afraid of what he could do to her. So she let him do this, let him piss in her face and even swallowed down every horrible drop she had to, in the name of pacifying him. She'd never seen him act like this before. It was all so unthinkably vulgar and horrible, bringing with it a forceful intensity and a chaos that had her struggling for stability.
Harry let the stream drizzle off onto her face, then smacked his cock across her cheeks a few times. "Don't be jealous, I wanted to take you as my whore, too. I just thought Fleur would be a more dramatic one to take first. I'd never leave you out of this. You or that big butt you're embarrassed about."
The words almost didn't make sense to Hermione, who gasped her way through panic and delirium while trying to make sense of them. While she tried to understand it, Harry shoved her onto her back, grabbing her wand from her side and ramming it up her ass, giving her a good smack before he seized his own from the band of his pants. He hexed Hermione with a spell to ensure she couldn't cum, but was extra sensitive, then he swept his cock along her slit, inducing a shiver and a whorish moan that made her seem just as indecent as Fleur was, before he left her face-down and ass-up where he left her. Back to the altar he went, back to the ceremony. Fleur pushed forward to noisily slurp the dregs of piss from his head and then resumed her sucking without question.
"Go on," Harry said. "Ask again about the objections, and see if anyone complains this time."
The officiant was mortified, ready to flee at the first opportunity, but he had to continue just a moment longer. Just finish the script. Just make it out of here. "Then, I will ask the audience; are the any objections to the joining of this cumslut and this stud in the bonds of sexual servitude?" Nobody said anything. Nobody wanted to find out what else Harry could do after that disgusting display. They either sat in silence, or they left in disgust. "In that case, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce you whore and master. You may kiss your owners' ass hole."
Harry turned around, and Fleur shoved her face without hesitation right into Harry's ass, spreading his cheeks apart and making out with his hole in a flurry of frenzy and fire. The burning pleasure and the fever of these dizzy fires to giving in to deeper satisfaction, a pleasure madder and more passionate than could be dealt with. This was a wreck, a mockery of the ceremony. Fleur didn't care. Her tongue slithered against Harry's ass hole in desperate shows of ravenous submission, eager only to give him what he wanted. Slobbering on his ass hole and relentlessly praising him with all she could muster, Fleur showed to her friends and her family the creature she had become, one who relished in worshipping him and in surrendering to his dominance.
Gabrielle added to the commotion, diving onto Harry's cock with her throat. The younger sister didn't hesitate to gag his cock down and choke noisily on him just like Fleur had, showing off her own desperation and fascinated desire to be dominated and to indulge. She was a beast of need, of reckless habit and desperation building without sense through her body, and all she wanted was to give deeper in to the fascination and the chaos. She choked him down, slobbering on Harry's cock, embracing the strangest of pressures and weird excitements that didn't let up. This was a bizarre rush of fire and fever to keep giving in to this, mess, a fire and fever to give deeper into.
Both Delacour sisters were now hopelessly locked in oral servitude for Harry, sucking and rimming him like the obedient playthings they were and building up a hotter spectacle of pure chaos. Harry writhed in delight amid these growing hungers, the pulsing lust to continue losing himself to. "I can't believe how fucking easy it was to make these two veela whores go crazy for my cock. You wouldn't believe how little complaint this slut put up about her fiancé once she got my cock in her mouth, and now look at her. She doesn't care. She's happier with me than she would be with that loser who ran off. She's happier with her tongue jammed up my ass hole." He looked toward her mother, Apolline, who remained absolutely terrified while she sat in the stands. "Your daughters have excellent throats, by the way. Do you?"
Apolline said nothing. She shook under miserable confusion and panic of something that contrasted against her elegance and her beauty in a slow slide down into chaos. Her daughters were both lost to this, making degraded messes of themselves, and Apolline was thoroughly disgusted.
"Don't worry, I'll find out later. I wanted your daughters first, but I think a mature veela cumslut would help keep these two inexperienced whores in line. I bet you've never had a cock like the one fucking your youngest's throat, either." He pulled Gabrielle back a moment, waving his hips about to let his huge cock smack across her face, and Gabrielle's wanton, whorish moans further signaled her desire to fall deeper into this mess. Gabrielle moaned through all of it before he rammed his way back down her throat again and the greedy spectacle continued.
Fleur didn't care who he was talking to or what vile things he said to her mother. There was a time where she would have. That time was gone. Harry had broke her completely, and now she was fixated instead on slobbering all over his ass hole, licking him and praising him, her worship deep and forceful, built on a spectacular mess of pleasure too ravenous to be able to contain. Her hands held onto his legs, not even bothering to rub at her throbbing cunt while his cum dripped out of it. She had faith he'd fuck her again soon, and for now focused only on her 'marriage' to him, on the pledge of submission that now consumed her whole. She was a devoted servant, making out with his hole and worshipping him, joining her sister, joining any woman he set his eyes on. She was happier here. Fulfillment should not have been found in so shameful and debasing a place.
With Gabrielle drooling on his cock and the wicked spectacle of everyone having to witness his utter depraving of the Delacour sisters, Harry didn't try to behave or contain himself. This was all happening just how he wanted it, and he decided he wanted to keep indulging. "Every slut in this audience I think is worth fucking is leaving here my whore," he promised, and with that note, he shoved Gabrielle back from his cock and turned around, taking a few paces down the hall and looking toward Hermione.
Hermione was still on her knees, a hand stuffed into her cunt while she tried desperately to rub herself to desperate excitement, struggling through the weirdening chaos. Her wand was still sticking out of her ass, and she was smart enough to know she'd been hexed, but not enough to really grasp the how or the why of this crushing confusion, she struggled for stability and focus while Harry strode confidently up toward her, his cock in hand. She stared at him, wondering what he'd done to her and how to make it stop, all while the ravenous joy of fingerfucking herself overrode rationality. She didn't know how to manage these feelings, the unquenchable delirium and chaos of falling deeper into this mess, of knowing she was powerless to stop Harry.
"Bring your head up, I want to cum on your face." Harry's command was sharp, precise, and despite being disgusted and furious with his behaviour, Hermione rose and opened her mouth, letting him cockslap her while he finished himself off with a few hard strokes and a grunt, bucking forward and erupting all over her face. Hermione took his cum, trembling while she felt the disgust sink into her, but the smell of his powerful masculinity filled her nostrils, left her trembling through the shame and rubbing her harder at her dripping cunt.
"Lift the hex," she whined. "Let me cum." Her breath was ragged, desperate. She should not have been thinking about orgasming, but that was all she could think about, the chaos and passion of pleasure pulling her into the deep end of ecstasy.
Harry pulled his wand from the band of his pants again and gestured toward her, but laughed it off, slapping her with his cock again and turning toward the Delacour sisters. "Up on your knees, pull up those rags." The sisters scrambled to their feet and pulled their skirts up, showing off to the remainder of the wedding audience their creampied cunts. Harry muttered a few charms, and a brief flash of pain made both women wince as a thunderbolt mark formed over their cunts, a mark of ownership etched into their skin forever. Their hips bucked forward, and neither offered a complaint. They had to obey. It was all they could do. All they were good for.
His magical efforts weren't done, though. He decided to hit the tatters of both girls' fancy dresses with transfiguration spells that turned them into slutty French maid outfits. "You both should have become my sluts years ago," he said. He wanted a real reward from Fleur for saving Gabrielle. A reward from Gabrielle, too. Now, he was going to seize his rewards by force. He dragged Fleur up by her hair and bent her sharply forward, sliding his cock into her ass. "Did that pissant coward ever fuck your ass?"
"N--" was all that Fleur could spit out before she screamed out in pure dizziness, a plunge into wicked delirium and panic now as Harry claimed her anal virginity and pushed with utterly brutal fever into the greediest and messiest of pleasures, into a fierce show of heat and fire that proved just what he was after and everything he wanted. This was his chance to seize control, and he took it with greed and gusto, ramming himself up Fleur's ass and getting right to work at using her. There wasn't any stability or sanity behind his greed. Harry wanted only one thing, and he extracted it with a brutally vengeful toll, and did so with the shameless glee of someone ready to completely overwhelm his new plaything.
"I didn't think so," he growled, hammering forward and tugging on her elegant, pale blonde locks for a handle while he forced her forward. He didn't know how anyone was still watching, save at least for Hermione desperately rubbing herself with both hands on the floor. There was so little here that seemed reasonable, but people were simply too stunned to complain or offer up resistance to his brutality. The famous and heroic Harry Potter was ravaging a pair of sisters and trashing a wedding, and did so with a chaotic excitement that reveled in the brutality he could subject them to. It didn't make sense, but there was no time for sense. Only domination and greed.
Fleur moaned in hopeless satisfaction. "I love it," she moaned. "I love being yours. I meant it. I'm your whore now. I'm sorry to everyone who came here to see me marry Bill. I don't love him. I only love my master's huge cock!" She received these brutal pleasures with a growing fever, a spectacular rush of heat and hatred to keep pushing her, and it was too much to deal with. This took her to the limit, and as Gabrielle watched and rubbed herself madly, Fleur felt like she was going to be closer now to her sister than she ever had been before. Closer. Better. This was family. This was bonding. Every ache of pleasure and heat built stranger and hotter on without sense, the pleasure that continued to build, aching hotter and throbbing across sense that didn't stop.
Harry's brutal, mad insistence drilling into her ass brought on passions and hungers that kept coming, a brilliant mess of fire and lust to deal with hotter, a pleasure bringing on the hotter thrills to give in to. He drilled rougher and messier away, throwing himself into the pleasure that kept climbing, an escalation and a fever to give in to hotter, bringing with it the fire that kept coming, escalation and fire that just brought on weirder thrills. Harry was in control, the throbbing fire and potency to keep him pushing harder on with, a fierce rush of pleasure to give in to hotter, deeper joys that didn't want to let up. Pleasure continued to ache and pulse hotter through weirder pleasure, and this was all coming on stronger and more wicked than he was sure he'd know what to do with when this chaos all scaled up.
For now, though, he didn't care, throwing himself in rougher, hotter, the pleasure growing wilder by the second. He drilled in her ass and used her with fierce, chaotic frenzy, a fire he knew he could continue using, throwing himself into madder lust and a fire too spectacular to handle. The fiery, throbbing passion brought him deeper. The pleasure kept coming in hazy, conquered thrills, a passion delving into weirder lows, into a clumsy pleasure that kept throbbing hotter through her. He wanted to get even rougher, grabbing her throat with both hands and squeezing, choking her while he plundered her ass hole, rougher. Her screams of pleasure were cut off unceremoniously by the squeeze around her throat, a rising chaos building up stranger, hotter, bringing pure insanity along with it.
"I own you. You're my whore!" Harry flooded her guts with cum while he wrung the light out of her. Filling her up with hard, gooey spurts of molten spunk, he welcomed the gooey delight of pure excitement, the pleasure to keep giving himself up to, the fire and the thrill of pure greed. Fleur couldn't handle it, her eyes rolling back while she received these pleasures, while she succumbed to the broken joy of complete excitement. It was her first anal orgasm, a mess of spectacle and chaos that wore her down completely, that made Fleur burn with joy and fire now. The fever and the chaos brought on the maddest of fevers, a pleasure and fire to give completely in. The ferocity plunged her into weirder heat, into the fire that she wanted more of.
Hitting the floor again, Fleur sank down, dropped into place and shuddering through the writhing confusion, the wonder and fire of pure joy. This was a mess, and there was little sense here. This was all happening, bringing on stronger joy, stronger bliss, and it didn't let anything up.
"Harry, please." Hermione scrambled forward, panting heavier, rubbing her body in desperate, writhing panic. "Please! Please let me cum. I need it." She stared at him, cum and piss still over her face as she writhed in confusion, the panic she had no idea how to deal with, but she was falling deeper into ruin, into sloppy spectacle. 'I'll do anything."
Harry seized his wand again. He didn't break the hex on her, but instead cast a cleaning charm to wash his waste and his jizz away. "Lick my ass hole, and then I'll lift the hex."
Hermione screamed and nodded and threw herself around his body to get at his ass hole, not even pretending she had any dignity left. Hermione didn't know how to eat ass. She never would have, by her own choice, eaten ass. But to make Harry break the hex, she devoured his hole with sloppy licks and slurps, tongue shoving itself forward and bringing a spectacular mess of wrongness with it that maybe, if she was lucky, could quell the madness burning inside of her. Hermione needed this, and she didn't care what it took or how far she had to sink. Every slavish ache across her thoughts demanded this, and Hermione felt desperately certain of the need to break down completely.
While she tonguefucked the as of one of her closest friends, Fleur and Gabrielle made out with the head of his cock, licking and slithering about, sharing in his taste while they fingered fucked one another for his enjoyment. "I can't believe any of you are still here, Harry said, awestruck by the chaos and the frenzy of these twisted pleasures. "Or does seeing a pair of French whores worshipping a cock together sound that good to you all?" he looked toward Apolline again. "I guess you're my mother in law now, so tell me, does having your daughters turned into incestuous maid sluts make you more ready to want to join them? Because I think I can train that throat to handle my cock while your girls each suck on one of my balls. Doesn't that sound good?"
"Do whatever you want to my mom, daddy," whined Fleur, signalling just how gone she was.
"We'll do anything you ask us to," Gabrielle agreed.
The wedding was ruined. The few people too appalled to not storm out watched in disgust at Harry's relentless use of three women now at once, a growing spectacle and chaos that only built stranger, building without sense, and this was simply not getting saner. Harry was in potent control now, and nay woman who stayed was in danger of receiving that same mistreatment. Maybe Apolline next. Maybe Ginny. He wasn't sure, but he didn't care who; he'd get any woman he wanted in time, proving it now with the dizzy spectacle of the sisters slobbering all over his cock.
But from behind, Hermione did all the real work, making out with his ass hole and rubbing herself madly, struggling to find even the semblance of pleasure while she fell into the deep end of bliss, writhing against the chaos and wishing she could do anything at all to make this stop. She needed to cum. She needed relief. Nothing else mattered. Not the wedding, not Harry's cruelty. Only the desperate desire inside of her body to find sexual gratification. She licked, she kissed, she slurped on his hole, did anything she could to make him feel good, and finally, fortunately, she did.
Harry lost himself with a hard groan, his cock erupting onto the grass and into the dirt, splatters of jizz that he yelled, "Lick it up!" over while seizing the sisters' hair. He shoved them both forward, right into the dirt, and rubbed their faces into it. They didn't care. They licked the ground, lapping up his cum and the dirt, completely surrendering themselves to any filth or degradation Harry demanded, as was their purpose. The dirt was horrible, tasting chalky and filthy, but it was worth it to get his cum onto their tongues. "Keep sucking on my ass hole," he ordered to Hermione in turn while he yanked the sisters up, keeping his grip in their hair and holding them in place.
Then, he let loose another flood of piss, relieving his bladder once more by this time hosing down his French playthings, dark liquid gold splattering onto their tongues and across their delicate features. Hermione kept licking his ass hole while he peed on the sisters, and Harry felt more power than he could have ever imagined, degrading everyone thoroughly in the name of utter dominance, a control and a spectacle too wild for him to resist. This was his chance, his opportunity to completely ruin this mess. It was bliss, and he refused to let anything hold him back in the face of these growing spectacles, a chaos and a spectacle to give ever deeper now into.
Fleur and Gabrielle both happily drank down his piss, gargled it, fingered one another harder to intense orgasms while they moaned and howled in joy, painted in his musky urine and marked even harder as his property while the still-sore tattoos over their cunts further signified their status as his property.
Finally, Harry took a handful of bushy brown hair and he yanked Hermione around front. "Good slut," he told her, pointing his wand at her and breaking the curse before he cast another charm, one that burned a lightning bolt tattoo over her cunt too, in the same place as the sisters got. The pain alone sent Hermione screaming into ecstasy, but he held tightly onto her hair, wrangling her around while she got against the pleasure, screaming and drooling while her eyes rolled back. He pulled her between the sisters, bent her forward and proclaimed, "If you want more of a show, then you can watch me take this bookworm cunt's virginity next."