Click!
After Jerry locked the compartment door, he didn't immediately do anything to the "pet" standing there.
She stood with her lower half bare, trembling slightly with a mixture of shame and fear.
Jerry simply paced gracefully within the narrow compartment, like a true master inspecting his domain.
He took off his wizarding robes, which were still damp with the platform's snow, and tossed them carelessly onto the opposite seat.
"Turn around and lean against the window."
Hermione acted like a programmed robot, obeying immediately without even a second thought.
She walked to the train window, bracing her hands against the cold glass.
She arched her back, presenting her rounded, perky buttocks to Jerry in an utterly shameful and defenseless posture.
From her tightly closed slit, crystal-clear fluids continued to leak uncontrollably, reflecting a lewd glint under the bright lights.
At that moment, the train let out a long whistle, the carriage jolted, and it began its unstoppable journey away from Hogsmeade Station.
But Hermione soon noticed something was wrong.
The Hogwarts Express didn't rumble along at its usual rhythmic pace, winding slowly through the familiar hills and snow-covered villages of Scotland.
On the contrary, within minutes of leaving the station, the train's speed increased to an impossible degree, nearly equivalent to flying!
The scenery outside was no longer distinct mountains or trees, but blurred afterimages streaking past at terrifying speeds.
Then, after a violent vibration that felt like space itself was being torn apart, the train seemed to break through an invisible barrier.
In an instant, the snowy Scottish Highlands vanished, replaced by a bizarre, kaleidoscopic wonderland that looked like a shimmering time tunnel.
Countless massive bands of pure energy, like rainbows, flowed, intertwined, and collided silently outside the window.
The train was like a small boat traversing the veins of a god, gliding smoothly between these magnificent bands of light at a speed that transcended the laws of physics.
"This... this is..."
Hermione's head, which she thought was filled with vast knowledge, completely stalled.
This wasn't ordinary magic; this was almost... a miracle!
"Just a more convenient and faster route."
Jerry's calm voice hit her like a bucket of cold water, snapping her out of her shock.
He had already moved behind her.
He reached out and, without a shred of gentleness, began to strip her piece by piece.
Her grey Gryffindor skirt, the symbol of a "good student," was removed along with her sweater and shirt.
Soon, Hermione's upper body was also bare.
Her young, slightly green but already developing chest looked like buds waiting to bloom.
As the train swayed slightly, they were pressed against the cold glass into an alluring shape.
"Before we go to your house, we need to go 'shopping' first."
"However, because you were disobedient just now, you must be punished."
"You will go shopping wearing the special clothes I have prepared for you."
As Jerry spoke, his eyes scrutinized Hermione's naked, trembling body like those of a most fastidious connoisseur.
He flipped his palm.
A pile of black clothing appeared in his hand.
It was a two-piece outfit made of extremely thin yet incredibly tough black latex.
The top was a long-sleeved, high-collared bodysuit with a surface as smooth as a mirror.
Under the bright lights of the carriage, it reflected an inhuman, oily glint.
The tailoring was so precise and cruel, it seemed designed for a perfect mannequin rather than a human being.
The bottom was a matching micro-skirt of the same material, only long enough to reach the top of her thighs.
The skirt was less of a garment and more of a mold for her waist and hips.
Its tightness suggested it was never meant to be put on by normal means.
Hermione turned a deep shade of crimson instantly.
"Do you need me to... help you?"
Jerry's voice carried a malicious, playful edge, as if he were enjoying a show.
"No... no... Jerry... I'll do it myself..."
Hermione's voice carried a sob. She knew if Jerry did it, the process would only be more humiliating.
She reached out with trembling hands for the cold, smooth latex top, which emitted a strange rubbery scent.
Holding it felt less like holding clothes and more like holding a piece of soft but inelastic black plastic sheeting.
The process of putting it on was a struggle that could only be described as torture.
Hermione's skin secreted fine beads of sweat from nervousness, making the already difficult task even more grueling.
The latex stuck clammily to her arms and torso.
Every movement was accompanied by a chorus of "creak-crunch" friction sounds that made her blush furiously.
She had to use every ounce of her strength to force her arms into the narrow sleeves, squeezing her body inch by inch into the cruel constraint.
By the time Hermione finally managed to get the top on and pull the invisible zipper that ran up to her nape, she felt as if she had been encased from head to toe in a giant black condom.
The high collar strangled her neck, making it difficult to breathe.
Her young breasts were cruelly flattened by the latex, yet this only outlined her curves more clearly.
Every inch of her upper body was precisely exposed through the black glossy skin, making her look like an anatomical specimen.
Next was the skirt.
As Hermione looked at the molded latex micro-skirt, she realized with despair that its waistline was at least two sizes smaller than her own.
"Jerry... I... I can't get into it..." she sobbed, turning back to look at Jerry with pleading eyes.
"Is that so?"
Jerry's lips curled into a cruel smile.
He walked over, not even using his wand.
He simply reached out with both hands and grabbed the waistband of the latex skirt.
With a tooth-aching "creak," he used pure, inhuman strength to force the skirt open to both sides!
"Stick your ass out higher," he commanded.
Hermione dared not resist and immediately poked her buttocks up shamefully.
Jerry held the forced-open skirt, aimed it at her hips, and yanked it upward with a sudden jerk!
"Ah!"
Hermione let out a short cry of pain.
The sensation was as if her lower half had been forced into a red-hot iron mold that was completely the wrong size.
The latex skirt contracted violently with a force that felt like it would crush her bones.
It squeezed, wrapped, and molded her soft waist, voluptuous buttocks, and the tender flesh of her thighs into place!
The skirt was so tight that the shape of her buttocks was perfectly—one might even say unnaturally—emphasized.
Her rounded cheeks were squeezed into a perky shape, and the deep groove between them was marked by a sharp, plunging arc.
Beneath that smooth black latex, the unadorned outline of her most private garden was also ruthlessly and shamefully traced.
Hermione felt as if her lower body had been set in plaster.
Every movement required immense effort, and every step caused the tightly encased area to rub against the inner wall of the latex, producing a sticky friction that made her scalp tingle.
"And these."
Jerry's voice rang out again.
He tossed a pair of black fishnet stockings in front of her.
Hermione seemed to have completely given up on thinking, acting like a puppet and mechanically executing his orders.
But this time, she froze.
Because Jerry wanted her to wear the fishnets over the latex bodysuit.
"Jerry, it's so... shameful!"
But under Jerry's cold gaze, Hermione could only comply.
She bent down with great difficulty, the overly tight skirt making even this simple action an ordeal.
She pulled the black fishnets over her legs, which were already encased in smooth-as-glass black latex.
The coarse, diamond-patterned stockings were layered over the glossy rubber.
It created an indescribable visual impact, filled with a sense of depravity and eerie beauty.
It felt as if a perfect piece of art had been wrapped in a layer of fishing net, symbolizing imprisonment and restraint.
Finally, there were the black patent leather high heels with terrifyingly tall spikes.
When Hermione finally managed to shove her feet in and buckle the complex straps, she was forced into an unnatural posture—chest thrust forward, buttocks pushed back.
"Very good."
Just then, a sudden change occurred!
BOOM!
A massive crash, sounding like breaking metal and entirely out of place for normal train operation, erupted from beneath the floorboards!
Then, a powerful, irresistible sensation of weightlessness instantly seized the entire carriage!
It wasn't an illusion!
The train... was falling!
Hermione let out a scream of terror. The massive momentum threw her off balance, and she slammed forward, pinning herself against the cold glass window once more.
The snowy landscape outside had vanished, replaced by heavy grey clouds billowing upward like a turbulent ocean!
They were plummeting vertically from that hidden "tunnel" toward the unknown real world below at a terrifying speed!
Simultaneously, a bone-chilling cold that felt like it could freeze the soul swept through the carriage without warning!
Crack... crack...
Thick layers of frost, marked with eerie black patterns, began to spread rapidly across the inside of the window glass!
The bright lights in the compartment flickered wildly, emitting a "bzzzt" sound before finally dying out with a soft pop.
The entire compartment was plunged into suffocating darkness and extreme cold.
"No... no..."
Hermione's teeth chattered violently, but not from the cold!
Her airtight latex suit blocked out most of the freezing air—it was an indescribable fear originating from the depths of her soul.
She heard it. Outside the carriage, amidst the howling wind of their fall, was a sound like the desperate wails of countless dying people.
Dementors!
And not just one, but hundreds, perhaps thousands!
The falling train was like a massive magnet falling from the sky, attracting every hungry predator in this region of the sea!
An ice-cold hand, carrying absolute strength, clamped around Hermione's neck, which was tightly wrapped in the latex high collar!
"Ugh!"
Her air was cut off instantly!
Hermione's eyes bulged in panic as her brain went blank from the lack of oxygen.
Her body began to struggle violently by instinct.
Her feet in the high heels kicked frantically at the floor, making a series of "clatter-bang" noises.
Her hands clawed backward reflexively, but her latex-gloved fingers could only leave futile, squeaking scratches on Jerry's iron-like arms.
It was Jerry!
"Be quiet."
Jerry's voice rang in her ear, as calm as if he were discussing the weather, yet as precise as a scalpel!
As he spoke, his grip on her neck tightened!
"Mmph... ugh..."
Hermione's struggles grew weaker.
Golden stars began to flash before her eyes, and the burning in her lungs threatened to consume her reason.
She felt her life being drained away from her shameful, latex-wrapped body bit by bit.
Just as she was about to black out completely, the train stabilized.
the terrifying sensation of falling stopped, replaced by the familiar, rhythmic "clack-clack" of wheels against tracks.
The flickering lights returned to a steady, warm yellow glow, instantly melting the eerie frost.
Everything felt as though it had been nothing more than a nightmare.
Hermione collapsed onto the floor like a pile of wet rags, gasping for air.
Her reason was slowly returning, but she soon discovered that the real horror wasn't the realistic hallucination—it was the actual state of her body.
Hermione was no longer leaning against the cold window.
She was kneeling on all fours on the compartment floor, right at Jerry's feet, in an utterly humiliating position.
The black latex suit, which encased every inch of her, was stuck clammily to her skin, which was still shivering from the after-effects.
Then, Hermione felt it.
An irrefutable, warm, heavy weight was pooling at the bottom of her abdomen, in the most private area tightly sealed by the latex.
The warmth, the distinct feeling of liquid shifting... it was urine.
During the suffocation and extreme terror she had just experienced, her bladder had... completely failed her.
The warm liquid, full of metabolic waste that should have been emptied into a toilet, was now held entirely within the cruel latex suit, with not a single drop escaping.
As Hermione panted and swayed slightly, the liquid sloshed around her bare inner thighs and private parts, forming a visible, heavy, wobbling bulge in the suit.
"It seems the effect was quite good."
Jerry's emotionless voice came from above her head.
He knelt down and, using that same cold index finger that had just performed miracles, poked the shameful, urine-filled bulge through the latex.
Squelch.
The sound of the liquid shifting was clear.
"This 'Restraint Suit' can directly invade your cerebral cortex and construct any illusion I desire."
"Falling, freezing temperatures, Dementors... your proud brain is easier to hack than the cheapest Muggle game console."
Jerry spoke in a cold, matter-of-fact tone, like an engineer evaluating his product.
"And the extreme terror brought by these hallucinations is the best appetizer for a 'good student' like you."
"It destroys your psychological defenses fastest, allowing your bodily instincts to override your pathetic self-esteem."
"See? The results are excellent, aren't they?"
His gaze settled on the shameful bulge.
Hermione's cheeks were hot enough to fry an egg.
She wished she could die right then.
Nothing could be more humiliating than this.
"Jerry... you're so bad... no... don't look..."
Hermione's voice was thick with sobs and pleading.
Jerry ignored her pleas.
He simply reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
Then, his other hand reached for the very bottom of the tight latex skirt.
There, starting from her lower abdomen, passing through her most private slit, and extending to the end of the groove between her buttocks, was a hidden zipper.
Zzzzt!
With a clear and harsh sound of the zipper opening, the black latex that had been imprisoning her urine and her shame was ruthlessly pulled apart.
An opening appeared at the very bottom of the bulge.
Jerry produced a clean, transparent crystal glass from nowhere and held it steadily right beneath the gap.
Then, he used his fingers to press gently against the bulging latex sac.
Splash...
It was like a dam opening its gates.
A stream of pale yellow liquid, still carrying the heat of Hermione's body, flowed uncontrollably from the gap.
It formed a clear stream that fell accurately and entirely into the crystal glass.
Hermione closed her eyes, tears of shame sliding down her face.
She could clearly hear the liquid hitting the glass, and she could smell the scent that filled the air—her own body fluids, carrying a faint, musky odor.
Jerry took his time, squeezing the latex sac until the very last drop was out.
Only when the sound of the liquid stopped did he pick up the warm "trophy."
Then, Jerry held the glass to Hermione's trembling lips.
"Drink it."
Jerry's voice was as calm and unquestionable as ever.
Hermione snapped her eyes open, staring in disbelief at the pale yellow liquid that smelled of her own body.
"No... please... Jerry... don't..."
Hermione shook her head violently, tears falling like broken pearls.
"I was wrong... I'll do anything you say... please... anything but this..."
Jerry said nothing. He simply raised the hand that had just strangled her.
Seeing that movement, all of Hermione's resistance and pleading were swallowed by a boundless fear.
That hand brought back the shadow of death and the shiver of her soul being drained, but also... that unprecedented emotional surge her body was still savoring.
Hermione's body was more honest than her brain.
Driven by a combination of fear and a morbid, ingrained craving, her resistance collapsed completely.
She stopped shaking her head and, like a prisoner accepting her fate, moved closer to the glass.
The warm, musky scent of her own waste filled her nostrils, stimulating her nerves.
But this time, she didn't feel disgusted. Instead... she smelled a hint of "Jerry" within that scent.
Hermione closed her eyes in resignation, opened her mouth, and... gulped the liquid in the glass down.
The warm liquid slid down her throat, carrying a faint saltiness and that indescribable taste of herself.
It was the ultimate humiliation, yet deep within her body, it awakened an even more depraved, humble pleasure of submission.
She drank quickly and urgently.
When the glass was empty, she even acted like a greedy kitten, using her pink tongue to lick the rim of the glass thoroughly, ensuring not a single trace of her "evidence" remained.
Only then did Hermione slowly look up at Jerry with brown eyes still wet with tears, yet filled with obedience and pleading.
She looked like a puppy wagging its tail for praise after finishing its hardest task.
"Jerry... you won't be angry anymore, will you?"
"Get up."
Jerry's command was short and direct.
The train's speed was rapidly decreasing in a smooth manner.
The shimmering energy tunnel outside the window had vanished, replaced by the familiar snow-covered red-brick houses of the London suburbs.
Clearly, the high-speed "tunnel" had accurately delivered them to their destination.
Hermione stood up unsteadily.
Between those inhuman high heels and her body's exhaustion, every step was a struggle, like dancing on the edge of a knife.
The incredibly tight latex suit caused every part of her body to let out a series of blushing "creaks" with every movement.
Jerry ignored her distress and pulled a seemingly ordinary "disguise" from his storage space.
It was a very large, hooded, deep grey wool robe, big enough to completely cover an adult man, and an unnaturally thick grey wool scarf.
"Put this on." He tossed the robe to her.
Hermione caught the heavy garment and clumsily pulled it over her shameful latex suit.
The voluminous robe instantly concealed her bound and exposed curves, letting her breathe a small sigh of relief.
But then Jerry picked up the thick scarf and didn't immediately put it on her.
He pulled another object from his pocket.
It was a black, simple face mask.
When Jerry showed Hermione the inside of the mask, her pupils contracted to their limit.
In the very center of the mask, held in place by several tough leather straps, was a smooth, egg-sized red silicone ball gag with a few breathing holes!
"Considering your throat is still developing, we'll start with the smallest size," Jerry said.
His tone was as flat and professional as a dentist choosing a brace for a patient, yet his words were filled with unquestionable cruelty. "Open your mouth."
This time, Hermione didn't even have the thought to resist.
Like a fledgling bird waiting to be fed, she obediently opened her trembling lips.
Jerry wasn't gentle. He gripped the ball gag and shoved it cleanly into her mouth.
"Mmph!"
The egg-sized gag instantly filled Hermione's small mouth.
Her tongue was forced back, and her jaws couldn't close, held open in an unnatural position.
The smooth texture of the silicone and its faint scent served as a constant reminder of the shameful object filling her mouth.
Next, Jerry hooked the mask's straps over her ears.
The black mask perfectly hid her cheeks, which bulged slightly from the gag, and her unclosable lips.
However, physiological reactions cannot be controlled by will.
Having her mouth crudely stuffed stimulated Hermione's salivary glands into a frenzy.
The crystal-clear saliva, which she couldn't swallow, soon filled her mouth and began to drip continuously from the corners of her lips.
"Mmph... mmh..."
Hermione made muffled, whimpering sounds, trying to express her distress to her master.
Jerry only watched coldly. Only when the first drop of drool slid down her chin did he pick up the thick scarf.
He carefully wrapped it around Hermione's neck and the lower half of her face, over and over.
"This way, no one will see."
Jerry spoke in an understated tone.
The thick scarf perfectly concealed the black mask and absorbed all the saliva leaking from her mouth.
From the outside, Hermione looked like an ordinary girl bundled up against the cold.
No one could imagine the lewd scene taking place beneath the thick wool.
Hermione could only feel her saliva flowing out, quickly soaking a large patch of the scarf's interior.
The wet, hot sensation against her chin and neck made her so ashamed she wanted to black out on the spot.
The only flaw was the black patent leather lace-up heels peeking out from the hem of the large robe, entirely out of character for the rest of the outfit and dripping with erotic meaning.
But Jerry seemed unconcerned. In fact, it was a deliberate "signature" of his own bad taste.
"Whoosh—"
The train let out a soft braking sound and came to a smooth stop at the familiar Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross.
Jerry pushed the door open, placing a hand naturally on Hermione's lower back.
The gesture looked protective, but it was a signal of absolute control.
They stepped off the train and merged into the bustling crowds filled with the festive spirit of Christmas Eve.
No one noticed anything unusual about the girl in the large robe and thick scarf.
Hermione felt as if she were walking through hell.
The noise of the people, the station announcements, the melodies of Christmas carols—it all felt like it was behind a thick pane of glass.
All her senses were focused on a few points: the foreign object in her mouth that kept her drooling, the sticky and wet private area encased in latex, and the high heels that made every step a terrifying ordeal.
Jerry's hand on her back felt like a branding iron, a constant reminder of her status—a disguised plaything on public display.
They didn't go straight to Hermione's house. Instead, they walked out of the station, hailed a taxi, and headed to London's busiest shopping district: Bond Street.
Jerry's hand rested on Hermione's lower back like a precise remote control. Every subtle press, every slide of his fingertips silently manipulated her steps and posture.
They walked down Bond Street like an ordinary pair of childhood sweethearts on a pre-Christmas shopping spree, passing luxury storefronts along the expensive stone pavement.
But for Hermione, every step in those hellish high heels sent shooting pains through her ankles and calves.
Beneath the oversized robe, her airtight latex suit had become slick with her body heat and sweat. With every movement, the inner thighs of the suit rubbed together with a squeak, squeak sound. The noise and sensation were constant reminders of the black skin encasing her.
The ball gag in her mouth made it impossible to swallow, and the saliva continuously overflowing had long since soaked the thick scarf. The cold, wet fabric clung to her skin, making her so ashamed she wished she could melt into the winter air of London.
In her hands, she carried two heavy gift bags emblazoned with the logos of top jewelry brands—gifts from Jerry to her parents.
"Next is here."
Jerry's voice pulled her back from her humiliating thoughts.
They stopped in front of a luxury toy store that exuded both childlike wonder and high-class sophistication.
In the massive display window stood a giant teddy bear, taller than an adult and incredibly endearing. It wore an exquisite red velvet Christmas outfit and held a gift box in its paws.
"Go in."
Jerry used the hand on her lower back to push her into the store with undeniable force.
Warm air and pleasant Christmas music washed over them.
Inside, many wealthy families with children were picking out gifts.
Several well-dressed rich girls cast curious glances at the incongruous black patent leather high heels peeking out from under Hermione's large robe.
Jerry ignored them completely. He walked straight to the life-sized teddy bear and squeezed the soft paw pads.
"We'll take this one."
He spoke to the sales assistant who had approached, then turned to look at Hermione.
His eyes twinkled with a childlike playfulness. "Do you like it, Hermione?"
With the gag in her mouth, Hermione could only nod with all her might, making muffled "mmph-mmph" sounds in her throat.
While the staff packed the giant bear, Jerry dragged her to a boutique next door.
This time, he chose something much more normal: an elegant beige dress made of fine cashmere.
"Go try it on."
He shoved the soft dress into her arms and smiled at the saleswoman. "My fiancée is a bit shy. I'd like to go in with her to help her decide."
The saleswoman looked at the young man, who exuded confidence and nobility far beyond his years, the black card in his hand, and the "fiancée" behind him who kept her head lowered. She gave a knowing, professional smile and immediately led them to the most spacious and luxurious VIP fitting room at the back of the store.
Bang.
The fitting room door closed gently, cutting off all sound and sight from the outside.
The small space, carpeted in thick plush, instantly transformed into a private torture chamber belonging to her master.
"Put the things down. Robe and scarf, off." Jerry's voice instantly returned to its cold tone.
Hermione's body stiffened, and then she began to execute the order mechanically.
She put down the dress and, trembling, untied the scarf, which was now heavy and wet with her saliva.
The moment the scarf was removed, the black mask and the ball gag stuffing her mouth were exposed to the bright lights.
Her face, looking somewhat dazed from being stretched open for so long, was streaked with crystal saliva, her eyes filled with humiliation and shyness.
Next, Jerry stripped off the large wool robe.
The body bound in black latex, fishnet stockings, and high heels—filled with taboo eroticism—was once again fully presented before Jerry.
Perhaps because she had been walking outside for too long, or perhaps because of high mental tension, a large amount of heat and sweat had accumulated under that airtight latex.
"Come here."
Jerry sat on the soft ottoman in the fitting room and patted the carpet in front of him.
Hermione dared not hesitate. She crawled over on her knees and knelt between Jerry's legs.
Jerry reached out and grabbed the zipper tab on her back, which ran from the nape of her neck to her lower back.
Zzzzt!
Accompanied by a harsh sound like tearing open some packaging, the latex bodysuit that completely confined her upper body was unzipped from top to bottom.
A cloud of white steam, thick with the scent of girl-sweat and rubber, puffed out from the opened gap like a pressure cooker just unsealed.
The latex that had been clinging to Hermione's skin slowly peeled away to the sides, revealing tender skin that was glistening with sweat and flushed a tempting red from the heat and constraint.
Hermione's entire back was soaked, steaming as if she had just stepped out of a sauna.
Jerry didn't help her take the suit off immediately. Instead, he slipped his hand into the open gap. His palm pressed directly against Hermione's wet, hot back.
"Mmh..."
Hermione's body shuddered violently. The strange sensation of her skin contacting the outside air and another person's touch after being bound for so long made her throat emit a suppressed moan.
Jerry's hand slid down her wet spine, passed her still-tight waistline, and finally, rudely invaded the equally perversely tight latex skirt.
His hand accurately found her two rounded buttocks squeezed by the latex and pried them apart with force!
Her deep, wet cleft, soaked in sweat, was exposed unreservedly beneath his palm.
Then, he unzipped the most shameful zipper, which ran from her lower abdomen to the end of her butt crack.
Zip...
As the zipper opened, the garden that had been tightly wrapped and was already muddy mess was finally liberated.
A thicker steam rose, mixing sweat, residual urine, and love juices into a scent filled with the most primal, musky odor of a girl.
Jerry withdrew his hand from between her buttocks and reached in from the front, into the opening below her abdomen.
His fingers easily parted the fat, wet lips swollen from arousal and accurately found the small, engorged nub that had been tormented by friction for so long.
"Ah... mmph!"
Gagged, Hermione let out a muffled cry that was both painful and relieved.
Her waist collapsed, and her whole body trembled violently from the sudden, direct stimulation.
"It's already this wet in here?"
Jerry's voice carried a malicious tone of stating the obvious.
His fingers began to circle that sensitive nub slowly but with significant force.
Squelch... squelch... hiss...
The clear, sticky sound of water was infinitely amplified in the small fitting room.
Hermione's reason had flown out the window the moment he touched her.
She knelt on the carpet, her hands clawing at the ground, her full hips swaying slightly back and forth with Jerry's finger movements, as if actively catering to the pleasure that made her want to die of shame yet crave it madly.
Her drool flowed even harder, and the muffled whimpers in her throat gradually took on a tone of crying and begging.
Jerry played with this perfect "instrument" like a craftsman tuning a precision machine.
He could clearly feel how the girl's body beneath him was being pushed to the edge of collapse bit by bit under his fingers. He could even feel the massive meat-root wrapped in his pants, already hard as iron from all this, twitching restlessly, the pre-cum soaking a small patch of fabric at the tip.
But he wasn't in a hurry.
Jerry's other free hand slowly reached for Hermione's face, pinched one side of the ball gag with two fingers, and yanked it out!
"Hah... ah!"
The gag was brutally pulled out, trailing a long string of crystal saliva.
Liberated, Hermione finally let out a distorted cry.
She breathed the fresh air greedily, but in the next second, Jerry's wet, slippery fingers—coated in her own fluids—plugged her mouth.
"Lick it clean!"
Looking at the fingers emitting the scent of her own private parts, Hermione didn't hesitate. She immediately extended her soft tongue and licked every drop of liquid off, bit by bit.
She even clumsily wrapped her lips around his fingertips, exploring any residue in his fingernails with her tongue until only her own clear saliva remained.
Only after finishing all this did she look up, her eyes submissive.
"Very good."
Jerry withdrew his fingers and wiped them casually on the wool robe Hermione had thrown on the floor like trash.
He stood up, looking down at the girl who had been completely broken.
"Take it off. Put this on."
He nudged the soft beige cashmere dress with his toe.
Receiving the order, Hermione immediately began to move.
She clumsily tore at the latex on her body.
Because it was soaked with sweat and fluids inside and out, taking it off was even more difficult and sticky than putting it on.
When Hermione finally managed to peel off the upper half of the shell, the accumulated heat and sweat made her look as if she had just been fished out of water. Every inch of skin was beaded with sweat, emitting a strong scent of adolescent female hormones mixed with the sourness of intense exercise.
Hermione didn't receive permission to clean herself.
She could only let the sticky sweat slide slowly down her skin texture, then picked up the brand-new, pure, light-colored thigh-high stockings.
The new stockings were dry and soft, but when they touched Hermione's sweat-drenched calves and thighs, a change occurred.
Hiss...
The new nylon fibers acted like thirsty sponges, instantly absorbing the sweat on her legs.
The originally uniform, slightly glossy surface of the light stockings immediately showed patches of darker, damp water stains!
These sweat stains perfectly outlined the muscles of her calves and formed a particularly eye-catching, dark, ambiguous mark on her inner thighs.
The stockings clung stickily to Hermione's skin, locking in that clammy feeling. The nylon and latex brought a constant, wet, and shameful tactile sensation.
Next was the soft cashmere dress.
Putting clean, soft wool over a sweaty, sticky body was torture.
The dress clung to her back and armpits, quickly becoming damp and heavy with sweat.
But from the outside, once she put everything on, rewore the thick scarf (with the gag back in her mouth, of course), and donned the large robe, she looked like a wealthy girl who had just returned from shopping, dressed exquisitely.
Between the hem of the beige dress and the robe, a section of elegant calf wrapped in light stockings and a pair of cute round-toe black patent leather shoes were visible.
Hermione looked like a carefully packaged, shiny Barbie doll.
Jerry admired his "work" with satisfaction.
"Let's go, my Princess. I'm hungry. I hope Mrs. Granger has prepared a sumptuous feast!"
They walked out of the mall and got into a taxi again.
This time, the destination was the quiet neighborhood in the London suburbs.
When the taxi slowly stopped in front of the familiar Granger house, decorated warmly with Christmas lights, Hermione's heart jumped up and down nervously.
Jerry paid the fare elegantly, then took out the two most expensive gift bags containing jewelry and watches from the pile of gifts and shoved them into Hermione's hands.
"What are you waiting for? Ring the bell."
Hermione's body was stiff as a stone.
Although she had prepared herself mentally long ago.
When she actually arrived at the door, Hermione became incredibly nervous.
Carrying the two heavy bags, she walked step by step up the stone path she knew so well.
Every step felt like stepping on her own heart.
Hermione reached out a trembling hand and pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong!
The crisp sound was particularly piercing in the silent night.
A few seconds later, footsteps came from inside.
Then, with a click, the lock opened.
The door was slowly pulled open.
Jerry's eyes lit up, while Hermione stood frozen.
"Mom, you..."
Mrs. Granger was wearing a bright red "Santa Girl" outfit.
The top was a deep-V velvet bodysuit that squeezed her breasts—fuller from childbirth—into a shocking, deep cleavage. The pale globes were dazzling under the lights, edged with fluffy white fur.
The bottom was a ridiculously short red tutu that barely covered the lower curve of her buttocks. Directly behind the skirt, a round, white fur tail swayed playfully with her slight movements.
It looked like it was glued to the skirt, but from Jerry's perspective, something felt off.
Beneath the short skirt were two mature, round, long legs wrapped tightly in bright red suspender stockings.
The sheer stockings couldn't even fully cover her skin tone, only coating it with an ambiguous, desire-filled red glow.
At the roots of her thighs, the sexy lace garters were clearly visible, silently inviting the visitor's gaze to travel upward and explore the most mysterious forbidden zone beneath the skirt.
The only pity was that she wasn't wearing conspicuous bunny ears.
Perhaps reindeer antlers would be more likely!
"Oh, Hermione! Jerry! You're finally here! Come in, it must be freezing outside!"
Mrs. Granger issued a greeting that was overly enthusiastic and sickeningly sweet.
Her voice carried a tremor of excitement hard to detect.
She kept winking at the two of them!
Jerry's performance was also perfect.
He seemed to struggle a bit holding the giant teddy bear that was almost as tall as him. The bear's body blocked most of his figure, making him look like an ordinary boy clumsy with an oversized gift.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Granger."
He flashed a bright, innocent smile befitting his appearance. "Sorry, this guy is a bit big; he might be in the way at the door."
"It's okay, it's okay! Come in!"
Mrs. Granger stepped aside and pulled Hermione in.
Just then, Jerry looked past her into the living room.
In front of the fireplace, Mr. Granger, dressed as Santa Claus, was watching a Christmas special on TV with rapt attention. Hearing the noise at the door, he turned around and gave a gentle smile.
"Good evening, Mr. Granger! Merry Christmas!" Jerry greeted loudly and politely.
"Oh! It's Jerry! Merry Christmas! Come in, son!"
Mr. Granger responded enthusiastically.
In the moment everyone's attention was drawn by the greeting, Jerry took a step forward holding the giant teddy bear, closing in on Mrs. Granger.
The bear's massive head moved with Jerry, blocking Mr. Granger's line of sight perfectly and completely cutting off Hermione's view from the side.
A perfect blind spot was formed.
Now!
Mrs. Granger's well-maintained hand boldly and decisively lifted her pitifully short tutu all the way to her waist.
Beneath the skirt, there was nothing.
No panties, no underwear, nothing. Only a fully exposed female landscape, richer from maturity and tight from maintenance.
For today's "hunt," Mrs. Granger had even groomed that private garden clean and smooth, leaving only a shallow slit with alluring shadows lying vertically there.
What set off this slit even more lewdly were the two bright red suspender straps extending upward from her thigh roots, finally disappearing under the hem of her bodysuit.
However, this wasn't the most stimulating part.
What made the blood boil was the fluffy white tail that was supposed to look cute and playful.
It wasn't a decoration sewn onto the skirt at all.
The base of that fur ball was a round structure glinting with cold metal light, and that base was fitted seamlessly against the tight flower behind her.
Undoubtedly, it was an exaggeratedly shaped anal plug. The white tail was inserted so rudely and bluntly into the body of a supposedly noble housewife.
At this moment, she wasn't Mrs. Granger, nor Hermione's mother.
The innocent smile on Jerry's face froze for a second.
But it was immediately replaced by a thicker playfulness full of appreciation and possessiveness.
Interesting.
Although he had long guessed that Mrs. Granger's invitation to the Christmas dinner had ulterior motives.
This was much more interesting than he imagined.
Jerry's hand—the one perfectly hidden by the teddy bear—moved.
His fingers, carrying cold, unquestionable malice, bypassed the curve of flesh, went straight down, and grabbed the base of that fluffy white rabbit tail!
Then he pulled outward with force.
"Ah!"
Janet's body trembled violently at this sudden, precise, and rough movement!
An indescribable electric current—of a passage invaded by a foreign object being roughly controlled by external force, mixed with shame and intense pleasure—exploded instantly from that plugged, most sensitive part, shooting up her spine madly!
Her legs went weak, and she almost fell to her knees on the spot!
Almost in the next instant, Jerry shoved the thing, which was mostly pulled out, back in.
Then, Jerry hugged the huge and soft teddy bear nonchalantly, like a general returning in triumph, and walked into this living room wrapped in false warmth with the shy Hermione.
The door was still open.
Janet leaned against the cold door frame, feeling as if her entire skeleton had been pulled out.
Mrs. Granger's legs felt like two overcooked noodles, trembling uncontrollably violently. If not leaning against the door frame, she would have collapsed on the floor immediately.
Just now, when that cold metal object carrying her own intestinal temperature was mercilessly pulled out by the roots by Jerry, that instantaneous emptiness and strong pulling sensation, followed immediately by a rougher thrust with a rotating force, that tearing, ultimate fullness and pain...
Two diametrically opposed yet equally intense pleasures, like two crossing lightning bolts, struck Mrs. Granger's nerve center fiercely.
Mrs. Granger's brain went completely blank, leaving only a buzzing tinnitus.
Wave after wave of warm current gushed out uncontrollably from two openings of Mrs. Granger's body simultaneously.
Facing away from the room, Mrs. Granger opened her mouth, gasping for air. Her full breasts squeezed by the bodysuit heaved violently, yet she felt she couldn't inhale enough air no matter what.
It took Mrs. Granger almost a full half-minute to regain a shred of control over her body from that pleasure that almost made her soul leave her body.
She could smell a thick scent in the air belonging to herself, mixed with love juices and urine smell.
Trembling, she straightened up. Mrs. Granger wiped the cold sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.
Mrs. Granger glanced at the small puddle on the floor, then moved the carpet with her foot inconspicuously to cover it.
Then she took the perfume beside the door and sprayed it towards the ground.
Taking several deep breaths, forcing her heart beating violently due to excessive excitement to calm down, she gently closed the door.
Click.
A soft sound shut out the cold wind outside and completely turned this house into an airtight private hunting ground exclusive to the "Hunter."
"Dear, are you okay? Your face, why is it so red?"
Mr. Granger's concerned voice came from the living room.
When Mr. Granger curiously moved his gaze from the TV screen to the door, what he saw was just that polite boy holding a huge bear, and his wife enthusiastically leading him towards the living room.
Everything seemed so normal, so harmonious.
Only his wife's face had a trace of abnormal flush.
The smile on Jerry's face remained. He easily placed the huge teddy bear and all gifts under the Christmas tree, then took off his coat nonchalantly.
"Oh, dear, nothing."
Janet walked quickly into the living room, a perfect, gentle smile piled up on her face again: "Oh, Jerry, sit down quickly. Hermione, don't stand there silly, go pour Jerry a cup of hot cocoa!"
Her tone was so natural, as if the slut who was weak-legged and incontinent at the door just now wasn't her at all.
"Okay, Mom!"
Jerry and Mr. Granger began to chat beside the Christmas tree.
A somewhat absent-minded Hermione walked towards the kitchen.
But she didn't touch the cocoa powder in the cupboard. Instead, she reached into the inner pocket cast with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
Her fingers fumbled inside, passing her wand, a few spare textbooks, a pack of quills, and finally touched a cold, hard metal shell.
She took out that small, silver thermos cup.
This was it.
The "souvenir" Jerry gave her before leaving Hogwarts.
Her hands trembling slightly, she unscrewed the lid.
A rich smell, mixed with boyish musk and some primal fishy scent of life, immediately emanated from the cup mouth. Inside the cup was half a cup of viscous, milky white liquid with a pearl-like luster.
Hermione glanced at the large jar of homemade Caesar salad dressing prepared for the Christmas dinner on the counter.
That creamy, mellow sauce was quietly emitting the fragrance of garlic and cheese.
A crazy and morbid thought slithered into her mind like a viper.
She hesitated.
That was the last, weak struggle of Hermione as "Hermione Granger."
But this struggle, thinking of her mother's Santa outfit in the living room and the undisguised, fire-like desire when she looked at Jerry, was instantly swallowed by a darker and more twisted possessiveness.
Hermione raised the thermos cup and poured the viscous body fluid belonging to Jerry inside, drop by drop, all into that large jar of salad dressing.
"What are you doing, Hermione?"
A voice carrying a trace of huskiness and excitement sounded behind her.
Mrs. Granger had walked into the kitchen at some point.
She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, a posture that squeezed her full breasts even more breathtakingly.
She looked at her daughter's strange behavior, but there was no blame in her eyes, only curiosity.
"Why are you dressed like this?"
Hermione turned around, questioning hoarsely, anger burning in those brown eyes. "Still, at home!
In front of my classmate!
You..."