The front doors of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place were blown open at 3:17 in the morning.
Not with Alohomora, not with a restorative spell unraveling the Fidelius Charm, but directly, brutally, using a pure magical shockwave to blast the entire oak door and its frame straight out of the wall.
The door panels tumbled three times down the corridor, smashed against the staircase banister, and splintered into pieces, wood chips and dust billowing in the blast wave.
The portrait of Mrs. Black shrieked amidst the explosion, but her scream was cut off halfway by a Silencing Charm. The old woman in the frame stood with her mouth wide open, the veins on her neck bulging, but unable to make a single sound, like a snake grasped by the throat.
The first Death Eater to charge in wore brand-new black robes.
A new mark.
A new object of loyalty.
Following the first person were a second, a third, a fourth.
They filed in, movements crisp, formation tight—not the old swarm-and-fight-individually tactic from Voldemort's days.
They moved in pairs, one in front, one behind. The person in front handled attacks; the person behind handled defense. Their footsteps were perfectly synchronized, as if they had undergone long-term cooperative training.
Even more lethal was what they held in their hands.
Of the first pair to enter, the one in front held a wand in his right hand and wore a silver bracer on his left wrist. The surface of the bracer was carved with runes; the runes lit up with a dark red glow the instant a spell was cast. That light traveled up his arm into the wand, and the Stunning Spell shot from the tip was at least thirty percent more powerful than normal. The color of the spell light shifted from the standard red to a deep, almost dark purple crimson; when it hit the wall, it blasted a chunk of brickwork straight off, sending debris flying.
The one behind had a small leather pouch hanging from his belt. The opening of the pouch was tied with a string, and a black bead hung from the knot.
When an Expelliarmus shot down from the top of the stairs, that bead lit up automatically. A semi-transparent silver barrier expanded from the bead, deflecting the Disarming Charm. The barrier merely wavered for a second under the spell's impact before stabilizing.
Equipment given to them by Cassiopeia.
Not shoddily made black-market goods, but meticulously designed, tested magical instruments bearing the workshop's hallmark.
Those runic bracers amplified the power of spells, those protective beads automatically sensed incoming spells and deployed defensive barriers. Every single piece was battlefield-grade equipment, on par with the standard issue gear provided to Ministry Aurors.
Perhaps even better.
Because Ministry gear was mass-produced, while these were custom-made.
A roar came from the top of the stairs.
"Intruders!"
Moody's voice was cut off on the second syllable, because a Severing Charm shot from the direction of the front doors grazed his scalp, slicing off a small tuft of hair above his left ear.
The hair flew in the air for a second before landing on the steps of the stairs.
Moody leaned back, his magical eye spinning madly in its socket, scanning the entire corridor and the situation at the front doors a full three hundred and sixty degrees.
He saw them—six people had already entered, and more were waiting outside. The silhouettes of black robes lined up in two rows under the streetlights of Grimmauld Place; there were at least ten more.
Sixteen Death Eaters.
Fully armed, sixteen Death Eaters carrying amplification bracers and protective beads.
Moody's normal eye narrowed.
"Damn it."
He flicked his wand down, and a Blasting Curse smashed into the middle of the stairs. Three steps shattered in the explosion; the debris and wood splinters formed a makeshift barricade, blocking the first pair of Death Eaters.
But that only lasted two seconds.
The Death Eater in front swung his wand forward, the runes on his bracer lit up, and an amplified Reductor Curse blasted the debris barricade into dust. The pulverized stone filled the air, forming a cloud of gray smoke.
Through the smoke, the second pair of Death Eaters had already slipped past the first pair, charging up the stairs over the rubble.
Urgent footsteps and the sound of doors opening and closing came from the second-floor corridor.
Tonks rushed out of her room, her hair still in its sleeping state—messy, short pink hair sticking up all over her head, her pajama buttons misaligned by two—but her wand was already raised.
"What's happen—"
A Stunning Spell shot up from the landing. The dark purple spell light grazed her shoulder and hit the wall behind her; a fist-sized crater exploded in the wall, sending brick fragments flying. One piece hit her squarely in the back; she grunted and stumbled two steps forward.
"Death Eaters!"
Moody's voice came from the top of the stairs. "At least sixteen!
Fully armed!"
Tonks's pupils contracted; she quickly adjusted her stance and swung her wand forward. A Petrificus Totalus shot toward the landing, the spell light hitting the leg of the Death Eater charging at the front. But that protective bead lit up again, the silver barrier expanded, and the Full Body-Bind Curse was deflected, bouncing up to the ceiling where it blew up a lamp; shards of glass rained down with a crash.
"They have protective artifacts!" Tonks shouted to Moody.
"I see them!"
Moody's magical eye spun a full circle, locking onto the position of that protective bead. The bead hung from the Death Eater's belt; every time it activated a defense, it emitted a flash of silver light, and after the silver light faded, it took about a second and a half to recharge.
A one-and-a-half-second window.
Moody flicked his wand twice in rapid succession—the first was an ordinary Knockback Jinx, aimed at triggering the protective bead to consume its charge; the second was fired 0.3 seconds after the Knockback Jinx hit the barrier, a full-powered Stunning Spell that slipped through the disabled barrier while the bead was still recharging.
The Stunning Spell hit the Death Eater square in the chest.
But he didn't fall.
His body swayed backward, a wisp of gray smoke rising from his chest. The fabric of his black robes was burned into a scorched black circle by the spell light, but he stabilized himself, his feet only retreating half a step.
Moody's magical eye widened drastically.
What he wore beneath the black robes wasn't ordinary clothing, but some kind of enchanted protective undershirt. The undershirt absorbed most of the Stunning Spell's energy; only a small fraction penetrated the undershirt to hit him, insufficient to render him unconscious.
"They even have inner armor?!"
A trace of undetectable gravity finally entered Moody's voice.
Members of the Order of the Phoenix were rushing out of their rooms one after another.
Remus Lupin rushed down from a third-floor room. He hadn't even had time to put on his robes, wearing only an old sweater and wrinkled trousers, the scars on his face looking even deeper in the dim light. He threw an Impediment Jinx toward the landing; a semi-transparent wall of magic expanded at the turn of the stairs, blocking the charging Death Eaters.
The wall of magic lasted for four seconds.
The vanguard of the third pair of Death Eaters raised his wand. The runes on his bracer lit up with a dark red glow, and an amplified Blasting Curse smashed into the wall of magic. The magical wall, like glass struck by a hammer, began to crack from the center, the fissures spreading outward. Two seconds later, the entire wall shattered into flickering shards of magic, which drifted in the air for a moment before dissipating.
Lupin's face changed color.
Under normal circumstances, that Impediment Jinx could hold for at least ten seconds; now, it had shattered after only four. The amplification effect of those runic bracers far exceeded his estimates.
"These are not ordinary Death Eaters." Lupin's voice sank.
They weren't.
The people before them—they had coordination, they had equipment, they had tactics, they had discipline.
Even more terrifying was that they clearly knew the internal structure of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters.
The fourth pair of Death Eaters didn't take the stairs.
After entering through the front doors, they turned directly toward the kitchen at the end of the corridor. There was a hidden door on the kitchen wall sealed by the Black family; the hidden door led to the basement, and the basement had a secret passage connecting to the second-floor study. Only those who had lived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place knew of this route.
Moody's magical eye spun a hundred and eighty degrees in its socket, spotting the movement in the direction of the kitchen.
"They're taking the underground passage!"
Tonks cursed and turned to run toward the second-floor study, but she had only taken three steps before the study door blew open from the inside.
Two Death Eaters rushed out of the study, moving as fast as two streaks of black lightning. The one in front pointed his wand directly at Tonks's face, and an Expelliarmus shot out, accompanied by the dark red glow of the bracer runes; the speed of the spell light was twice as fast as normal.
Tonks dodged sideways, the spell light grazing past her ear; she could feel the heat of the spell light singeing her earlobe.
She whipped her wand back, shooting a Full Body-Bind Curse at that Death Eater, but the protective bead of the person behind him lit up, the silver barrier expanded, and the binding curse was deflected to the ceiling.
The battle downstairs was happening simultaneously.
Arthur Weasley flew out of the living room fireplace—he had rushed over via the Floo Network after receiving Moody's emergency signal.
His hair was a tangled mess, his glasses askew on his nose, the hem of his robes singed by the fireplace flames.
He barely had time to raise his wand before he was knocked flying by a Knockback Jinx shot from the corridor. He fell backward, his back slamming into the stone mantel of the fireplace with a muffled thud.
Arthur's wand flew to the other end of the corridor, rolling several times on the floorboards.
He struggled to get up, but a second spell had already arrived—a Leg-Locker Curse hit both his legs, and his two legs instantly stiffened as if filled with lead.
"Arthur!" Elara's voice came from the fireplace. She was throwing Floo powder into the fireplace, green flames churning within it.
"Don't come over!"
Arthur yelled toward the fireplace.
But Elara had already rushed out of the flames, wand raised in front of her chest, the sleeves of her nightgown burned with several holes by the green flames.
She saw Arthur lying on the floor, saw the figures wearing brand-new black robes in the corridor, and her face instantly turned a steely gray.
Years of non-involvement in combat had slowed her reaction time by half a beat.
Moody was an exception.
Mad-Eye Moody had never relaxed his vigilance; even in times of peace, he maintained the habit of practicing combat spells daily. His wand never left his side, his magical eye kept spinning twenty-four hours a day. But Moody was only one person; one person's vigilance could not make up for the laxity of the entire organization.
Lupin's Impediment Jinx couldn't last four seconds.
Tonks's reaction was 0.3 seconds too slow.
Arthur didn't even have time to raise his wand.
These gaps were insignificant in times of peace, but on a real battlefield, every 0.3 seconds was the dividing line between life and death.
And the Death Eaters—those lunatics who had been locked up in Azkaban for twelve years, tortured by Dementors for twelve years—their thirst for battle had never waned.
The twelve years of imprisonment hadn't made them weaker; it had made them crazier, thirstier, more unafraid of death.
Cassiopeia had given them weapons.
Cassiopeia had given them armor.
Cassiopeia had given them a target.
Right now, they were using these things to steamroll the Order of the Phoenix.
The battle unfolded simultaneously on every floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The first-floor corridor became a trench of spell fire; red, green, and purple spell lights crisscrossed through the narrow space, hitting walls, ceilings, and furniture, filling the air with shrapnel and dust.
The second-floor corridor was caught in a pincer attack by Death Eaters from two directions. Tonks and Lupin stood back-to-back, wands waving constantly, but every spell was blocked by protective beads, while the amplified spells shooting back at them grew fiercer with each blast.
On the third floor, Moody held the landing alone. His wand was like a constantly swinging sword; every spell was aimed precisely at the recharging window of the Death Eaters' protective beads, but even so, he began to retreat, because there were too many people on the other side, and they were constantly rotating—the ones in front stepping back to rest, the ones behind stepping up to continue the assault.
Rotation tactics.
This wasn't something Death Eaters would use. This was the tactic of a regular army.
Taught to them by Cassiopeia.
Dumbledore wasn't here.
This was the most important reason the Death Eaters chose to strike tonight.
They knew—knew through some channel—that Dumbledore had gone to the frontlines tonight to attend an emergency meeting regarding the Azkaban breakout.
That meeting would last until at least five in the morning.
From 3:17 AM to 5:00 AM, they had nearly two hours.
Two hours was more than enough.
Moody's back hit the wall at the end of the third-floor corridor; he had nowhere left to retreat.
His magical eye spun wildly in its socket, scanning the position of every Death Eater, the charging status of every protective bead, the trajectory of every incoming spell.
A scream from Tonks came from the second floor; a Severing Charm had pierced her defenses, slashing a long gash across her left arm. Blood poured from the wound, dyeing the sleeve of her pajamas red.
Lupin grabbed her and pulled her behind him, using his own body as a shield, but the next spell had already arrived. An amplified Blasting Curse smashed into the floorboards in front of him; the floor exploded, blowing a hole and sending splinters and dust into his face.
On the first floor, Elara used her wand to prop up a Shield Charm in front of Arthur, but the shield shattered under three consecutive attacks. The magical backlash struck her arm; her wrist gave a crack, and her wand slipped from her fingers.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place trembled.
Walls cracked under the impact of spells, plaster fell from the ceilings under the bombardment of Blasting Curses, window glass shattered in the blast waves, shards of glass and brick forming a layer across the corridors.
The portrait of Mrs. Black screamed silently under the effects of the Silencing Charm. The frame skewed from the vibrations in the wall, the hook loosening; the frame hung diagonally, tottering...
Tonight, people were destined to die!
The bathroom was at the end of the second-floor corridor of the manor. Pushing open the oak door carved with snake patterns, the space inside was a size larger than even the Hogwarts prefects' bathroom.
It wasn't that gloomy, pure-blood family dungeon style.
Quite the opposite.
The four walls were tiled in ivory-white marble, the surface faintly bearing silver-gray veins like lightning frozen in stone.
The ceiling was a solid pane of transparent magical glass; the starlight of the night sky poured straight in. The starlight hitting the marble surface refracted fine silver points of light, making the whole room sparkle as if the Milky Way had been inverted overhead.
The bathtub was set right in the center of the room. Not the kind placed against a wall, but freestanding, a white ceramic tub with edges rounded like pebbles washed by a river for hundreds of years.
The tub was massive, large enough for two adults to lie side-by-side with room to spare. Four silver snake-shaped feet supported the bottom of the tub; the scales of the snakes were carved with exquisite detail, every scale capable of reflecting starlight.
Hot water surged from the silver faucet above the rim of the tub, the water hitting the bottom with a splash-splash sound. Steam rose from the surface, turning into clouds of white mist in the starlight. The white mist diffused through the bathroom, blurring the boundaries between walls and ceiling.
Jerry lay in the bathtub.
The hot water reached his chest. The surface of the water bore a thin layer of foam; the foam was a pale purple, emitting a mixed scent of lavender and cedar.
The back of his head rested on the rim of the tub. His hair was damp with steam, clinging to his forehead and temples, a few strands hanging before his eyes, swaying gently on the water's surface with the rise and fall of his breath.
He wore a sleep mask.
He had too many things on his mind.
The reason he chose to come stay at the manor for a week.
Was because he needed to disappear.
The Azkaban situation had blown up too big; the entire Ministry of Magic was in an uproar. The Auror Office had canceled all leave, investigators from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were buzzing everywhere like flies, and the tentacles of the Order of the Phoenix reached into every corner.
So he needed a clean alibi.
"I'm staying at my fiancée's house for a week"—this excuse was as clean as freshly washed white bedsheets; no one could find fault with it.
The hot water soaked his body, his muscles slowly relaxing in the high-temperature soak. The soreness in his shoulders faded, the stiffness in his back softened, even the vein in his temple that had throbbed all day quieted down.
The steam condensed into fine beads of water on his face. The water beads slid down his cheekbones to his chin, dropping into the bathtub with a plop, leaving a small round crater on the surface of the foam.
The bathroom door opened.
The hinges didn't make a sound—they had been Silenced.
A pair of feet stepped onto the marble floor, wearing white silk stockings that extended from the toes all the way to the root of the thighs; the lace edge of the cuffs dug into the tender flesh at the root of the legs.
Above the white silk stockings was a pale pink lingerie nightdress, made of satin, so short it barely reached the root of her thighs. Between the lace hem of the nightdress and the lace edge of the stockings, a section of fair skin was exposed, glowing pink in the steam.
Isabella.
Isabella's hair was loose, not braided; her silver-white long hair draped over her shoulders, the ends curled and clinging to the shoulder straps of the pale pink nightdress.
Isabella's face was still red, red from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, but the gray-blue irises in her eyes were much clearer than before, and her pupils had returned to normal size.
Isabella walked barefoot—no, wearing white silk—stepping on the marble floor. Her steps were very light, as light as a cat walking, approaching the bathtub step by step.
Isabella walked to the edge of the bathtub, crouched down, rested her fingers on the rim, her fingertips touching the lock of Jerry's hair hanging over the side.
"Jerry..."
The voice was very soft, carrying a hint of probing.
Isabella's fingers slid from his hair to Jerry's forehead. Her pad touched the condensed water bead on his forehead; the water bead was crushed under her pad, turning into a thin film of water.
Isabella leaned her face forward, leaning right above Jerry's face, her nose almost touching his nose. Her breath sprayed onto his lips—warm, carrying the sweet scent of a peppermint drop.
Isabella's lips pressed against Jerry's lips.
Very light, very soft, like a petal landing on water.
Isabella's tongue-tip emerged from the slit of her lips, licking over Jerry's upper lip, licking over his lower lip, licking to the residual water bead at the corner of his mouth, curling the water bead into her mouth and swallowing it down.
The bathroom door opened again.
Silently!
This time from the other side—the bathroom had two doors, one leading to the corridor, one leading to Cassiopeia's bedroom.
A pair of feet stepped onto the marble floor, wearing silvery-white silk stockings that extended from the toes all the way to the root of the thighs. The lace edge of the cuffs was wider and more exquisite than Isabella's; the lace pattern was snake-shaped, the snake's body coiling completely around the cuff. Above the silvery-white silk stockings was a deep purple lingerie nightdress, made of silk, shorter than Isabella's, so short it could barely cover the lower curve of her buttocks. The neckline was cut very low, low enough to see the start of her cleavage.
Cassiopeia.
Her footsteps were even lighter than Isabella's, so light that not even the water beads on the marble floor were crushed. The tips of her black silk slid across the floor, like a snake slithering across smooth stone.
She saw Isabella crouching by the bathtub.
She stopped.
Her toes froze three paces away from the bathtub, her black-silk-wrapped toes curling against the floor.
Isabella's lips were still pressed against Jerry's lips. Her tongue-tip churned in his oral cavity with a squish, pulling a viscous thread of saliva between the two tongues.
She hadn't noticed her mother's arrival.
Cassiopeia silently took a step back.
The tips of her black silk slid across the marble, her body slipping behind the screen in the corner of the bathroom. The screen was made of frosted glass; one could see blurred silhouettes, but not clear details.
Isabella's lips left Jerry's lips with a pop, pulling a fine thread of saliva.
Her finger drew circles on Jerry's chest, her fingertip touching the water's surface, sending ripples outward circle by circle beneath her touch.
Her finger slid downward.
Slid past his chest, slid past his abdomen, slid into the water, slid onto that thing.
Even soaking in hot water, that thing was still hard. The outline of the shaft beneath the water's surface was clearly visible, extending all the way from the base to the position of his navel. The tip poked out a section above the water, like a small island emerging from the sea.
Isabella's hand grasped the shaft underwater. Her five fingers couldn't close around it, only able to grip half, the other half bulging out from between the webbing of her thumb and pinky. Her hand began to stroke up and down; the water made a splash-splash sound with her movements. The foam around the shaft was churned to pieces, shattering into bits of purple foam scum floating on the water's surface.
Behind the screen, Cassiopeia's fingers gripped the edge of the screen, her nails digging into the metal frame of the frosted glass. Her dark purple nail polish scraped a thin scratch onto the metal.
Her breathing became slightly rapid; the two soft orbs cradled by the deep purple nightdress trembled slightly with her accelerating breath.
Isabella's hand stroked underwater for a dozen passes, then let go. She stood up; the knees of her white silk stockings were stained with watermarks from the marble floor, the watermarks soaking two dark round spots into the fabric of the white silk.
"I'll go get you a towel."
Her voice carried a hint of a pant. She turned and walked toward the door leading to the corridor; the loose hem of the pale pink nightdress fluttered up with her turning motion, revealing the root of her thighs wrapped in white silk stockings and a section of fair skin at the lower curve of her buttocks.
The door opened, the door closed.
Isabella left.
Behind the screen, Cassiopeia waited for three seconds.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
She stepped out from behind the screen, the tips of her black silk stepping on the marble floor, gliding silently toward the bathtub.
She walked to the edge of the tub, but didn't crouch down; instead, she stepped directly into the bathtub.
One leg stepped over the rim, the tip of her black silk stepping into the hot water. The water rippled at her ankle; the hot water soaked through the fabric of the black silk, turning the material from opaque to semi-transparent, revealing the outline of the skin beneath.
The other leg followed. She stood entirely inside the bathtub, the hot water reaching the middle of her calves. The hem of her deep purple nightdress was dampened by the steam, clinging to her thighs.
She squatted down, squatting between Jerry's legs. The hot water reached her waist; the lower half of her deep purple nightdress was completely submerged in the water. The fabric clung to her waistline, hip bones, and the curves of her thighs, outlining every inch.
Her fingers pinched Jerry's chin and turned his face toward her.
Her lips smashed down.
Not Isabella's gentle touch like a petal on water, but a direct, forceful, aggressive grinding. The dark purple lipstick ground over Jerry's upper lip, ground over his lower lip, her tongue prying open his teeth, wrapping around his tongue and giving it a forceful suck. A loud smack! water sound burst in the bathroom.
Her hand slid from his chin down under the water, grasping that meat-pillar directly. Her fingers tightened, her palm grinding over the shaft, giving it a stroke from base to tip. The water made a splash— sound with her movement, churning the foam to fly everywhere.
The doorknob of the door leading to the corridor moved at this moment.
Cassiopeia's ears twitched—the superhuman hearing granted by the Basilisk bloodline.
Her lips snapped violently away from Jerry's lips, her hand withdrawing from under the water. Her entire body vaulted out of the bathtub; the tips of her black silk tapped on the rim of the tub, her body landing silently on the marble floor. Beads of water dripped from her soaked nightdress, leaving a trail of watermarks on the floor. Her toes stepped on the watermarks, gliding behind the screen.
The door opened.
Isabella walked in carrying a large white bath towel, fluffy like a cloud.
She walked to the edge of the bathtub, her gaze falling on the water's surface—the foam was churned into a mess, the water was still sloshing, and there were a few water drops on the rim of the tub that didn't belong to Jerry; within the water drops was a very faint trace of dark purple.
Isabella's nostrils twitched.
In the air, besides the scent of lavender and cedar, there was also a faint mixed smell of tuberose and ambergris.
Isabella placed the bath towel on the rim of the tub, crouched down, reached her hand into the water, and grasped that meat-pillar—a slippery sensation remained on the shaft. It wasn't the slipperiness of foam, but another, finer slipperiness, like being repeatedly rubbed by a human palm.
The corners of her mouth turned down a fraction.
She lowered her head, her lips pressing against the section of the tip exposed above the water. Her tongue-tip stuck out, licking a circle around the surface of the tip, licking away the residual foam and that layer of slipperiness that didn't belong to her. Then she opened her mouth and took the tip in.
Squelch!
The sound of water and sucking mixed together, bouncing back and forth between the marble walls of the bathroom.
Behind the screen, Cassiopeia's fingers gripped the edge of the screen, her nails scraping a second scratch on the metal frame.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Her gray-blue eyes stared through the frosted glass at that blurred pale pink silhouette by the bathtub, the green luster in the depths of her pupils lighting up once again.
Isabella's mouth sucked on the tip over a dozen times, then she lifted her head, a thread of saliva hanging from the corner of her mouth, her gray-blue eyes staring at Jerry's face.
"I'm going to get body wash."
She stood up, turned, and walked toward the door leading to the corridor.
The door opened, the door closed.
The figure behind the screen moved again.
Cassiopeia slid out from behind the screen. The tips of her black silk glided silently over the wet marble. In three steps she reached the edge of the bathtub, stepped one leg in, and straddled Jerry's waist.
The hem of her deep purple nightdress floated on the water's surface like a blooming, dark purple water lily.
Cassiopeia's crotch sat directly on that meat-pillar. The shaft was clamped between the roots of her thighs; her inner thighs, wrapped in black silk, pressed against both sides of the shaft.
She could feel the heat of that thing scalding her skin through the fabric of the silk stocking. The coiled veins on the shaft prodded the tender flesh of her inner thighs, one by one, rock-hard.
Cassiopeia's crotch began to grind back and forth.
She ground over the base of the shaft, ground over the middle, ground to the position of the tip.
The tip pressed against her private parts; through the fabric of the black silk, she could feel that massive head pushing a deep indentation into the material.
"Mmh!"
An extremely soft hum leaked from her throat; her teeth bit her lower lip to suppress the sound.
The water's surface sloshed violently with her grinding motion—splash, splash.
The foam was churned into pieces; the pieces stuck to the inner walls of the bathtub, stuck to her soaked nightdress, stuck to Jerry's chest.
The doorknob of the door leading to the corridor moved again.
Cassiopeia's body vaulted up from Jerry's waist, splashing water all over her face as she rose.
She flipped over the rim of the tub; the tip of her black silk slipped on the floor, nearly making her fall. Her fingers grabbed the edge of the screen to steady herself, and she slipped entirely behind the screen.
Her chest heaved violently; her deep purple nightdress was soaked through, clinging to her body, exposing every inch of her curves.
The door opened.
Isabella walked in holding a bottle of body wash.
Her gaze fell on the water's surface again—the sloshing of the water was more violent than before, the foam churned until it had almost entirely disappeared.
There were several new water drops on the rim of the tub, and the deep purple mixed within them was thicker.
On the floor, there was a new trail of wet footprints extending from the bathtub toward the screen.
Her nostrils twitched again.
The scent of tuberose and ambergris was stronger, so strong it almost completely overpowered the fragrance of lavender and cedar.
Isabella placed the body wash on the rim of the tub, her fingers gripping the bottle so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She didn't look in the direction of the screen.
She crouched down, reached her fingers into the water, and grasped that meat-pillar again.
The slippery sensation on the shaft was heavier, and there was an added layer of stickiness that didn't belong to the foam; that stickiness carried a subtle heat, as if it had been soaked in some kind of bodily fluid.
She lowered her head, her lips pressing against the tip once more.
This time she didn't lick; she opened her mouth directly and took the entire tip in.
Her cheeks caved in as she took a forceful suck. Glug! A loud water sound burst in the bathroom, louder than any time before.
The darkness before Jerry's eyes was pure and heavy. That black silk blindfold pressed seamlessly against the bridge of his nose, cutting off all light sources and compressing his world into the square inches of just hearing and touch.
Under this extreme sensory deprivation, every subtle movement was magnified several times.
He could hear the rustle of water sliding through his fingers, could hear the occasional crackle of wood from the distant fireplace.
Even clearer was the almost greedy sound of swallowing saliva right next to his ear.
Glug!
That loud swallow, accompanied by a wave of warm, damp breath, rushed straight into his eardrums.
Immediately following, Isabella's wet lips—carrying a heavy musky-sweet scent and the smell of peppermint—sealed around that massive tip once again.
Isabella's tongue-tip was like a nimble mollusk, frantically licking and swirling over that thin layer of white silk stocking fabric, trying to suck up every trace of seeping bodily fluid through the fibers.
"Hah... Jerry, it's mine... it can only be mine."
Isabella mumbled indistinctly, her voice carrying a sickly stubbornness.
She wasn't in a hurry to continue that battle of mouth and tongue; instead, she reached out, her fingertips rubbing the edge of that soaked silk stocking.
She slowly straightened up; her posture changed from crouching by the tub to a kneeling straddle.
Jerry could feel the water rippling violently. A pair of legs wrapped in soaked white silk stockings was stepping over the rim of the tub, stepping into the scalding pool of water.
The fabric of the white silk stockings rapidly changed color the instant it touched the water, turning from pure white to a semi-transparent milky white, clinging tightly to the well-proportioned curves of her calves.
Isabella casually tore off that pale pink lingerie nightdress; the silk fabric was tossed onto the slippery marble floor with a muffled smack.
Right now, she had absolutely nothing left on her body except those thigh-high white silk stockings and the garter belt around her waist, so thin it was almost invisible.
The water surged splash-splash with her movements, rising over her waistline, buoying her two orbs—trembling in the steam—upon the water's surface.
Isabella's nose, rendered exceptionally sensitive by jealousy, twitched again, repeatedly sniffing at the crook of Jerry's neck.
The primal instinct triggered by her bloodline made her act like a little bitch in a highly territorial state.
"That smell... is so annoying."
She muttered through gritted teeth, her hands bracing on Jerry's broad shoulders.
Using the buoyancy of the water, she aimed her full buttocks directly at that monster, which had long since been fully erect.
Isabella slowly sat down.
"Mmh...呜..."
When that massive tip pressed against her private parts through the soaked silk stocking, Isabella let out a fragmented whimper, a mix of pain and pleasure.
It was too big; even through a layer of fabric, that hardness and temperature, like a red-hot iron rod, sent waves of dizziness through her.
Isabella had to spread her legs, trying to expand her capacity as much as possible, letting that vein-covered shaft squeeze into that narrow slit bit by bit.
Squelch... squish...
As her body sank, water was squeezed out of the intimate crevice, emitting a sticky, loud water sound.
Isabella's hands gripped the silver snake-shaped supports on the edge of the bathtub in a death grip, her knuckles turning a pale, bluish-white from overexertion.
At the same time, behind that frosted glass screen, a blurred, twisted shadow was pressing tightly against the glass.
Cassiopeia was in a state of extreme hyperarousal.
Her long legs wrapped in black silk were crossed together, her toes violently curling from pleasure.
Her right hand had already slipped under the hem of that soaked deep purple nightdress.
Through that layer of expensive black silk stocking bearing a snake pattern, her fingers were frantically rubbing that already muddy secret path.
"Jerry... that monster..."
Cassiopeia murmured in the darkness. Her voice was deliberately kept very low, but carried a bone-chilling craving.
Her left hand tightly gripped the metal edge of the screen; due to excessive force, she actually squeezed a shallow handprint into that hard metal frame.
She imagined how that thing, which had been stroked by her own toes, was now brutally tearing into her daughter's body.
This immoral association caused her private parts to secrete even more juice, flowing along the texture all the way to her ankle.
Squish... sizzle...
That was the water sound her fingers churned up within the black silk.
She didn't dare to walk out, didn't dare to let Isabella see this wretched and crazed appearance of hers.
But the stimulation transmitted through hearing and blurred images was more lethal than any direct contact.
Those eyes of hers, which occasionally flashed green due to the curse, stared dead at the shadow on the screen in the darkness.
In the bathtub, the battle had entered a white-hot phase.
Isabella was frantically rising and falling; the cuffs of her white silk stockings bobbed up and down in the water with her violent movements.
"Hah-ah... Jerry... you're mine... mmh!"
Even though Jerry was wearing a blindfold, he could feel the atmosphere in the air stretched to the absolute limit.
It was the collision of two vastly different yet homologous desires in the narrow bathroom.
One was a white-silk-wrapped, jealous young girl; the other was a black-silk-entangled, on-the-verge-of-collapse mother snake behind the screen.
Glug... squelch...
"It's... it's going to break... Jerry..."
Isabella cried out. Sweat and tears slid down her cheeks into the bathtub, merging with the high-temperature hot water carrying the scent of lavender.
And behind the screen, Cassiopeia's body also gave a violent jolt; the finger buried deep within her touched the apex of her soul at this very moment.
Even though Jerry was wearing a blindfold, he could feel the atmosphere in the air stretched to the absolute limit.
Glug... squelch... Isabella cried out. Sweat and tears slid down her cheeks into the bathtub, merging with the high-temperature hot water carrying the scent of lavender.
Her body writhed frantically like a beached fish. That massive meat-pillar plunged in and out of her body with wild abandon; her fair chest heaved violently, her breathing rapid and fragmented.
"It really... is... going to break... Jerry..."
She whimpered, her hands clawing dead into Jerry's shoulders, her nails sinking deep as if to embed him into her own flesh and blood.
And behind the screen, Cassiopeia's body also gave a violent jolt. The finger buried deep within her touched the apex of her soul at this very moment. Her entire body's muscles spasmed from the massive pleasure; the soaked black silk clung tightly to her private parts, every contraction bringing a wave of tremors...
Splash!
After a long time, Isabella pulled herself up from the bathtub, the water sounding loud and turbulent.
The soaking wet white silk stockings clung tightly to her skin. As she left the hot water, the white silk instantly became transparent, outlining the slender, alluring curves of her legs.
Beads of water rolled down her orbs, dropping heavily to the floor along her gluteal cleft.
She didn't have time to dry her body, didn't even have time to grab the nightdress discarded outside the screen. Her movements were as fast as a startled fawn, kicking up a wave of fragrance and damp heat.
"I'm leaving!"
"Goodnight, Jerry!"
The door closed gently behind her, leaving only a silent, damp bathroom.
Although Jerry was wearing a blindfold, he could hear the urgent splashing of water and Isabella's fleeing footsteps, could feel the scorching, vibrant body heat beneath him instantly withdraw.
The water sloshed violently due to her departure. The giant root that had originally supported Isabella's buttocks now stood abruptly erect in the water, feeling a sudden sense of emptiness.
Behind the screen, a dark silhouette glided out silently.
The black-silk-wrapped toes stepped lightly on the wet marble floor, making almost no sound.
Cassiopeia's deep purple lingerie nightdress was now thoroughly soaked. The silk clung tightly to her exquisite body, even outlining the shape of the two cherries faintly visible beneath the thin silk material, making her look even more seductive.
The mixed scent of perfume and bodily fluids became richer, carrying an aggressive, cloying sweetness.
Cassiopeia walked to the edge of the bathtub. She braced one hand on the rim, and with the other, she pulled a delicate glass bottle from somewhere. The bottle contained an amber liquid.
She gently unscrewed the cap, and a faint mixed scent of rose and musk diffused into the air.
Her toes tentatively reached into the bathtub.
First were those feet tightly wrapped in black silk. The black silk turned an even darker, semi-transparent color under the soak of the hot water, stretched taut over her instep and toes, outlining the shape of every joint.
Her toes gently churned the water, churning the remaining bubbles and currents, churning over to the side of that still-raging meat-pillar.
"Phew..." Cassiopeia let out a soft hum of satisfaction. Her body, altered by the Basilisk bloodline, was incredibly sensitive to this stimulation. She could feel the heat of that thing transmitting to her instep through the wet black silk, could even sense the hidden throbbing of the veins on it.
Her toes began to move.
Her five toes were like nimble pipa fingers; wrapped in the soaked black silk stocking, they gently hooked that massive tip.
That warm, slightly abrasive wrapping made Jerry involuntarily clench his jaw, the eyelashes beneath the blindfold trembling slightly.
Sizzle... squish...
The sound of the black silk stocking rubbing against skin and water was exceptionally clear in the enclosed space of the bathroom.
Her sole slowly covered it, her entire arch pressing tightly against that majestic meat-pillar, while her heel pressed down, pressing on those massive balls.
"Jerry... my little monster... this is the price you owe me."
Cassiopeia's voice carried a hoarse whisper, like a black snake flicking its tongue, coiling around Jerry's ear.
A massive force came from his back.
Cassiopeia suddenly grabbed Jerry's waist, pulling his entire body forward.
Jerry's lower half was enveloped by the hot waves, the massive meat-pillar struggling under her sole, but his upper half was forcefully yanked out of the water by her.
"Stick it up..."
Jerry's body was forced into a shameful posture. He could only lie prone on the edge of the bathtub, his chest and arms pressed against the cold ceramic, while his buttocks were hiked high in the air. Those full balls trembled slightly in the scalding hot water, completely exposed to Cassiopeia.
Cassiopeia's free hand unscrewed the glass bottle and slowly poured the amber liquid onto Jerry's highly raised balls.
The icy touch of the liquid and that unique scent instantly evaporated in the scalding steam, triggering a numbing sensation throughout Jerry's entire body.
Her toes immediately reached over. This time, they were bare, soft toes coated in rose and musk oil.
Squish... slurp...
The toes, coated in oil and hot water, acted like the most precise instrument, beginning to dance, stroke, and knead over Jerry's balls.
Her thumb and index finger hooked one, gently rolling, pulling, and squeezing it. Her other toes danced on the other ball, sliding back and forth lightly and erotically.
Every flick elicited a suppressed, muffled groan from Jerry's throat.
The balls were stretched and rubbed between her toes; that sensitive skin being kneaded by her fingertips brought a numbing sensation that shot straight to his brain.
"This is... the baptism I give you..."
Cassiopeia's voice carried a haughty delight, like an artist admiring her own masterpiece.
The force of her toes suddenly increased, scraping heavily across Jerry's balls, then violently clamping shut.
"Mmh-ah...!" Jerry finally couldn't help but moan out loud. His body snapped straight, his vision beneath the blindfold seeming to fill with white light, and the massive meat-pillar surged in the water.
Cassiopeia straightened up, lifting the feet that had just finished giving Jerry a footjob out of the water.
She didn't put the soaked black silk stockings back on; instead, she pulled both of them off and casually tossed them onto the damp marble floor next to the bathtub.
Her mature, supple body was now clad only in the deep purple lingerie nightdress. The soaked silk clung to her skin, outlining the magnificent curves of her chest.
She turned around, resting her back against the edge of the bathtub, her legs sliding relaxedly into the water.
The water surged at her crotch, rippling with milky-white waves that spread all the way to Jerry's side.
She reached out and hooked Jerry's highly raised buttocks, her fingers slipping into his gluteal cleft, gently yet firmly pulling him toward her. She kept him lying prone on the edge of the bathtub, while she lay in the center of the tub, facing him.
"Come here... taste this."
Cassiopeia's voice was full of temptation. Her legs parted, letting the warm water surge freely between them.
She extended one leg, gently hooking Jerry's waist with her ankle to pull him closer, then the other leg also wrapped around, wrapping around his thigh.
Jerry's entire lower half was now forced into an extremely intimate posture: his inner thigh rubbed against the outside of Cassiopeia's thigh, and the massive meat-pillar in the water naturally leaned toward Cassiopeia's waist.
She stuck out her tongue, licking her fingertip. Her fingertip still bore the unique scent of having just touched Jerry's balls, mixed with the rose and musk oil.
The green light flashed in those gray-blue eyes; the gaze she directed at Jerry was like a hunting black panther.
"Mouth... open." She commanded softly.
Jerry's body involuntarily shuddered, his breathing beneath the blindfold becoming scorching hot and rapid. He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple rolling violently.
Cassiopeia's tongue stuck out—not the gentle, soft licking from before.
The tip of her tongue carried a strong aggressiveness, plunging directly into Jerry's oral cavity. The flat of her tongue was broad and soft, exploring like a small snake in a cave.
Her tongue-tip coiled around Jerry's tongue, sucking forcefully. Smack! A loud water sound burst in their mouths, carrying a pull of ultimate intimacy.
"Mmh... hah..."
This wasn't just a simple kiss.
Cassiopeia passed all the saliva in her mouth entirely over to Jerry without missing a drop. A low, satisfied roar came from her throat; the flat of her tongue wrapped around Jerry's, frantically grinding and churning against the inner walls of his oral cavity.
Cassiopeia could feel the muscles at the root of Jerry's tongue unconsciously contracting due to her sucking, plunging him deeper into massive pleasure.
In the pauses between their lips and teeth intertwining, her hand hooked around Jerry's waist did not stop.
Cassiopeia's fingers slid down along Jerry's waistline, sliding over the taut curves of his buttocks, finally resting at the edge of his highly raised tail.
The rosebud usually hidden in the deepest depths was currently slightly contracted due to desire and tension.
Cassiopeia's fingertip dipped a bit of water, gently stroking back and forth at the edge of Jerry's tail. That soft casing emitted sensitive tremors under the touch of her fingertip, making her feel intense pleasure.
She didn't enter immediately; merely, like foreplay, she meticulously stroked the edge of the rosebud with her fingertip, feeling its every opening and closing.
At the same time, her waist was also slightly writhing in the water. With an extremely subtle amplitude, she gently ground against Jerry's still-swollen meat-pillar.
Jerry's desire was simultaneously ignited by two entirely different pleasures in his mouth and beneath him. He uncontrollably let out a low roar of pain and enjoyment from his throat.
"Hah-ah... oh..."
Cassiopeia's lips left Jerry's mouth, pulling a long silver thread that quivered twice in the air before snapping.
She licked the corners of her mouth. Deep within those gray-blue eyes, the green fluorescence flourished even more, radiating a tempting, musky sweetness.
"Now... it's your turn."
Cassiopeia's fingertip was no longer just stroking; instead, she inserted a tiny bit of her nail into the crevice of Jerry's tail, slowly expanding it.
Cassiopeia lowered her head, her chin resting exactly on Jerry's abdomen. That position was precisely the apex where his massive meat-pillar rose high out of the water.
She stuck out her tongue, licking back and forth over that massive, elastic tip.
The flat of her tongue was broad and soft, the coating on her tongue scraping against the surface of the tip, bringing a coarse pleasure.
Under the envelopment of the hot water, Cassiopeia's oral cavity became exceptionally moist. Saliva was secreted continuously, wrapping around that massive head.
Squish... slurp...
She opened her mouth, taking that astonishing tip entirely in.
Cassiopeia's mouth was stretched white, her cheeks caving in, but without stopping, she swallowed deeper little by little.
That massive tip seemed to breach the limits of her oral cavity, reaching straight to the opening of her throat.
That throat, altered by the Basilisk bloodline, was exceptionally flexible and elastic. Cassiopeia felt every throb of that massive head in her throat; that sense of impact almost suffocated her.
"Mmh!" A muffled grunt squeezed from Cassiopeia's throat, accompanied by the swallowing motion.
The three fingers of Cassiopeia's right hand were now also completely inserted into Jerry's tail.
The warm intestinal walls tightly wrapped around Cassiopeia's fingers; every knuckle was squeezed layer by layer by the warm muscles.
Cassiopeia's fingers gently curled inside Jerry's body, exploring the sensitive spots deep within; every touch made Jerry's buttocks violently shudder.
"Phew... Jerry..."
Cassiopeia's voice became slurred and indistinct during the deep-throat action. A gurgle-gurgle water sound came from her throat, like a resonance triggered by the churning of the massive meat-pillar.
Cassiopeia's head bobbed up and down with the rhythm of her swallowing. Every swallow sent that meat-pillar a bit deeper into her throat.
Her fingers explored within Jerry's tail, gradually and skillfully feeling out his most sensitive spot. With a gentle hook of her fingertips, Jerry's body snapped straight, his eyes beneath the blindfold squeezed shut, and the massive meat-pillar throbbed wildly in her throat.
And Jerry, at this moment, was also completely immersed in this dual pleasure. On one side was the meat-pillar completely swallowed into Cassiopeia's oral cavity; on the other were the three fingers exploring deep within his tail.
He felt his logic being churned to pieces, as if thrown into a high-speed blender.
Cassiopeia's left hand was not idle at this moment either.
Her fingertips probed beneath Jerry's crotch, accurately pinching his sac, which had already swollen to an abnormal size.
She gently rubbed and squeezed it.
When the deep-throating reached its extreme, the tip of Cassiopeia's tongue could even feel the urethral slit at the very top of the meat-pillar trembling slightly from the massive pleasure. The pre-cum continuously seeping from there was devoured by her oral cavity; the taste was rich and mellow.
Waves of indescribable satisfaction came from deep within her throat. The root of her tongue sucked tightly on the meat-pillar, not letting a single drop escape.
"Hah... hah-ah..."
When those three fingers in the deepest part of Jerry's tail felt out a certain spot with extreme precision, and gave it a forceful hook...
Jerry's meat-pillar suddenly contracted in Cassiopeia's throat. Then, that long-accumulated power poured out like a flash flood.
"Ugh!"
The warm liquid, mixed with all of Jerry's desire and vitality, instantly flooded Cassiopeia's throat, oral cavity, and even pushed up along her nasal cavity.
She let out a low, utterly satisfied muffled grunt. Her Adam's apple rolled violently, devouring all the essence of life into her stomach without reservation.
That liquid even stretched her cheeks until they bulged slightly, filled with an ultimate sense of fullness.
And Cassiopeia's fingers inside Jerry's tail also felt that erupting force. The warm liquid followed her fingers, soaking her entire body.
Her body, influenced by the Basilisk bloodline, greedily absorbed every single drop.
She slowly released Jerry's sac, extracted her fingertips, and then slowly pulled that completely softened meat-pillar out from her throat.
Jerry's body lay limp on the edge of the bathtub; all that remained was his rapid panting and the violently twitching eyelids beneath the blindfold.
Cassiopeia licked her lips; the taste was strong and full of vitality.
Those gray-blue eyes of hers looked at Jerry again. The green light in the depths of her pupils gradually receded, returning to clarity.
Cassiopeia gently patted Jerry's buttocks, as if soothing a pet that had just been freed from a thrilling journey.
"Very good, Jerry."
Her voice returned to that laziness and haughtiness, as if the madness just now had merely been a hallucination.
Standing up from the bathtub, water slid from her soaked deep purple nightdress, leaving a trail of glistening water beads on the marble floor.
Leaning over, that soaked nightdress clung tightly to her body again with her movement; the deep cleavage was faintly visible in the flickering candlelight.
Cassiopeia gently grasped Jerry's meat-pillar, which was still floating beneath the water's surface, majestic yet exhausted.
Despite having experienced the ultimate ecstasy just now, this thing still maintained an astonishing size.
Skillfully, she slipped the cuff of the silk stocking over that massive, slippery tip.
The elasticity of the silk stocking forced her to use a bit of effort. Under the constriction of the silk stocking, it looked even fuller; the depth of the urethral slit seemed to be a silent invitation.
The silk stocking was pushed down bit by bit.
Through the thin black mesh, the veins on the meat-pillar coiled like ink-colored vines. Under the squeeze of the silk stocking, the urethral slit occasionally overflowed with a glistening drop full of afterglow.
"Goodnight!"