Chapter 98

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"Why don't you stop this game of chicken, and instead you tell me what you really want to offer, Anastasia?"

For a second, Anastasia's mind was in shambles, trying to comprehend the situation she was in. She had always known that Harry Potter was a wildcard, with strong influence and connections to Albus Dumbledore. Doubly so, given with his erratic movements this summer. She had been strongly against bringing Potter into this mess, but for Broderick, Gideon's words were gospel. And the sheer idea of tying her Daphne with him — it was simply inconceivable. Why would Potter, notorious for his anti-Slytherin stance, even desire to marry Daphne in the first place? Just to get his hands on a greenhouse for an investment he hadn't even cared for before this summer?

It made no sense.

She knew that striking a deal with Potter in Lucius's absence was bad news. And that Auror Robards sniffing around Greengrass Exports at this exact moment, and Potter's sudden interest in Phyllida — there were simply too many events tied together to even consider it all serendipitous. Someone was playing the strings from the shadows, and Broderick kept pointing out that Potter wasn't that person. Even Gideon agreed with that.

So why did it feel probable the more she dwelled on it?

Broderick wouldn't listen to her suggestions, because business was the 'man's job', and if she tried to exert her opinion, he'd beat her. The first few times he did that, she almost wanted to kill herself. That she didn't do so was for two reasons — firstly, because there'd be no one to take care of her Daphne. And the second, because part of her, a dark, suppressed part of her, actually loved it. To be hit, to be humiliated, to be strung upside down and fucked like a bitch like….

She closed her eyes. Why was she remembering all of that? Ever since Potter had come to visit Greengrass manor, she had been feeling antsy. Not just for sex, but for its darker aspects that she craved. The kind her husband meted out to her when he was truly enraged.

A part that Anastasia never let anyone know existed.

"I —" she began, but Potter cut her off.

"Why don't you sit down, Lady Greengrass?" offered Harry Potter. "I'm sure you're already stressed out. There is no need to strain your legs any more than needed."

He waved his wand lazily, as the wooden floor sprouted out a rather ornate chair for her to sit. After a momentary hesitation, Anastasia touched the chair, feeling its solid constitution. Transfiguration of this quality was more than enough to gain an Outstanding in one's OWLs, and Harry Potter was about to start his fourth year. Nothing about him made sense.

"Unless, of course, you want to return to the mansion?" He asked idly, taunting her. "Lady Vance wanted to talk to me a little more about the circumstances at Hogwarts. I promised her a meeting today."

Anastasia clenched her teeth. Emmeline Vance was another issue she didn't want in this deal. The Head Obliviator was a law-abiding employee of the Ministry, even though she did her best to mostly turn a blind eye towards her husband's activities. It helped that unlike Broderick, Gideon was smart enough to avoid anything wildly illegal, and instead, used legal loopholes to garner wealth. Emmeline would not stand her resorting to trying to force Potter, assuming she could even do such a thing.

Duelling was never her strong suit.

No, she needed to convince Harry Potter. He wanted Phyllida, and wanted it enough to go through a subpar deal with her husband. There was a method to his madness and she just needed to figure out what it was.

"As interesting as this discussion was," said Harry Potter, standing up. "Perhaps we should return to the manor? It's unfortunate that I couldn't have Phyllida. The least I can do is not waste any further time. Unless…." He leered at her. "There is actually something worthwhile that you can offer me?"

Barely holding back her annoyance as she rubbed her eye with one hand and strummed her fingers on the tabletop next to them. No matter how bad her apprehension was, it melted against the utter fear she felt sitting in front of Potter right now. She had tried playing the concerned Samaritan card, and upon failing, tried pleading to his Gryffindorish tendencies. Her attempt at intimidation was half-arsed, not that it would've worked against him anyway. Despite his average scores in school, just standing next to him in person was enough to reveal that Potter had a ton of raw power in him. Seeing him perform those feats of silent conjuration only cemented that suspicion that there was more to him than met the eye. She had cunningly tried offering her own services, and suggested a potential betrothal with Daphne to add support to her offer.

Potter had torn through her tactics like a hot knife through butter, and drove her to the point of desperation. If he didn't sign the agreement, if he didn't purchase Phyllida and agreed to backdate it, Broderick would face prison-time. And knowing Robards and Amelia Bones, they'd use the upcoming Quidditch World Cup as an excuse to delay a trial, and keep him locked up for long.

The Selwyn in her viewed these ramifications with a mix of approval and alarm, knowing a sneak tactic when she saw one, even if there was no way for her to prove it. It didn't take an expert to sense her frustration, and Harry Potter was clearly enjoying it.

There was still a final option left. A distasteful one, she thought forlornly. One that every pureblood woman was taught to wield from a young age. Their body. Their skin. Their sex. Men of power, men of position, men of wealth — it didn't matter who they were or what they boasted, they always, always fell before this weapon.

Her scowl vanishing from her face, Anastasia considered her options. Broderick had commanded her to get Potter to sign the agreement at any cost. And Potter, despite his precociousness, was a healthy and no doubt virile young man, so there was no reason why a flash of a smile and a careless lean to display a bit of skin shouldn't garner a reaction from him.

"You have me stuck at a quandary, Mr. Potter," she said. "I offered all I could, but you are not happy. But I need the signature."

"Oh, I know that."

Maybe she had simply been paranoid, or acting out of foresight, but she had busted out her favourite white sundress, one that flattered her body, showcasing her slim waist, her juicy arse, and her massive firm tits, while still remaining tasteful. She only displayed a hint of her sizable cleavage, and the way it hugged her firm shapely ass remained classy while making the sight mesmerising. She had on her favourite black high heels, and the rest of her legs up to just above her knees were left bare. She had incredible legs, and it was only when she was looking to seal the deal that she really showcased them, her gams taut and firm and smooth. Even non-leg men couldn't stop staring at them when put on display like this. Plus, she had on her sexiest underwear, an expensive matching white lace number, the bra struggling to contain her heavy, fleshy breasts, and a thong so skimpy it left nothing to the imagination. She knew she was good looking, and she knew she had an incredible body. She just didn't expect to use it to seduce a young man her daughter's age.

She stood up, and noted his gaze still for a moment on her long legs, occasionally slipping towards her bust, visible through her enticing cleavage. She walked up to his chair, a deliberate, excessive sway on her hips. She made sure to accidentally rub her sides to her body as she stood next to him, knowing it would halfway turn his brains to mush.

"So, Harry," she said, adding a small purr to her voice, as she put one hand on his shoulder, feeling his strong shoulders. "May I call you Harry?"

He smiled. Lazily. "Sure. You can call me anything you want."

Anastasia was slightly perturbed at finding him calm, a bit too calm for his tastes. Still, it was too early to tell. The stories depicted the boy-Who-Lived as an introverted teenager that shied away from the pleasures of the female flesh. Even the only female that he was always seen with was likely treated like a sister. Meeting Hestia Jones had corrected that opinion, but still, how much trouble could a boy not even in his twenties cause?

"I'm really stuck in a dilemma, Harry," she said in a husky tone, deliberately putting her chest out, creating a deep view of her cleavage as she lowered her face towards him. "Surely there is some way in which we can come to an agreement?"

His eyes flickered to her cleavage and stayed there for two long seconds, before flickering back to her eyes. Anastasia smiled, and felt a pang of disappointment. Harry Potter had proven himself one cool customer from the very beginning, so seeing him turn to putty with just this was such a letdown.

"I don't know, Anastasia," he said, smiling, his left hand slowly caressing her left arm, before climbing up with featherlight touches.

She shivered at his touch, while also gritting her teeth at his presumption, and gave a small shake to her shoulder, hoping he'd pull his hand away at her subtle rebuke, but he kept his hand moving despite it.

"I mean," said Potter. "You are asking me to take on some serious trouble for paltry benefits."

And just like that, her earlier panic was back in full force. The situation was worse than she assumed. Potter had just called her offer 'petty benefits', shafting away all her illusions about this being an easy win. If she wanted those signatures, she'd have to up her game, regardless of the consequences. Broderick wasn't someone that liked hearing 'no', and regardless of her feelings, she knew that their marriage was little more than a business arrangement, a profit and loss equation for her husband. So long as she produced profits, she was of value. The moment she wasn't, she'd be discarded.

Just like her daughter.

She gazed at his supremely confident face, and wondered how badly she had misjudged the situation. He knew that she was trapped, and knew that she had nothing to sway him with. And the only thing that he showed remote interest in was…

"Perhaps…." she said, swallowing. "Perhaps we can come to a different… arrangement? Something… personal?"

"Oh?" He asked, playing along, wolf to her rabbit. "And what would that be?"

"Something…" she licked her lips, and put her other hand on his other shoulder. "Something shared between two people that like each other?"

Harry Potter stood up, his hand leaving her left arm and sliding down until it fell to her waist. Anastasia felt his breath on her face as he stood inches away from her.

"And who would those two people be?"

She looked at his lips, and slightly parted her own, wondering for a moment just how aggressive he would be if she put her lips over them. And even when she managed to keep her gaze away, it fell on his crotch instead, enchanted by the sheer size of the tent building up there. His fingers on her waist left an electrifying touch, and Anatasia realised that her nipples had gone noticeably stiff, and her pussy wet.

Very wet.

What the fuck?

No. No! No! This didn't mean anything! It didn't mean she wanted it, because honestly, she didn't. Did he notice? Was that why he was so confident and full of swagger? Because her nipples were hard? Maybe they had been like that before. No… they weren't. They only became stiff after he stood up all close to her, and his fingers touched her skin. But that didn't mean anything! It was… it was…. Okay, it was like this. It was like he — a piece of chiselled muscle and packing a lot of magical power, had just given her a mental dance the likes of which she hadn't experienced in quite some time, almost like waving a stiff cocktail in front of a recovering alcoholic. She wanted the feeling the alcohol would give her… but she didn't want it from this glass. She was a married woman, and her husband… her husband —

Her husband wanted her to get Potter to sign the agreement. No matter the cost.

No matter the cost.

"If you think that showing a little skin, and waving those melons in front of my face, will get me to sign those papers…" said Harry. "Then you are gravely mistaken. I'm not that sex starved to sign just to clap those cheeks."

"Clap those cheeks?" She asked, baffled and confused at the statement, even in the face of the madness of this conversation. She wasn't naive to the world… but that was a new one for her. Her incredulousness only made him smile.

"I could've said something about feasting on that cake…" he said with a laugh. "But I won't."

"And…. why?"

"Because…" he whispered in her ear, coming incredibly close to her, enough to make her nipples now hard enough to cut through glass. "Because I'm not stupid enough to let you charge me for Line Theft."

And with that, he stepped away.

Or at least, tried to.

Acting out of instinct, Anastasia moved forward, and grabbed his hands, noting the surprise in his eyes. She placed both hands back on her waist, and put her own around his neck.

"Perhaps… I can persuade you, Mr. Potter? We can be useful to each other in various ways."

His fingers danced across her skin, crawling all the way up her stomach, keeping a spidery touch as they crossed over her breasts, all the way up her chin to her lips. Her mouth opened without a conscious thought, and his finger slipped inside. Her lips clamped around it. A wave of anticipation went through her body as her tongue touched him. Something in her mind clicked, and she came to a decision. Slipping her hand down to his crotch, she widened her eyes as she felt its size. A strange enthusiasm rose in her, causing her hands to tremble.

"How?" he asked.

Her response to that was to give up her attempts to control her shallow breathing, as an arousal unlike anything she had ever felt engulfed her mind, somehow born from the utter loss of control. She leaned forward and captured his lips, his tongue assaulting her mouth instantly, exploring her flesh with great fervour. She pulled back, her tongue lingering on her lips in disbelief. It had been a long time since someone had kissed her like that, and even the best ones in her admittedly limited experience was far, far eclipsed compared to the one she just received, filling her with a pleasure she never felt before.

Anastasia hadn't had sex half as good as that kiss.

"I'm a woman full of talents, Harry," she purred. "If you were to sign this deal, then you get to have me working for you. Perhaps, we can share a lot of… intimate moments together? Your secretary is pretty, but she is eclipsed by the pleasures this adult body can give you."

He laughed. "Moments ago, you were proposing your daughter's hand in marriage, and now you want to sleep with me?"

A rush of bullheaded anger rose through her. This… this wasn't about signing those papers any longer. It was a battle of wills, a competition to see who'd give up first. And Anastasia was a petty bitch. Everything so far had gone Potter's way… and not even the offer of sex was enough incentive for him to give in. It didn't help that he was just that good at it. How? She didn't know, but her instincts screamed that sex with this hunk would be an unforgettable experience that she would revisit again and again for the rest of her life. But did that mean she'd have to give up? He needed to learn a little humility, and she'd deny him victory even at the cost of her own joy.

Then again, maybe this was her fate.

She was too beautiful to not get laid, but for a woman of such intense sexiness, she got far less than she deserved. Broderick had done the necessary and helped her pop out Daphne and Astoria, and while they did enjoy occasional sex, it was nothing mind-blowing. A nice pressure relief perhaps, but not the power-fucking she expected, making her scream in rapturous pleasure, reaching crescendoes that would send her to blissful oblivion.

Except for when he beat her.

"I'm curious," said Harry Potter. "You're a smart, independent, talented woman, Anastasia. A free thinker. Anyone with eyes can tell that you're the brains behind Broderick's success. Let's be honest, the only reason Greengrass Exports is flourishing isn't because of your husband's business decisions, but because you have maintained its quality at top-notch levels. Isn't that right?"

"And… and what of it?"

"Just makes me wonder, if it's because of the nature of your marriage contract, or is it because you actually love to play the role of the housewife, the doting submissive wife who does everything to please her man, ironically of course. A woman that greets her man at the door with a kiss on the cheek, dinner on the table, and a glass of firewhiskey for him to drink. A woman who makes sure her man's belly is full, his muscles relaxed, and his balls empty. A woman who slips off her clothing, exposing the filthy lingerie underneath. A woman who makes sure her man spends his evenings in the bedroom with her and offers up her body and all of her holes for his pleasure. A woman who puts her man's pleasure above hers, and makes sure his big cock is taken care of, and she can only thank him for the many orgasms she has in the process. A woman… who wouldn't think twice before jumping on my cock, if it means me signing this agreement and pleasing her husband."

He winked. "Is that the sort of woman you are?"

Anastasia swallowed. This man… he wasn't normal. He was something else. Something about his words hypnotised her. Made her feel like she was standing before him, naked, and he was able to see through her.

"What… what if I am?"

He smiled. It was a cruel thing. "You want me to sign those documents. I will do it. I'll take up on your offer. With just one condition."

She gasped. "And what is that?"

"If you do this, if you give your body to me, it will be for good. Your husband cannot have it. You will be mine."

"But that's —"

He didn't let her finish. "I'll stick to the original contract even. Phyllida becomes mine for a single year, only I command your services during that time. You shall swear to never spy on me, or never reveal anything you learn at my place to anyone without my permission. And during this one year, you stay mine. Broderick can have my sloppy seconds after that."

No! Anastasia thought, the fire still burning within her. This was the best offer she'd get. Potter was right. Handing Phyllida over for five years would cripple her husband's wealth by a significant margin. Compared to that, a single year, with her services — it was the perfect deal. The only complication was —

"Now, I'm not the type of guy to force a woman into something she doesn't want to. But, I need to show you something so you can truly make an informed decision." He said confidently, looking down at her. With that, Anastasia heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down.

She tried pulling back, but she was unable to look away. Like someone removing a snake from a cage, Harry Potter reached down and scooped his beefy cock out of his pants.

"Oh my!" Anastasia gasped, his cock looking even bigger than her previous glimpse. She didn't even realise it as she slowly sunk down to her knees, his beast of a cock was now inches from her face. Her eyes crossed as she gazed down the length of it, studying every nook and crevice. It was smooth, but there were some lines and marks, showing it had gone through some real battles. It was clear this cock had not gone unused, not that she had any doubts. This cock had seen a lot of action. This perfect fucking cock... pulsing with blood, with swollen veins and extremely large, round balls.

This was so wrong.

Anastasia was silent, and Potter watched how awed she was by being in such close proximity with his enormous cock. She chewed on her lower lip, the lust clear in her expressive eyes. Her nipples were throbbing underneath her top, and as she gasped a few panicked breaths, her breasts were being pushed out, bursting to escape her tight dress, eager to be exposed to the scheming bastard. He knew she was an enlightened, married woman, but she had been stripped of that. All she was now was a drooling, submissive size-queen bending to the will of a strong man.

"Look at it, bitch!" He growled, not hiding behind his stoic veneer. He was cold and calculating, putting her in her place. "Study it. Learn every nook and cranny of it, because you will be getting to know every inch of it very well." Anastasia didn't even notice or object to how casually he used the word bitch around her. Instead, all she felt were her nipples throbbing at being in proximity to that cock.

It was inevitable that his cock would contact her young hot body in some way, and that sent a chill through her. A chill that made her pussy very wet.

"He shouldn't have left you to me, you know that," Potter started. "What kind of man is that, to leave his lovely wife at the mercy of another man? Get the signatures no matter what — that's what he told you, didn't he? Is that why you dressed like that?"

His smile widened. "Just what kind of man just gives up his wife like that? What kind of man leaves his wife on her own, especially to an asshole like me? Leaves her to the wolves to save his own arse? A strong woman... an independent woman would not take that lying down. A real adult woman would not let her husband get away with that bullshit. A good, loyal wife would make her man pay for selling her out so callously."

Anastasia stared up at him, the young man she despised, but at that moment, it wasn't him she was furious with. It was Broderick. Broderick let him get to her. Broderick left her to this fate. There she was, about to lose her honour; there she was, about to bend backwards to accommodate that thick cock into her folds — all because Broderick did not want to take losses. Even though she was the type of woman who could normally care for herself, she had never felt more like a damsel in distress as she did in this moment, and her husband didn't care. He wasn't beating at the door, getting her out of this mess. He was probably still sitting with his attorneys, and the only thing about her in his mind was probably irritation — irritation at taking so long to get those damn signatures, uncaring that he was about to hand over his wife to another man his daughter's age without a fight. Potter was right. What kind of husband does that? That kind of act cannot go unpunished. She would have to make him regret it.

And she knew, deep down, she was about to surrender herself to this man. Oh, she would surrender it to him. At this point, he had SO earned it.

"You can really make him pay. And you know how to make him pay. You know what to do. You know what you want to do. You want it. I want it. And clearly, Broderick is willing to let you do it. So I ask you, what's stopping you?" Potter asked, his voice once again, inflaming the embers in her head like a maestro.

"I'm married." Anastasia whispered, fingers toying with her ring, her vows preventing her from fully giving in yet. "I vowed to keep myself for him, only."

"And he vowed to protect you. Protect you from things like this. And yet, here you are, on his orders, seducing a young man your daughter's age," spat Potter. "If he's willing to throw away his vows, why can't you do the same? Are you some dumb, pushover of a wife who lets her husband get away with whatever he likes? You knew that this deal was fishy! You knew that the vultures were circling, that my entrance into your life wasn't on some cosmic whim, but a proper, planned set up. You probably advised Broderick about this deal, didn't you? But did he listen? No."

Anastasia looked at him with her big eyes, emotional, not sure what to do. He had effectively and succinctly torn apart her marriage, the thing she drew her strength from. Broderick, the man she had vowed to love, despite all his shortcomings, had inadvertently placed her right there — sitting with Potter's giant dick hovering inches away from her face. There were so many swirling emotions. Swirling desires. She couldn't decide what to do. Should she run away, or should she suck it down to the root? If only she had someone to help her out. To ask what she should do. To guide her, guide her scattered mind. She felt so fraught. So beaten down.

"I know what you should do. I know what you need to do." Potter said, his voice silky smooth, like the devil on her shoulder, corrupting her.

"You… you do?" She gasped, her eyes no longer on him. No, her eyes were transfixed by the giant unit in front of her. It couldn't be emphasised enough how hypnotising the massive cock was to her young eyes. She couldn't pull her gaze away. The swollen organ, its veins and ridges, the throbbing tip, the huge balls... every inch of it was just so utterly perfect. For Anastasia, this was a dream cock, attached to a man she couldn't stand. Would that dislike be enough to stop her from succumbing to her obvious lust for the mammoth organ?

"Give up your pretences," said Harry Potter. "You are a Master Potioneer, aren't you? A talented herbologist. But Broderick doesn't wish to acknowledge that, does he? No, oh no, he does know that, and he's afraid of you. He's afraid of what you'd do if you decided to spread your wings and take flight. He's afraid that his golden goose will think for itself, and leave him crawling in the dust. Look what he did to you — living a life in shadow, unable to take the credit to what you deserve. Forcing yourself to be submissive to a husband that's clearly beneath you. And now, that same husband has brought you before another man's knees." He snorted. "You'd probably even suck my cock right now, if that makes me sign those papers. Broderick would be so proud."

Would he? Anastasia wondered. Would he even care? No, all he'd care about would be the signature, and be pissed off that she took this long to get it done.

But I'm a married woman! She told herself. That had to mean something! But her husband... her husband had abandoned her, left her to this fate. Arsehole! What kind of man does that to his wife? Leave her to the whims of a man they both knew was superior to her husband in all ways possible. Leave her fate in the hands of a man that they both knew was a dominator, a real son of a bitch, that was too arrogant to think about anything but his own pleasure, an arsehole who would use his wife like a cheap whore if he got the chance, a man that clearly knew how to fuck a woman and keep her loyal.

"Don't believe me?" Potter asked potter. "All I've got to do is say four words, and you'll realise for yourself that every word I've said is the truth."

"No," she whispered. "No. Please don't say it. Please don't say it."

He smiled. "Suck my cock, bitch."