Day 1
The Prince, his hand resting possessively on the small of Harry's back, guided him through the labyrinthine corridors of Gringotts, the usual bustle of goblin bankers and hurried clients replaced by an eerie stillness. It was before the usual business hours, a deliberate choice, Harry realized with a shiver of anticipation. He was being led somewhere private, somewhere secluded, somewhere where the day's… activities… could begin without interruption.
They reached a heavy oak door, intricately carved with goblin runes. The Prince produced a key, its cold metal pressing against Harry's skin as he unlocked the door. He pushed it open, revealing a spacious chamber, furnished with an eclectic mix of goblin craftsmanship and luxurious imports. There were plush couches, ornate tables, and a large, intricately carved four-poster bed draped with silk sheets. The room hummed with a subtle magical energy, a palpable sense of anticipation.
"This," the Prince announced, his voice smooth and persuasive, "is… your… stage… for… today."
He gestured towards a low, cushioned platform in the center of the room. "This… is… where… you… will… perform."
Harry, still blindfolded and gagged, his senses heightened by the anticipation, felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with a thrill of excitement. He was being offered up, presented as a spectacle, a source of pleasure for whomever the Prince chose to invite. The thought was both terrifying and incredibly arousing.
The Prince then produced a small, silver bell from his pocket. "This," he explained, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Harry's spine, "is… your… call. When… it… rings… you… will… know… it's… time… to… begin."
He placed the bell on a nearby table, its soft chime echoing through the silent chamber. He then turned his attention to Harry, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger.
"Now," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper, "let's… prepare… you… for… your… audience."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of Harry's jaw, his touch lingering on his swollen lips. He then began to undress him, his movements slow and deliberate, each touch igniting a fresh wave of desire within Harry.
Harry stood there, naked and vulnerable, his body exposed to the Prince's gaze, his senses heightened by the blindfold and the gag. He felt a thrill of anticipation, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling within him.
The Prince then retrieved a small vial of shimmering liquid from a nearby table. "This," he explained, his voice a husky whisper, "will… enhance… your… appeal."
He applied the liquid to Harry's most sensitive areas, his touch lingering, teasing, igniting a fire within Harry's core. Harry gasped, his body already responding to the potion's effects, his skin tingling with a heightened awareness.
The Prince then stepped back, his eyes scanning Harry's body, his expression a mixture of admiration and possessive pride. "You… are… perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "A… masterpiece… of… desire."
He then picked up the silver bell, its soft chime echoing through the chamber. "It's… time," he announced, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Your… audience… awaits."
He rang the bell, its delicate chime a signal, a summons, a call to pleasure. And then, the door opened, revealing the first of Harry's… guests… for the day. A hulking goblin, his eyes gleaming with lust, his expression a mixture of awe and anticipation. The day's activities had begun.
The goblin, a hulking figure with broad shoulders and a thick, braided beard, entered the chamber with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He surveyed Harry, his gaze lingering on his exposed form, his expression a mixture of lust and anticipation. He approached the Prince, bowing his head in deference.
"Your Highness," he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "I… have… a… request."
The Prince, his expression a mixture of amusement and command, gestured towards Harry. "He… is… yours… to… use… as… you… see… fit," he purred, his voice a low rumble.
The goblin grinned, his teeth bared in a predatory smile. "I… want… him… on… the… breeding… bench," he declared, his voice thick with desire. "And… I… want… him… to… have… 46K… cup… size… breasts."
Harry's eyes widened beneath the blindfold, his heart pounding in his chest. 46K! The thought of having such massive breasts, of being so… exaggerated… was both terrifying and incredibly arousing.
The Prince chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "As… you… wish," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. "But… be… warned… he… is… quite… sensitive."
He then waved his hand, muttering a complex incantation. Harry felt a strange sensation, a tingling warmth spreading through his chest, followed by a noticeable… expansion. He gasped, his body instinctively reacting to the magical transformation. He felt his breasts growing, swelling, filling out until they reached an almost comical size. They were heavy, pendulous, a burden and a delight all at once.
The goblin watched with undisguised lust, his eyes glued to Harry's newly acquired assets. "Perfect," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Just… what… I… wanted."
He then gestured towards a large, ornate device that sat against one wall. It was a milking machine, crafted from polished silver and gleaming brass, its purpose immediately clear. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He had heard whispers of such devices, tales of their use in… specialized… brothels, but he had never imagined he would be subjected to such a thing.
"And… I… want… a… milking… machine," the goblin continued, his gaze lingering on Harry's swollen breasts. "I… want… to… drain… him… dry."
The Prince nodded, his expression a mixture of amusement and command. "As… you… wish," he repeated, his voice smooth and persuasive. "He… is… yours… to… command."
The goblin grinned, his eyes gleaming with lust. He approached Harry, his movements quick and purposeful. He untied the ropes that bound Harry's wrists and ankles, then roughly guided him towards the breeding bench. Harry, his body still reacting to the magical transformation, his breasts heavy and swaying with each step, followed willingly, his heart pounding in his chest.
The goblin secured Harry to the breeding bench, his touch rough and demanding. He then retrieved the milking machine and attached it to Harry's engorged breasts, adjusting the settings with a practiced hand. Harry gasped, his body tensing involuntarily as the machine began to whir, its rhythmic pulsations sending shivers of both pleasure and discomfort through him.
The goblin watched with undisguised lust, his eyes glued to Harry's swollen breasts as the milking machine began to extract the milk, its rhythmic pulsations sending waves of pleasure through Harry's body. He then turned his attention to Harry's lower regions, his gaze lingering on his exposed cock.
"Now," he growled, his voice thick with desire, "let's… see… what… else… you… have… to… offer."
He then proceeded to… explore… Harry's body, his touch rough and demanding, his desires clear. Harry, his breasts being milked, his body being used, his senses overwhelmed by the intense sensations, moaned against the gag, his body arching against the restraints. The day's activities had truly begun.
The rhythmic whirring of the milking machine filled the chamber, a steady pulse accompanying the goblin's rough ministrations. Jug after jug, crafted from thick, translucent glass, began to fill with Harry's milk, the creamy liquid frothing and bubbling as it flowed from his engorged breasts. The 46K cup size, a magical exaggeration of his natural form, proved remarkably productive, the milk seemingly inexhaustible. With each thrust, each rough caress, each whispered insult from the goblin, Harry's milk production seemed to increase, the flow becoming more copious, more abundant.
Behind the two-way mirror, in a darkened observation room, the Prince watched the scene unfold with a detached amusement, a hint of possessive pride flickering in his eyes. He reclined on a plush velvet chaise lounge, a glass of shimmering liquid swirling in his hand, his gaze fixed on Harry's exposed form. A complex recording device, crafted from polished silver and humming with subtle magic, captured every moment, every sound, every visual detail of the encounter. The Prince, ever meticulous, was documenting everything, archiving it for later… enjoyment… and… perhaps… blackmail.
He sipped his drink, his eyes lingering on Harry's swollen breasts, now straining against the confines of the milking machine. The rhythmic pulsations of the device, the steady flow of milk filling the jugs, the goblin's grunts and growls, all combined to create a symphony of sound and sensation that both amused and aroused him.
He watched as the goblin's ministrations became more intense, his touch rougher, his words more demeaning. With each thrust, each slap, each whispered insult, Harry's moans became louder, more desperate, his body arching against the restraints. And with each surge of pleasure, each wave of submission, the milk flowed even faster, filling the jugs to overflowing.
The Prince chuckled, a low, throaty sound that echoed through the observation room. He found the spectacle immensely entertaining, the combination of humiliation and arousal, the sheer volume of milk being extracted from Harry's body, a testament to his… unique… talents.
He leaned forward, his gaze intensifying, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the chaise lounge. He was particularly interested in the correlation between the goblin's rough treatment and Harry's milk production. It seemed the more roughly he was used, the more milk he produced, a fascinating… phenomenon… that he was eager to explore further.
He made a mental note to experiment with this later, to push Harry's limits, to see just how much milk he could produce under duress. The possibilities were… intriguing.
He watched as the goblin finally withdrew, his movements slowing, his breathing heavy. He stepped back, his gaze lingering on Harry's milk-soaked form, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
"He… is… a… veritable… fountain," the goblin grunted, his voice thick with lust. "A… truly… remarkable… specimen."
He then bowed his head to the two-way mirror, acknowledging the Prince's presence. "Your… Highness," he rumbled, his voice respectful. "I… have… finished."
The Prince nodded, his expression a mixture of amusement and command. "Thank… you," he purred, his voice smooth and persuasive. "You… may… leave."
The goblin bowed once more and then exited the chamber, leaving Harry alone, his body still bound to the breeding bench, his breasts still being milked by the machine, the jugs overflowing with his creamy bounty. The Prince, his gaze lingering on Harry's vulnerable form, leaned back, his fingers tracing patterns on the armrest of the chaise lounge. The day's activities were far from over. There were many more… guests… waiting to sample Harry's… unique… talents. And the Prince, ever the meticulous observer, was eager to document every moment.
The rhythmic whirring of the milking machine continued its steady pulse, the jugs overflowing with Harry's creamy milk. The Prince, observing the scene from the darkened observation room, his gaze lingering on Harry's bound and milk-soaked form, felt a surge of possessive satisfaction. The goblin's departure left a quiet stillness in the chamber, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of sounds and sensations.
He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Harry's swollen breasts, now straining against the confines of the milking machine. The sheer volume of milk being extracted from Harry's body was… impressive… a testament to his unique… capabilities. An idea began to form in the Prince's mind, a plan that would further solidify his control over Harry, transforming him into a resource, a commodity, a source of sustenance for the entire goblin population.
He reached for the recording device, pausing the feed, his fingers drumming against the smooth silver casing. He rewound the footage, replaying the goblin's rough ministrations, Harry's moans and cries, the copious flow of milk filling the jugs. He watched with a detached amusement, a hint of possessive pride flickering in his eyes.
He then reactivated the recording, his voice cutting through the silence of the observation room, his words directed towards the hidden microphones in the adjoining chamber.
"The milk," he announced, his voice smooth and commanding, "will… no… longer… be… wasted."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, his gaze lingering on Harry's unconscious form. "From… this… moment… forward," he continued, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone, "it… will… be… consumed… by… the… entire… establishment."
He imagined the goblins' reactions, the whispers of excitement, the eager anticipation. Harry's milk, a symbol of his submission, his vulnerability, his… usefulness… would become a shared resource, a communal indulgence, further binding him to the goblin community.
"He… will… be… milked… daily," he declared, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "And… whenever… possible… when… he… is… not… otherwise… occupied."
He allowed a cruel smile to play on his lips. "And… if… his… partner… requests… it," he added, his voice laced with a sadistic amusement, "he… will… be… milked… during… the… act… as… well."
He imagined the possibilities, the sheer logistical challenge of implementing such a system. Harry, his body a perpetual source of sustenance, his milk flowing freely, a testament to his… unique… talents. It was a brilliant plan, a masterstroke that would further solidify his control over Harry, transforming him into a valuable asset, a commodity to be shared and consumed by the entire goblin population.
He leaned back, his gaze lingering on Harry's milk-soaked form, his expression a mixture of amusement and possessive pride. The day's activities were far from over. There were many more… guests… waiting to sample Harry's… unique… talents. And the Prince, ever the meticulous planner, was eager to put his new plan into action. Harry, his body a living milk machine, a source of sustenance for the entire goblin establishment, would be milked, used, and shared, his milk flowing freely, a symbol of his complete and utter submission. The thought filled the Prince with a deep and abiding satisfaction.
The Prince's announcement, his voice resonating through the hidden microphones and echoing in the chamber, reached Harry's unconscious mind, stirring within him a nascent awareness. Though his body remained limp and unresponsive, his mind, still lingering in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness, began to process the Prince's words. The images conjured by the announcement, though fragmented and dreamlike, sparked a flicker of arousal within him.
He imagined the goblins, their eyes gleaming with anticipation, their hands reaching out to claim his milk, their rough touch sending shivers of both pleasure and apprehension through him. He pictured them lining up, each one eager to sample his creamy bounty, their expressions a mixture of lust and gratitude. He was a source of sustenance, a provider, a vessel overflowing with a precious resource, and the thought, though unsettling, was undeniably arousing.
He pictured the milking machine, its rhythmic pulsations sending waves of pleasure through his body, his breasts swelling and aching with the abundance of milk. He imagined the jugs filling to overflowing, the creamy liquid a testament to his… capabilities… his… usefulness. He was a milk cow, a living dairy, a vessel overflowing with nourishment, and the image, though degrading, was strangely exciting.
He imagined himself being used, claimed, shared, his body a playground for the desires of others. He pictured the goblins' hands on his skin, their rough caresses igniting fires of desire within him, their whispered commands sending shivers down his spine. He was a glory hole, a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for desire, and the thought of being used, claimed, shared by so many different beings, filled him with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
He imagined the Prince watching him, his eyes gleaming with a possessive satisfaction, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down his spine. He was the master of his desires, the orchestrator of his pleasures, the one who had unlocked the darkness within him. He was the one who had shown him the true meaning of power, the thrill of submission, the ecstasy of vulnerability.
The fragmented images, the dreamlike sensations, began to coalesce, forming a more coherent fantasy within his mind. He imagined himself being milked, his breasts aching with the abundance of milk, his body trembling with pleasure. He imagined himself being used, claimed, shared, his body a playground for the desires of others, his cries muffled by the gag, his moans a testament to his surrender. He imagined the Prince watching him, his eyes burning with desire, his touch possessive and demanding, his voice a husky command that sent shivers down his spine.
The arousal grew, a slow burn that spread through his body, igniting a fire in his core. He was being used, claimed, shared, his body a vessel for the desires of others, his milk a communal resource, a symbol of his submission. He was a glory hole, a milk cow, a cum receptacle, and he loved it. He loved the feeling of being used, of being desired, of being completely at the mercy of others. He was a man reborn, a man awakened, a man ready to embrace the darkness within him.
Though still unconscious, his body began to stir, his hips lifting slightly against the bed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The phantom sensations of pleasure, the dreamlike images of submission, were beginning to rouse him, to pull him back from the depths of oblivion. He was ready, or at least his body was, for whatever the day might bring. He was a glory hole, a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for desire, and he was about to be used, claimed, shared by a multitude of strangers. The thought, though he was still unconscious, sent a thrill of anticipation through him.
The chamber door creaked open, breaking the silence that followed the Prince's proclamation. Harry, still hazy from the lingering effects of the previous night's activities and the Prince's recent spell, strained his ears, the blindfold amplifying his other senses. He heard the soft padding of footsteps approaching, a new scent mingling with the familiar musk of goblin and the lingering aroma of his own milk.
"Intriguing," a new voice murmured, a smooth baritone with a hint of a hiss. "Truly intriguing."
Harry felt a cool hand brush against his cheek, tilting his chin upwards. "Leave the blindfold," the voice instructed. "I want to see those pretty eyes."
The goblin, for Harry assumed it was another goblin, traced a finger across Harry's cheekbone, down his neck, and over the swell of his magically enhanced breasts. "And these," the voice purred, "these are magnificent. No need to alter a thing."
Harry's breath hitched. He was being admired, objectified, and the combination of vulnerability and the lingering arousal from his milk-induced fantasy sent a shiver down his spine. He felt fingers tugging at the silken ropes that bound him to the breeding bench, adjusting them slightly, ensuring he was secure yet exposed.
"Now then," the voice chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the room, "let's see what we have here."
A rustle of fabric reached Harry's ears, followed by a gasp. He couldn't help but strain his ears, his curiosity piqued.
"Two?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper against the gag.
"Indeed," the goblin purred, his voice laced with amusement. "Two magnificent specimens, just for you."
Harry felt a surge of both fear and excitement. Two cocks? He had never... He couldn't even imagine...
Before his thoughts could spiral further, he felt a hand on his thigh, tracing a path upwards, the touch firm and confident. Then, another hand, this one on his other thigh, mirroring the movement. He was being explored, assessed, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.
Then, the first penetration. A slow, deliberate entry, stretching him, filling him, the sensation both familiar and shockingly new. He gasped against the gag, his body instinctively arching against the intrusion. The cock was thick, long, a formidable presence within him. He had never felt anything quite like it.
Before he could fully adjust to the sensation, the second cock followed, entering him from a slightly different angle, filling the space left by the first. He cried out against the gag, his body tensing in surprise, his mind reeling from the double penetration. He was being stretched to his limits, filled to capacity, and the sensation, though overwhelming, was undeniably arousing.
He moaned against the gag, his hips instinctively rocking against the intrusion, his body seeking some semblance of control in the face of this overwhelming assault. He was being used, claimed, shared, his body a vessel for the desires of this… unique… goblin. And as the goblin began to move, his two cocks pistoning within him, Harry found himself surrendering to the sensation, his cries muffled by the gag, his body a symphony of pleasure and pain.
The double penetration, a shocking and exhilarating surprise, sent waves of sensation through Harry's body. The two cocks, each thick and long, filled him completely, stretching him, teasing him, pushing him to the very edge of his capacity. He was being invaded, claimed, possessed, and the feeling, though overwhelming, was undeniably arousing. He moaned against the gag, his muffled cries a mixture of surprise, discomfort, and burgeoning pleasure.
The goblin, his movements smooth and rhythmic, began to move, his hips thrusting against Harry's, his two cocks working in perfect synchronicity. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure and pain that resonated through his core. He was being stretched, filled, penetrated in ways he had never imagined possible, his body a vessel for the goblin's insatiable desires.
He arched his back, his hips lifting instinctively, offering himself up to the goblin's ministrations. He was being used, claimed, shared, his body a playground for the goblin's pleasure. He was a glory hole, a vessel for desire, a canvas for lust, and he was being painted with strokes of raw, primal passion.
The goblin's breathing grew heavier, his movements more urgent, his grip on Harry's hips tightening. He whispered words of encouragement, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "That's it," he hissed, his voice thick with desire. "Take it… all… of… it."
Harry cried out against the gag, his muffled cries a mixture of pain and ecstasy. He was being pushed to his limits, his senses overwhelmed by the intense sensations. He was being broken down, stripped bare, his defenses shattered, leaving him completely vulnerable, completely open to the goblin's will.
The goblin's thrusts became more forceful, his pace relentless. Harry's body writhed against the restraints, his hips lifting and falling in time with the goblin's movements. He was being fucked mercilessly, his body a testament to the goblin's insatiable hunger.
He felt himself approaching his breaking point, his body trembling with anticipation. He was about to climax, his release a powerful surge that threatened to shatter his control. He moaned against the gag, his body tensing in anticipation.
And then, just as he was about to cross the threshold, the goblin stopped. His movements ceased, his breathing slowed, his grip on Harry's hips relaxed. Harry gasped against the gag, his body still trembling, his release hanging in the balance.
"Not… yet," the goblin purred, his voice laced with a sadistic amusement. "I… want… to… savor… this."
He then began to move again, but this time, his movements were slow, deliberate, teasing. He withdrew slightly, then plunged back in, his cocks filling Harry completely, then withdrawing again, leaving him aching and wanting more.
Harry whimpered against the gag, his body writhing against the restraints. He was being teased, tormented, denied the release he so desperately craved. The goblin's cruelty only fueled his arousal, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
The goblin chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Patience," he whispered, his voice a husky promise. "The… pleasure… will… be… all… the… sweeter… for… the… wait."
He then increased the intensity of his movements, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his pace quickening. Harry cried out again, his body arching against the restraints, his release a powerful surge that echoed through the chamber.
The goblin followed soon after, his own climax a guttural cry that mingled with Harry's moans. They collapsed against each other, their bodies intertwined, their breaths mingling.
The chamber was silent now, the only sound the soft beating of their hearts. Harry lay there, his body still trembling from the intense pleasure, his mind still reeling from the experience. He had been used, claimed, shared, and he had loved every minute of it. He was a glory hole, a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for desire, and he knew that he would be again. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation through him.
The culmination of the Prince's rough encounter with the maidservant echoed through the observation room, a sharp, guttural cry punctuating the air. Simultaneously, in the adjoining chamber, the dog, its primal instincts fully engaged, reached its own climax with Harry. The knot, a natural phenomenon of canine mating, began to form, locking the dog's cock firmly within Harry's stretched and aching entrance.
Harry cried out against the gag, his body tensing involuntarily as the knot took hold. The sensation was intense, a combination of pressure, fullness, and a strange, unsettling warmth. He was being held captive, bound not only by the physical restraints of the breeding bench but also by the biological imperative of the dog's mating ritual.
The Prince, his gaze shifting from the spent maidservant to the image of Harry being knotted by the dog, felt a surge of possessive satisfaction. He watched with a detached amusement, a hint of cruel curiosity flickering in his eyes. The knot, a symbol of the dog's dominance, its primal claim on Harry's body, was a potent aphrodisiac.
He leaned back on the chaise lounge, his fingers drumming against the armrest, his mind already calculating the implications of this new development. The knot would prolong the encounter, extending the period of Harry's vulnerability, his complete and utter submission. It was a perfect arrangement.
He watched as the dog, now seemingly content with its conquest, settled down on the floor beside the breeding bench, its gaze fixed on Harry, its breathing heavy and rhythmic. The knot, still firmly in place, kept Harry tethered to the beast, their bodies connected in a primal bond.
Harry, his body still trembling from the intense sensations, his mind reeling from the double assault of the Prince and the dog, lay there, helpless, at the mercy of both man and beast. He was being used, claimed, shared, his body a playground for their desires. He was a glory hole, a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for lust, and he was being painted with strokes of raw, primal passion.
The Prince, his eyes lingering on Harry's vulnerable form, felt a surge of possessive desire. He stood up, his movements fluid and purposeful, and approached the two-way mirror. He gazed at Harry, his expression a mixture of amusement and tenderness.
"You are mine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the observation room. "Mine to use, mine to command, mine to possess."
He then turned his attention to the recording device, pausing the feed, his fingers manipulating the controls. He rewound the footage, replaying the scene of the dog knotting Harry, the close-up shots of the penetration, the expressions of both pleasure and pain on Harry's face.
He watched the footage with a detached amusement, a hint of cruel curiosity flickering in his eyes. He was fascinated by the primal nature of the encounter, the raw, untamed power of the dog, the complete and utter vulnerability of Harry.
He then reactivated the recording, his voice cutting through the silence of the observation room. "This," he announced, his voice smooth and persuasive, "is… a… valuable… lesson."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "A… demonstration… of… the… natural… order… of… things."
He then turned his attention back to the two-way mirror, his gaze lingering on Harry's bound and knotted form. "He… is… a… vessel," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "A… receptacle… for… desire."
He smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "And… he… will… be… used… as… such."
The Prince, having observed the knotting of Harry by the dog, turned his attention to the maidservant, who lay spent on the chaise lounge, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her French maid costume, once pristine and alluring, was now disheveled, the delicate fabric stained with sweat, semen, and traces of other bodily fluids. Her 40E breasts, once pert and proud, were now flushed and tender, the nipples swollen and chafed from the Prince's rough handling. Her exposed backside, no longer a picture of seductive invitation, bore the marks of his forceful thrusts, the skin reddened and slightly bruised.
He surveyed her with a detached amusement, his gaze lingering on the mess she had become, a testament to his unrestrained desires. He then reached for a small silver bell on the nearby table and rang it sharply.
Two goblin guards, clad in their traditional armor, materialized within the chamber, their expressions stoic and impassive. They bowed their heads in deference to the Prince, their eyes never leaving his face.
"She is yours," the Prince announced, his voice smooth and commanding. "Use her as you see fit."
The guards exchanged a glance, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. They approached the maidservant, their movements quick and purposeful. One of them roughly pulled her to her feet, her limp body swaying slightly. The other guard retrieved a vial of lubricant from a nearby table, his gaze lingering on the maidservant's exposed form.
Without a word, they began to use her, their movements rough and demanding, their desires unrestrained. The maidservant, still dazed and exhausted, offered little resistance, her body a vessel for their lust. They took turns, each guard claiming her in their own way, their actions mirroring the primal intensity of the dog's encounter with Harry.
They slapped her, pinched her, bit her, their touch leaving red marks on her skin. They fucked her roughly, their cocks plunging deep within her, their pace relentless. They pulled her hair, whispered crude words in her ear, their voices laced with a mixture of lust and contempt.
The maidservant moaned, her cries a mixture of pain and pleasure. She was being used, claimed, shared, her body a playground for their desires. She was a vessel, a conduit for their lust, a sacrifice to their insatiable hunger.
As the guards continued their relentless assault, the maidservant's body began to glisten with sweat and semen. Her breasts, already tender and swollen, were further abused, the nipples chafed and raw from their rough handling. Her entrance, stretched and aching, dripped with their combined fluids, a testament to their brutal penetration. Her backside, no longer a canvas of smooth skin, was now marked with red welts and bruises, the lingering evidence of their forceful slaps. Her face, once carefully made up, was now smeared with sweat, tears, semen, and saliva, a mask of exhaustion and humiliation.
The guards, their primal urges far from sated, continued their relentless fucking, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. The maidservant, her consciousness flickering in and out, her body numb with exhaustion, lay there, at their mercy, a vessel for their insatiable desires.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the guards withdrew, their breathing heavy, their bodies slick with sweat and semen. They stepped back, their gazes lingering on the mess the maidservant had become, a testament to their brutal encounter.
They bowed their heads to the two-way mirror, acknowledging the Prince's presence. "She is spent," one of them announced, his voice rough and gravelly. "We have finished."
The Prince nodded, his expression a mixture of amusement and command. "Dispose of her," he instructed, his voice smooth and persuasive. "And clean this mess."
The guards bowed once more and then roughly lifted the maidservant's limp body from the chaise lounge. They dragged her out of the chamber, her feet trailing behind her, leaving a trail of bodily fluids in their wake. The chamber, once a sanctuary of quiet luxury, was now a scene of disarray, a testament to the raw, primal desires that had been unleashed within its walls. The Prince, observing the aftermath with a detached amusement, leaned back, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the chaise lounge. The day's activities were far from over.
The day stretched on, an endless cycle of bodies, touches, and sensations. Harry, his blindfold and gag never removed, was passed from goblin to goblin, each encounter a blur of rough hands, whispered commands, and overwhelming sensations. He was used, claimed, shared, his body a vessel for the desires of a dozen different beings. He was a glory hole, a milk cow, a cum receptacle, and he was being used as such, his body pushed to its very limits, his senses bombarded with a relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain.
He cried out against the gag, his muffled moans a testament to the intensity of the sensations. He arched his back, his hips lifting and falling in time with the rhythm of each new encounter. He was being stretched, filled, penetrated, his body a playground for the lust of others.
He felt the rough hands on his skin, the urgent thrusts, the whispered words of encouragement and degradation. He was being caressed, pinched, slapped, licked, sucked, fucked, his body a symphony of sensations, his mind lost in the overwhelming moment.
He heard the murmur of voices, the sounds of pleasure, the clinking of glasses, the general hubbub of the Gringotts establishment continuing around him, oblivious to the private performances taking place in the hidden chamber. He was in his own little world, a world of pure sensation, a world where he was nothing but a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for desire. And he loved it. He loved the feeling of being used, of being desired, of being completely at the mercy of others.
As the day drew to a close, the encounters began to slow, the stream of bodies ebbing away. Harry, his body aching, his mind reeling, lay bound to the platform, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He was exhausted, spent, his senses overloaded, yet a lingering spark of arousal still flickered within him.
Finally, the chamber door opened, and the familiar scent of the Prince filled the air. Harry felt a gentle touch on his cheek, a familiar caress that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew it was the Prince, and a wave of relief washed over him.
The Prince untied the ropes that bound Harry to the platform, his touch tender and careful. He removed the blindfold and gag, allowing Harry's eyes to adjust to the soft light of the chamber. He then gently helped Harry to sit up, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze filled with a mixture of amusement and concern.
"You… were… magnificent," the Prince murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "Truly… remarkable."
Harry looked at the Prince, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion, gratitude, and lingering arousal. He knew that the day had been… intense… but he also knew that he had enjoyed it, every overwhelming, exhilarating moment.
The Prince then led Harry to the bed, the opulent space a welcome respite from the day's activities. He helped Harry to undress, his touch lingering on his skin, igniting a fresh wave of desire within him.
He then retrieved a warm, damp cloth and gently cleaned Harry's body, his touch tender and caring. He washed away the traces of the day's encounters, the sweat, the semen, the lingering scents of other bodies.
When he was finished, he helped Harry into a soft robe and then led him to the fire, where a warm meal and a glass of wine awaited him. They sat together by the fire, the silence broken only by the crackling of the flames and the soft murmur of their voices.
"Thank… you," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "For… everything."
The Prince smiled, his eyes tender and possessive. "You… are… welcome," he murmured. "You… are… mine."
They talked for a while, sharing their thoughts and feelings about the day's events. Harry spoke of the fear, the excitement, the vulnerability, the unexpected thrill of being used, claimed, shared. The Prince listened patiently, his gaze never leaving Harry's face, his expression a mixture of understanding and affection.
As the night wore on, they moved to the bed, their bodies still humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure and the warmth of shared intimacy. They lay together, their bodies intertwined, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in unison. The day's activities were finally over, but the memories, the sensations, the emotions, would linger long into the night, a testament to the complex, unconventional bond that existed between them.