Harry walked through the district with a thought nagging at the back of his mind, a thought that had been bothering him ever since his meeting with the Minister that morning.
The conversation had started normally enough. The Minister had summoned him to his office, beaming with pride, shaking Harry's hand, going on about how the district's foot traffic had increased threefold since Harry had started frequenting the shopfronts. Harry had nodded along, trying not to think about the fact that his contribution to the wizarding economy thus far had been paying a handful of knuts and sickles to have his cock sucked and his balls emptied.
Then the Minister had mentioned the tax incentives.
Frequent patrons of the district, it turned out, qualified for significant deductions on their annual taxes. The more you spent, the more you saved. And Harry, who had spent a total of 3 sickles and 3 knuts across four visits, had somehow saved thousands of Galleons in tax rebates.
He was richer than when he'd started.
Harry had pointed this out, wondering if perhaps there was a flaw in the economic model. The Minister had waved away his concerns with a jovial laugh. "The benefits simply haven't trickled down yet, Harry! Patrons are being too conservative with their spending. The solution is obvious, you need to spend more!"
Spend more. On sex. To fix the economy. At his current rate he would need to fuck more than ten witches a day to break even.
Harry's feet carried him deeper into the district, past the familiar shopfronts he'd already visited, past witches who waved and smiled and called out offers that would have made him blush a week ago. He wasn't blushing now. He was looking for something specific. Something expensive.
If the Minister wanted him to spend more, Harry was happy to oblige.
He found it at the end of a row of shopfronts that grew progressively more elaborate as he walked, the Ministry seals giving way to decorative flourishes and imported materials, the price lists mounted outside displaying numbers that climbed higher with each passing stall. The final shopfront was set apart from the others, sleek and polished, with dark wood panelling and silver fixtures that gleamed in the floating candlelight.
The price list made Harry's eyebrows climb toward his hairline.
Her riding you: 5 Sickles
You fucking her: 10 Sickles
Cumming inside: +7 Sickles
The cheapest option on this list cost more than Harry had spent on the entire district combined. And it only went up from there.
The Minister, Harry thought, would be absolutely delighted.
He stepped closer to the shopfront and looked inside, and his breath caught in his throat.
Pansy Parkinson was reclining on a chaise lounge like a queen awaiting tribute, one long leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. She was wearing a sheer black robe that did absolutely nothing to conceal the designer lingerie beneath, the fabric so thin that Harry could see the dark outline of her bra and the high cut of her thong against her hips. Her stockings were black silk, ending at her thighs in bands of lace, and her heels were high enough that her calves flexed even when she wasn't standing.
She looked like the most expensive whore in the district.
Her hair was long and black and perfectly straight, falling past her shoulders in a glossy curtain that caught the candlelight. Her face was sharp and aristocratic, high cheekbones tapering to a pointed chin, her brown eyes framed by dark lashes that gave her a perpetually calculating look. Her lips were painted a deep red, full and pouty, and when she finally noticed Harry standing at her doorway, they curved into a smile that held absolutely no warmth.
"Potter."
Her voice was cool and measured, the voice of a woman who had spent her entire life knowing exactly how much she was worth. She didn't light up at the sight of him. She didn't scramble to her feet or fix her hair or do any of the things the other witches had done. She just looked at him, appraising, like he was a piece of furniture she was considering purchasing.
"Parkinson." Harry leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "Nice to see you've found your calling. Always knew you'd end up whoring yourself out eventually."
The words were harsh, but Harry found he didn't particularly care. Pansy Parkinson had tried to hand him over to Voldemort. She could handle a bit of rudeness.
Pansy's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew sharper, her eyes glittering with amusement as she uncrossed her legs and rose from the chaise lounge with liquid grace. The movement made her sheer robe shift and part, giving Harry a clear view of her body in that designer lingerie, and despite himself, his cock stirred in his trousers.
She was stunning.
Tall and slender, with long legs that seemed to go on forever, her stockings hugging every curve of her calves and thighs. Her waist was tiny, nipped in beneath the cut of her bra, flaring out to hips that swayed hypnotically as she walked toward him. Her tits were bigger than he'd expected, straining against the cups of her bra, the dark fabric barely containing them, and Harry could see the outline of her nipples pressing through the material.
Her arse, when she turned slightly to set down her wine glass, was a work of art. Round and firm and perfectly shaped, hugged by a thong that left the lower curves of her cheeks exposed, the high cut emphasising the length of her legs and the swell of her hips. Harry wanted to grab it with both hands and squeeze until she squealed.
Pansy turned back to face him, her eyebrow arched. "Careful, Potter. I have standards."
"Standards?" Harry laughed. "You're selling your cunt for sickles in a Ministry-approved fuck district. What standards could you possibly have?"
"I only fuck wizards who can measure up." Her smile was razor-sharp now, her eyes gleaming with something that might have been challenge. "The question is, can you?"
Harry waited for the punchline, and when Pansy didn't continue, he frowned. "Measure up to what, exactly?"
Pansy's smile widened. She turned and gestured toward the price list mounted beside her door, her fingers trailing along the edge of the frame with deliberate slowness.
"My prices, Potter. I only fuck wizards who can afford me." Her eyes flicked down to his crotch, then back up to his face. "Though I suppose for you, the cheaper option would be more... appropriate."
She was steering him. Harry could see it, the way her body angled toward the chaise lounge, the way her hand gestured subtly toward the first option on the list. Her riding you: 5 Sickles. She was assuming control before they'd even started, putting herself in the position of power, deciding how this would go.
Harry found himself amused.
"Five sickles," he said, pulling coins from his pocket. "Let's see what those standards of yours are actually worth."
Pansy's fingers closed around the coins with practised elegance, making them disappear into a small purse on the table beside her without even looking. "Follow me."
Her stall was just as polished as its exterior. Dark wood panelling, silver accents, silk sheets on the bed. There were mirrors on the walls, Harry noticed, positioned strategically so that whoever was on the bed would be able to see themselves from multiple angles. The narcissism of it made him snort.
Pansy heard the sound and glanced over her shoulder, her robe slipping further down to expose the line of her spine. "Something funny, Potter?"
"Just admiring your decorating choices." Harry's eyes dropped to her arse, watching it shift beneath that tiny thong as she walked. "Very you."
"Everything about me is very me." She stopped beside the bed and turned to face him, her hands moving to the tie of her robe. "That's rather the point."
The robe fell open and slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the floor around her heels, and Harry's cock went from interested to achingly hard in the space of a heartbeat.
The lingerie was even more impressive without the sheer fabric softening it. Her bra was black lace, the cups barely containing her tits, the material so delicate that he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the pattern. Her thong matched, a tiny scrap of lace that covered almost nothing, the fabric disappearing between her arse cheeks in the back and clinging to the swell of her pussy in the front.
And her body. Merlin, her body.
She was leaner than the other witches he'd fucked, her curves sharper and more deliberate, like a blade wrapped in silk. Her stomach was flat and toned, her hipbones jutting out just enough to cast shadows in the candlelight. Her tits were full and firm, pushed together by the cut of her bra into cleavage that made Harry's mouth water. Her legs seemed endless in those stockings, the black silk giving way to bare skin at her upper thighs, the lace bands tight enough to create the slightest indentation in her flesh.
She knew she was gorgeous. She knew he was staring. And she stood there and let him look, her lips curved in that superior smile, completely unruffled by his attention.
"Clothes off, Potter." She nodded toward the bed. "On your back. I'll handle the rest."
Harry pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Pansy's body. Her gaze flicked down to his chest, and for a moment, just a moment, something flickered in her expression. Interest, maybe. Or surprise. Harry was broader than most wizards, his shoulders filling out from years of Quidditch and fighting dark lords, and Pansy's eyes traced the lines of his muscles with an intensity she probably didn't mean to show.
Then his hands went to his belt, and her expression shifted again.
Harry unbuckled his trousers and shoved them down, his cock springing free, thick and hard and pointing directly at her.
Pansy's composure cracked.
It was subtle, the way her eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second, the way her breath caught audibly in her throat, the way her thighs pressed together beneath those tiny panties. She recovered quickly, but Harry had seen it. Harry had felt the satisfaction of it curl warm in his chest.
"Well," Pansy said, and her voice was slightly breathless despite her obvious efforts to sound bored. "That's... acceptable."
"Acceptable." Harry laughed, climbing onto the bed and stretching out on his back, his cock standing straight up from his hips. "High praise from someone with standards."
Pansy didn't respond. She was too busy staring at his cock, her eyes tracing its length, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a movement that seemed entirely unconscious. Harry watched her watching him, watched the way her tits rose and fell with her quickening breath, watched the way her fingers twitched at her sides like she wanted to reach out and touch.
Then she moved.
She climbed onto the bed with that same liquid grace she'd shown before, her long legs folding beneath her as she positioned herself above him. Her hands braced on his chest, her knees on either side of his hips, and Harry felt the heat of her cunt even through the thin fabric of her panties, hovering inches above his straining cock.
"Don't get any ideas," Pansy said, her voice steady now, controlled. "I set the pace. I do the work. You lie there and enjoy it."
"Whatever you say, Parkinson."
Her hand reached down between them, her fingers wrapping around his shaft, and Harry groaned at the contact. Her grip was firm and practised, her skin soft against his hardness, and she stroked him once, twice, positioning him at her entrance.
She pulled her panties aside with her other hand, exposing her pussy to him for the first time, and Harry's cock throbbed in her grip.
She was wet. Merlin, she was wet. Her pussy was pink and glistening, her lips parted around the head of his cock, and he could see the arousal coating her inner thighs, could smell the musk of her need in the air between them.
"Don't flatter yourself," Pansy said, catching his expression. "I get myself ready beforehand. Standard preparation."
"Of course." Harry grinned. "Very professional."
Pansy's eyes narrowed. Then she sank down.
The first inch of his cock slid inside her, and Harry watched her face transform. The composure, the control, the superior little smile, all of it flickered as her cunt stretched around his thickness. Her breath caught. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened just enough to betray the sensation coursing through her.
She recovered, taking more of him with deliberate slowness, her rhythm measured and controlled. Her hips rolled as she descended, taking him inch by inch, her cunt gripping his cock with slick heat. She was tight, incredibly tight, and Harry had to fight the urge to grab her hips and slam her down the rest of the way.
"Comfortable?" Pansy's voice was steady, but there was a strain beneath it now. "I know I'm better than what you're used to."
She sank the rest of the way down, her arse settling against his thighs, his cock buried completely inside her. Harry watched her face, watched the way her jaw clenched, watched the way her fingers dug into his chest.
Then she started to move.
Her rhythm was practised, her hips rising and falling with measured precision, her cunt sliding up and down his cock in long, deliberate strokes. She was good at this, Harry could tell. She knew exactly how to angle her hips, exactly how to squeeze her inner muscles, exactly how to get a man off without surrendering anything of herself.
But her composure was already cracking.
Harry could see it in the way her breath hitched every time she sank down, the fullness of him stretching her in ways she clearly hadn't anticipated. He could see it in the way her thighs tensed, the muscles in her legs working harder than they should have needed to. He could see it in the tiny micro-expressions that crossed her face, the flickers of pleasure she couldn't quite suppress.
She'd done this before. But she'd never done it with a cock like his.
Harry decided to test her.
His hands came up to rest on her hips, his fingers curling around the curve of her arse, and Pansy's rhythm faltered for just a moment.
"Hands off, Potter." Her voice was sharper now. "I told you, I set the pace."
"Just getting comfortable." Harry squeezed her arse, feeling the firm flesh give beneath his grip. "Don't mind me."
Pansy's eyes narrowed, but she resumed her rhythm, her hips rolling up and down, her cunt sliding along his cock. Harry watched her tits sway with the movement, watched the way her bra strained to contain them, watched the lace cups shift and pull with each rise and fall.
He reached up and hooked his finger under the strap of her bra.
Pansy's eyes snapped to his hand. "What are you doing?"
"Just admiring the craftsmanship." Harry tugged, and the strap slipped off her shoulder. "Very nice quality. Must have cost a fortune."
"Potter—"
He tugged the other strap, and the bra slipped down, her tits spilling free. Round and full, capped with dusky nipples that were already stiff with arousal, they swayed with her movements in a way that made Harry's cock throb inside her.
Pansy made a sound of indignation, but she didn't stop moving, didn't reach up to cover herself. Her pride wouldn't allow it. She just kept riding him, her bare tits bouncing now with each stroke, her nipples hard points that begged for attention.
Harry gave them exactly that.
His hand came up and cupped her left breast, his thumb finding her nipple and rolling it in a slow circle. Pansy's breath caught, her rhythm stumbling, and Harry saw the flush creeping up her chest.
"Still comfortable?" he asked, pinching her nipple between his fingers. "Still in control?"
"Perfectly." But her voice was strained, her hips moving faster despite herself. "This changes nothing."
Harry twisted his fingers.
Pansy moaned.
The sound was loud and filthy, nothing like the composed woman who had pointed at her price list with such disdain. It burst out of her before she could stop it, her head falling back, her cunt clenching around his cock in a sudden, involuntary spasm.
She caught herself immediately, her eyes snapping open, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That was—"
Harry twisted again, harder this time, and Pansy's words dissolved into another moan, her hips jerking, her rhythm completely gone now.
"You were saying?" Harry's voice was low, his other hand sliding up to cup her other breast. "Something about standards?"
"I— fuck—" Pansy's composure was crumbling, her movements becoming erratic as Harry played with her tits. "I'm still in charge, Potter, I'm still—"
He pinched both nipples at once and pulled, and Pansy screamed.
"That's it," Harry growled, watching her face contort with pleasure. "There's the real Pansy. Not the composed little princess pretending she's above it all. Just another witch getting her cunt stuffed and loving every second of it."
"I don't— I'm not—" She was gasping now, her hips grinding down against him desperately, her composure in tatters. "This isn't how it's supposed to go!"
"No?" Harry's hands slid down to grip her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. "How about now?"
He thrust up into her, hard, his hips slamming against her arse with a force that jolted her entire body. Pansy's eyes went wide, a strangled cry escaping her lips, her hands scrambling for purchase on his chest.
"Potter! What are you—"
He thrust again, harder, setting a brutal rhythm that had nothing to do with her measured pacing and everything to do with his own need. His cock plunged into her cunt with savage strokes, each thrust jolting her forward, each impact sending her tits bouncing and swaying.
"I'm done letting you set the pace," Harry grunted, his hands pulling her down onto his cock as his hips drove up. "You want to charge premium prices? You're going to take a premium fucking."
Pansy's composure shattered completely.
She collapsed forward against his chest, her tits pressing against him, her face buried in his shoulder, and the sounds coming out of her were utterly wrecked. Every thrust punched a moan out of her, high and desperate, the noises of a woman being fucked beyond the point of rational thought.
"Oh fuck! Fuck, Potter! Merlin!"
Harry grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed, her red lips parted around her desperate gasps.
"Where are your standards now, Parkinson?" He punctuated the words with a particularly brutal thrust that made her whole body jerk. "Where's that composure?"
"I— ah— I can't— please—"
"Please what?" Harry's hips didn't slow, his cock pounding into her with relentless force. "Please more? Please harder?"
"Please more!" The words ripped out of her, desperate and shameless. "Fuck me harder, Potter! Don't stop! Please don't stop!"
Harry grinned savagely and obliged.
He flipped them, rolling Pansy onto her back without pulling out, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The new angle let him drive deeper, let him put his full weight behind each thrust, and Pansy's screams filled the room.
"Yes! YES! Right there! Don't stop!"
Her cunt was clenching around him, her inner walls fluttering, her whole body trembling with the force of her building orgasm. Harry could feel it, could feel her tightening, could feel the way her nails raked down his back as she clawed at him desperately.
"Going to cum for me, Parkinson?" Harry's voice was rough, his own orgasm building at the base of his spine. "Going to cum on my cock like a good little whore?"
"I'm not— I don't—" But her body betrayed her, her back arching, her tits pressing against his chest. "Oh fuck, I'm going to— Harry!"
She came screaming his name, his first name, the sound ripping out of her as her orgasm crashed through her. Her cunt clamped down on his cock, her walls spasming wildly, her whole body shaking beneath him.
Harry didn't stop.
He fucked her through it, his hips slamming against hers, his cock pistoning into her convulsing cunt. Pansy was sobbing now, tears streaming down her cheeks, her orgasm extending and extending as he refused to let her come down.
"Too much! It's too much! Please!"
"You wanted standards," Harry growled, feeling his balls tighten. "This is what standards get you."
His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, crashing through his body with devastating force. He buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her, his release flooding her cunt in thick, hot spurts.
"TAKE MY SEED YOU FUCKING WHORE!"
The words tore out of him, savage and primal, and Pansy screamed again as she felt him filling her, her second orgasm crashing into her before the first had even finished. Her cunt milked him desperately, her walls clenching and releasing in rhythmic waves, drawing out every last drop.
Harry collapsed on top of her, his cock still twitching inside her flooded pussy, his chest heaving against hers. Pansy was trembling beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her composure completely and utterly destroyed.
The witch who had pointed at her price sign with such disdain was lying wrecked beneath him, his cum leaking out around his softening cock, her makeup smeared and her hair a tangled mess.
Harry pressed a kiss to her ear and murmured, "Guess I owe you fourteen sickles."