McGonagall led Jerry in through the side entrance of St. Mungo's.
The side entrance connected to the emergency corridor. The floor tiles here were noticeably older than those near the main entrance, and two of the signboards hanging on the wall were crooked, with no one bothering to straighten them.
A healing wizard in green robes jogged past them carrying a tray of potions. He took two steps before it registered, stopping and turning his head to look back.
"Professor McGonagall?"
"Spell Damage ward on the fourth floor. Get me a private room." McGonagall walked ahead, wand raised. "Skip the registration process; we're going straight up."
The healing wizard glanced at Yin Luo in Jerry's arms. Her purple hair hung from the edge of the blanket, trailing on the floor. The dark red freezing layer on her right shoulder gleamed with a bizarre hue under the white fluorescent lights of the corridor.
He froze for two seconds, then nodded and ran ahead to lead the way.
"Professor."
"This patient needs a private room. There is a foreign, erosive sword intent residue on her right shoulder. It has been temporarily sealed with Red Dragon blood Qi; the time limit is a day and a half. I need your best Curse-Breakers to look at it."
The three Curse-Breakers exchanged glances. The middle-aged witch on the far left set down the medical chart in her hand, walked over to Yin Luo, and hovered her hand over the freezing layer.
"The energy configuration is completely foreign. It's not the dark magic residue we usually see, nor does it look like a curse. Is this... something from the Cultivation world?"
"Yes."
"I have to call Stanley. He's done cross-world energy research."
"Call him."
Jerry laid Yin Luo down on the bed in the private room. The door closed, the blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of the wall sconce in the room. Yin Luo lay on the hospital bed, her purple hair scattered on both sides of the pillow. Jerry pulled back half the blanket covering her, exposing the freezing layer on her right shoulder. The layer hadn't changed; the dark red membrane sealed the white sword scar, and the sword intent inside continued to writhe slowly beneath the ice.
McGonagall stood at the door for a moment, then walked over to the lounge area at the end of the corridor. There was an old table in the lounge, with a few copies of today's Daily Prophet spread across it.
She casually picked up the one on top.
When she flipped to the third page, her fingers froze.
"Jerry."
Jerry leaned half his body out the doorway of the private room.
McGonagall tossed the newspaper toward him. The paper unfurled in the air, flying for two steps before Jerry caught it with one hand. He looked down at the third page.
The headline was plastered dead center across the page in bold black font: Cross-World Reconnaissance Operative Jerry, Hero of the Wizarding World, Confirmed Killed in Action at Cultivation World Alliance Summit Bombing.
Jerry flipped the newspaper over. There was a line of small print at the bottom of the main page: Source... Department of War Mobilization, Ministry of Magic.
There were two more newspapers beneath it. The third page of every single one bore the exact same headline, from the exact same source.
Jerry stacked the three newspapers together and placed them back on the table.
"I'm dead."
"You're dead." McGonagall walked up to him and tapped the newspaper headline with her finger. "Information released by the Department of War Mobilization. The new Head who was swapped in half a month ago is an Order of the Phoenix man."
"How does he know about the bombing at the Alliance Summit?"
"Moody. Moody definitely passed the intel to the higher-ups in the Order of the Phoenix after he escaped. He knows about the four wands detonating at the Alliance Summit. But he doesn't know that you're still alive. Or maybe he does know, but chose to release the news of your death anyway."
Jerry picked up the newspaper from the table again, reading the main text carefully: "...In the bombing incident at the Alliance Summit, Jerry was confirmed killed in action on the spot. Due to severe damage from the explosion, his remains could not be recovered. The Ministry of Magic expresses deep sorrow for Jerry's heroic sacrifice and posthumously awards him the Order of Merlin, Third Class..."
"Posthumous Order of Merlin." Jerry tossed the newspaper back onto the table. "My body isn't even cold yet and they've already given me an award. Pretty high efficiency."
"This isn't high efficiency. This is them capitalizing on your death." McGonagall picked the newspaper up from the table, rolled it into a tube, and gripped it in her hand. "Think about it. 'Killed in action' at the Cultivation world's Alliance Summit. After this news is released, how will the populace of the entire wizarding world react?"
Jerry shoved both his hands into the pockets of his shirt.
"Anger. Followed by support for total war."
"Correct. Your 'death' is the ultimate catalyst for war. The Cultivation world bombed our hero to death, so we must seek revenge, so we must fight them until they are annihilated. The effect the Order of the Phoenix spent half a month trying to stir up in the papers has been entirely achieved by your single obituary."
McGonagall smacked the rolled-up newspaper twice into her palm.
"A week."
"A week. Which means, during your last week in the Cultivation world, you were already a 'dead man'. When you returned to the front lines, Vera and the patrol saw you were alive, but that's because information is restricted on the front lines. The Daily Prophet takes three days longer to reach the front lines than it does London. But here in London, the entire wizarding society has believed you to be dead for nearly a week."
Jerry leaned against the wall of the lounge area, the back of his head resting against the surface.
"So right now, I have two choices."
"Which two?"
"One: continue being a dead man and quietly investigate the Order of the Phoenix. Two: stage a high-profile resurrection and let their rumors shatter themselves."
"The first option is out." McGonagall poked his chest with the newspaper tube. "For every day you remain a dead man, the Order of the Phoenix uses your death to sell another day of war. Once public sentiment is stirred up, suppressing it is harder than climbing to the heavens. You've been dead for a week, and the support rate for war has already risen from forty percent half a month ago to seventy percent. Another week of being dead, and it'll be ninety percent. By then, even if you resurrect and stand at the front gates of the Ministry of Magic shouting 'I'm not dead', no one will care anymore; the war will have already begun."
"So it has to be fast."
"It has to be today."
McGonagall tossed the newspaper tube into the trash can in the corner of the corridor, turned, and looked at Jerry.
"You need to go back to Hogwarts."
Jerry hooked his wand with a finger inside his shirt pocket, twirling it a half-circle.
"Why Hogwarts?"
"Because you are a Hogwarts student; your enrollment status is still registered there. The 'killed in action' written in the Daily Prophet corresponds to an archival transfer at the Ministry of Magic. But your enrollment status is at Hogwarts, and deregistering a student due to death requires the Headmaster's signature. Dumbledore hasn't signed it."
"He hasn't signed it?"
"He hasn't signed it. The admissions office inquired about it last week, and Dumbledore's reply was 'Pending confirmation'."
"So Dumbledore knows I'm not dead?"
"It wouldn't be surprising if he knew anything." McGonagall reached out and pressed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers tightening and squeezing his shoulder blade. "The point is, you go back to Hogwarts and appear in front of everyone in your capacity as a student. You, alive, standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. That is a hundred times more effective than publishing a retraction in the newspaper."
Jerry pulled his wand out of his pocket and twirled it twice in his palm.
"Go right now?"
"Go right now. Before the afternoon edition of the Daily Prophet is typeset. If you appear at Hogwarts at noon, the news will spread across the entire wizarding society by this evening at the earliest, and the Daily Prophet won't be able to suppress it even if they try."
"What about Yin Luo?"
"I'll stay behind." McGonagall walked to the door of the private room, pushed it open, and glanced inside. Yin Luo was still unconscious; the Curse-Breaker hadn't arrived yet. She left the door ajar.
"After Stanley arrives, I'll watch him do the examination. You travel via the Floo Network. At the safe house, I left Floo Powder on the third shelf above the mantelpiece. The Floo destination at Hogwarts is the reception room outside the Headmaster's office."
"Outside the Headmaster's office?"
"Correct. You walk out of the reception room, into the corridor, and follow the corridor straight down to the Great Hall."
"What if Dumbledore is in his office?"
"Then perfect. You say hello to him." The corner of McGonagall's mouth ticked upward; the arc bore a sharp edge. "'Hello Professor, I'm still alive. Could you please rescind my death notice'."
"You make it sound so easy. What if he asks me about the Cultivation world?"
"Don't say a single word. It doesn't matter if Dumbledore knows you spent half a month in the Cultivation world. But the internal intelligence regarding the Cultivation world... the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion, Moody, the Qingming Realm... he cannot know a single word of it. Until we are certain of his stance, treat him as an enemy."
Jerry slid his wand into his breast pocket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He took two steps toward the elevator, stopped, and looked back.
"McGonagall."
"What?"
"What if there are people from the Order of the Phoenix here at St. Mungo's as well?"
"Which is why I am staying behind." McGonagall rested her hand on the wand at her waist, her thumb brushing against the shaft.
"Can you hold the fort alone?"
"The Director of St. Mungo's was a Gryffindor in my year; she owes me a favor. Before coming up to the fourth floor, I already had a healing wizard pass her a note. After she arrives, the access permissions for this room will only be granted by the two of us. If anyone enters this room without authorization..."
She tapped a finger against her wand shaft.
"I will treat them as an enemy."
Jerry nodded.
He turned, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the first floor.
As the elevator doors closed, he caught a final glimpse of McGonagall through the gap... She had already turned and walked back to the door of the private room. Back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, wand held vertical against the inside of her arm, tip pointing upward.
A guard's stance.
The elevator arrived at the first floor. Jerry exited St. Mungo's through the side door and Apparated back to the safe house from the alleyway outside. There was a jar of Floo Powder on the third shelf above the mantelpiece; next to the jar was a note from McGonagall: "Reception room. Go left when you exit."
He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the fireplace. The instant the green flames roared up, he stepped into the fireplace and shouted: "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Reception Room."
His body was enveloped and spun by the green fire; the grates of fireplaces flashed rapidly overhead—one, another, another. A few seconds later, his feet slammed onto the floor.
The reception room.
A modest-sized room; small portraits of past Headmasters hung on the walls, the Headmasters within currently dozing. An old rug lay in front of the fireplace, one of its curling corners having been stepped flat and curled back up countless times.
Jerry brushed the soot off his shoulders and pushed open the door of the reception room.
A corridor.
A Hogwarts corridor: stone walls, high windows, morning sunlight streaming in through the glass. The corridor was empty; it was class time, and the students were all in their classrooms. His footsteps rang out clearly on the flagstone floor, stepping one by one toward the direction of the Great Hall.
He ran into Peeves at the third-floor corner. Peeves was hanging upside down from the ceiling and hurled an ink bomb at him. Jerry dodged sideways; the ink bomb smashed against the wall, splattering a patch of blue-black.
"Who are you? Grey mouse or white mouse?" Peeves tilted his head, looking at him.
"Jerry."
"Jerry's dead. The newspaper said so. A dead man walking? A ghost!"
"Yes, I'm a ghost. You'd better not throw any more ink bombs; dead men hold grudges."
Peeves did a somersault and floated away.
Jerry continued downward.
The bell ringing the end of class echoed from the end of the second-floor corridor. Classroom doors opened one after another, and students poured out. The corridor went from empty to crowded in just a few seconds.
Jerry wove through the crowd.
No one noticed him at first. He was short, blending unobtrusively into the crowd of upper-year students; his old shirt with its unbuttoned collar didn't stand out either. But after taking a few steps, someone recognized him.
A third-year girl turned her head slightly as she passed him, her footsteps faltering. She looked back at him, her mouth opening and closing, the textbook in her hand dropping to the floor.
"Jerry?"
The voice wasn't loud, but a few students nearby heard it and turned to look.
The flow of people in the corridor seemed as if a pause button had been pressed. Starting from those few students who turned to look, more and more people around them stopped in their tracks. Ten, twenty, thirty. The noise in the corridor subsided wave after wave like a receding tide, until finally, the entire corridor fell silent.
Everyone was looking at him.
"Aren't you dead?" A boy yelled from the back of the crowd.
Jerry pulled both hands from his shirt pockets and spread them in that direction.
"Do I look like a dead man?"
The corridor erupted.
Waves of sound crashed in from all directions. People screaming, people slamming tables, people throwing textbooks into the air. The news spread like a virus to both ends of the corridor, rippling outward layer by layer. Before Jerry even reached the Great Hall, the students from the second to the fourth floor already knew... Jerry wasn't dead; he was alive, and currently walking down the corridor.
The doors to the Great Hall were wide open. When Jerry walked in, lunch preparations hadn't yet begun; the four long tables were empty. But the magical ceiling above the Great Hall reflected the blue sky and white clouds outside, and sunlight streamed in through the arched windows, spilling onto the flagstone floor.
He walked to the exact center of the Great Hall and stopped. Behind him trailed the students who had swarmed all the way from the corridors, packing the entrance to the Great Hall until not a drop of water could leak through.
A few professors were drinking tea at the staff table. Flitwick set down his teacup and nearly fell off his chair. The flowerpot in Sprout's hands smashed onto the tabletop, splattering soil all over her face. Slughorn's monocle slipped off the bridge of his nose and plopped into his teacup.
The small door behind the Great Hall opened.
Dumbledore walked out.
He stopped between the staff table and the crowd of students, looking at Jerry standing dead center in the Great Hall. Across the entire distance of the Great Hall.
Jerry raised his hand, pulling his wand from his breast pocket, tip pointing to the sky.
A spark of golden fire shot from the tip of the wand, exploding into a firework against the ceiling of the Great Hall. The firework scattered, morphing into a line of text hovering above everyone's heads: "I, Jerry, am still in the realm of the living. This serves as notification."
The cheers of the students in the Great Hall vibrated the glass windows until they buzzed.
Dumbledore stood in front of the staff table, saying nothing. He watched that line of text on the ceiling linger for a few seconds before dissipating, then lowered his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. From dead center in the Great Hall, Jerry couldn't clearly see whether that expression was a smile or something else. But Dumbledore raised his hands and applauded lightly twice in his direction.
The applause was drowned out by the students' cheers.
Jerry put away his wand and exited through the side door of the Great Hall. Students swarmed around him in the corridor; some wanted to shake hands, some wanted to pat his shoulder, some held up parchment asking for autographs. He turned sideways to squeeze through the gaps in the crowd, took a detour down half a flight of stairs to find an empty path, and walked briskly all the way back to the reception room.
The residual heat of the green fire still lingered in the fireplace.
He grabbed another handful of Floo Powder and jumped in.
When Jerry tumbled out of the Floo Network, he nearly face-planted into the fireplace of his dormitory.
He gripped the mantelpiece to steady himself, brushing the soot from his shoulders.
The common room was empty; it was class time, and no one was around.
A few forgotten scarves and a Transfiguration textbook lying face down were tossed on the sofa.
He crossed the common room, climbed the spiral staircase, and pushed open the door to his dormitory.
The door had barely opened a crack.
A figure rushed out from behind the door.
The speed was so fast that his probing ripples had barely swept the vital signs before the person crashed into his chest.
Two arms slid under his armpits and wrapped around his back; the force was so great it knocked him half a step backward. The back of his head knocked against the doorframe with a thud.
Then a tail wrapped around his waist from the side.
Furry, covered in short plush from base to tip, the colors interlocking between dark and light. The tail wrapped a coil and a half from his side to his front; the tip curled upward in front of his lower abdomen, trembling with the same excitement as its owner.
"Little pervert Master, you're not dead!"
Catherine's face was buried in his chest, her voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. She was more than half a head taller than Jerry; when hugging him, she had to bend her waist, her chin resting exactly on top of his head. Jerry's face was squished between her collarbone and chest, his nose sinking into softness; every breath he took carried her scent... a mix of flora and milk, the unique body odor of the cat demon sorcery lineage.
"Catherine."
"Mmh?"
"I'm not dead. But if you hug me any tighter, I'm going to suffocate."
Catherine loosened her grip just a tiny bit. A tiny bit. Going from the force of squashing him into a pancake to the force of squashing him into a compressed biscuit. Her tail was still wrapped around his waist, unmoving.
"You were missing for half a month! Half a month! Without a single owl in between! And then the Daily Prophet said you were dead and awarded you a posthumous Order of Merlin. I cried in the dormitory for three days! And then today you suddenly pop up out of the Great Hall and shoot fireworks at the ceiling..."
She finally lifted her face from the top of his head, looking down at him. Her vertical pupils constricted to mere slits in her emotional excitement, almost becoming single lines. Her tail twisted a notch tighter around his waist.
"Do you know what kind of life I've been living these past three days?"
"I know. I'm sorry."
"What use is sorry." Catherine yanked him away from the doorframe, grabbed him by the back collar, dragged him into the dormitory, and kicked the door shut with her foot. The lock clicked shut.
There was no one else in the dormitory. All four beds were empty, the bedding neat. Jerry's bed was the innermost one by the window; unoccupied for half a month, a thin layer of dust covered the bed. Catherine didn't drag him to his bed, but headed toward the sofa she usually lounged on. The one in the common room was too conspicuous; this old sofa was tucked into a corner of the dormitory, piled high with her throw pillows and blankets.
She gave Jerry a shove onto the sofa.
Jerry's lower back hit the armrest; he tumbled backward, his back sinking into the pile of pillows. Catherine followed and pressed down on top of him; her knees parted on either side of his waist, her tail releasing from his waist to coil around his outer thigh, the furry tip sweeping back and forth across the skin of his inner knee.
The hem of her school skirt bunched up on his lower abdomen; her knee socks wrapped all the way from her calves to just below her knees, exposing a section of bare skin on her inner thighs.
"First, explain yourself to me." Catherine pinned his shoulders down, fixing him into the sofa. "Where did you go? What did you do? Why didn't you send a letter?"
"The Cultivation world. Executing a mission. Couldn't send a letter; the communication magic over there can't pierce the world barrier."
"Executing a mission? Who sent you?"
"No one sent me. I fell in. A spatial rift."
Catherine's vertical pupils narrowed another notch.
"You fell in. You. Fell. In." She paused between every word, her tail whipping against his thigh. The force was light but the speed was fast, like being lashed by a cat's tail. "You fell into the Cultivation world, and then you stayed there for half a month without sending a single signal back. Do you know what we were thinking over here? Professor McGonagall almost took a team to tear open a rift and go find you. Vera was so frantic on the front lines she nearly lost control and Dragonified. And me? I didn't even have the right to be frantic; all I could do was stare at the Daily Prophet's wanted list every day, waiting for your name to appear..."
"Wanted list?"
"Yes. A month after you went missing, the Ministry of Magic listed you as 'Missing, Possible Defector'. Your name hung on the third page of the wanted list with the note 'Suspected defected to the Cultivation world'. Later it was changed to 'Confirmed killed in action'. From traitor to hero, the faces of the Ministry of Magic change faster than Peeves."
Jerry reached out, wanting to pat her head. Catherine turned her head, dodging it.
"Don't touch. I haven't finished."
"Alright."
"You stayed in the Cultivation world for half a month. And brought a woman back."
"How do you know."
"My ears." The two cat ears atop Catherine's head twitched. "The students in the corridor discussing it after you came out of the Great Hall.
Someone said when you returned, you were holding a purple-haired woman in your arms. Is that true."
"Yes. Yin Luo. She saved my life. Now she's severely injured, in St. Mungo's."
"Lover?"
Jerry didn't answer.
Catherine's tail whipped his thigh again. This time the force was noticeably heavier than the last.
"I'm asking you a question."
"...I suppose so."
"Suppose so." Catherine chewed on those words in her mouth. Then she lowered her head; her nose approached the side of Jerry's neck, sniffing upward from his collarbone to the base of his ear. The olfactory sense of the cat demon lineage was vastly superior to that of an ordinary human. She sniffed twice and then stopped.
"You have the scent of three women on you."
Jerry shut his mouth.
"The first one, the purple-haired one. The scent is faint, mixed with herbs and the smell of blood. The second one... dragon." Catherine sniffed. "Red Dragon. Vera."
"Mmh."
"The third one." Her nose moved from the base of his ear to his chest, right at the collar that had been torn open and re-buttoned. Sniffed once. "Professor McGonagall."
"After returning from the Cultivation world, you were done by Vera first, then by McGonagall. And only then did you come to school?"
"...The order was McGonagall first, then Vera."
Catherine sat up straight.
The expression on her face as she looked at Jerry was hard to describe. It looked like anger, but also like she was trying not to laugh, and also like she wanted to strangle him to death, resurrect him, and strangle him again.
"Missing for half a month. The first day back, you get done by two women. And only then do you remember to come back to the dormitory to check on me."
"I couldn't schedule the time..."
"Couldn't schedule the time?" Catherine's hands moved from his shoulders to his shirt buttons. Her thumb and index finger pinched the third button and gave a yank outward. The button popped off, bounced onto the floor, and rolled twice. Then the fourth button, the fifth button. All three buttons were ripped off, the shirt falling open, exposing Jerry's chest.
It was covered in marks. The five nail scratches McGonagall had clawed were just below his collarbone; Vera's claw marks were on his sides; his back, chafed red by the rough burlap, extended all the way from his shoulder blades to his waist.
Catherine looked down, examining these marks one by one; the more she looked, the further the corners of her mouth turned down.
"Were you beaten up by someone, or were you slept with by someone?"
"A bit of both."
"I'm adding my share."
She hiked her skirt up to her waist, spreading her knees further apart, shifting her position from sitting on Jerry's lower abdomen to directly above his crotch. Her hands slid down from his chest, gliding past his abs to his belt buckle. The hem of his shirt was pushed up to his armpits. The belt buckle was undone, the zipper pulled down, the fabric shoved down to his knees.
That thing popped out from his waistband. After being used continuously by McGonagall and Vera, it was still semi-hard; a thin, dried film of bodily fluids still clung to the coronal ridge.
Catherine looked down.
"How much inventory is left."
"Uncertain."
"I don't care. No one is taking my share."
She lifted her waist; the crotch of her panties was pushed aside with one finger. Looking from below, Jerry saw that the vaginal opening was already soaked; between emotional excitement and the physiological constitution of her cat demon lineage in heat, bodily fluids had seeped from her inner walls, soaking the entirety of her labia. She aligned the position, and her waist sank down.
When the coronal ridge pushed open the vaginal entrance, Catherine let out a short whimper. The vaginal canal of the cat demon lineage was tighter and narrower than that of ordinary humans; every penetration felt like being forcefully stretched open. In her excitement, her tail moved from his thigh into the air, puffing out into the shape of a fur ball, every single hair standing on end.
The process of swallowing the entire length took several breaths. With every section that entered, the vaginal wall clenched once. From the opening to the depths, sucking and wrapping layer by layer, as if countless hands were dragging it deeper from the inside.
"Whimper... you... got thicker again..." Catherine's voice squeezed from the back of her throat, the tail end pitching upward. "A full size thicker than half a month ago, isn't it... where did all those elixirs from the Cultivation world end up going..."
"Not elixirs. Normal development."
"Bullshit." Catherine sat all the way down, her pubic bone pressing against the roots of his thighs, the entire length enveloped within her canal. Her waist trembled slightly; the vaginal walls spasmed two or three times as they adapted to the girth, and every spasm squeezed a surge of hot liquid from the depths over the shaft of his spear.
"How is this normal development... stuffing the whole thing in makes my stomach bulge out a piece..."
She pressed a hand to her own lower abdomen. Through the fabric of her skirt and the thin abdominal wall, her fingertips could indeed feel a small, raised bump.
Jerry rested his fingers against the upper edge of her knee socks. His pads rubbed the tender skin on her inner thigh, sliding slowly from above her knee toward the root. Her leg instinctively clamped tight for a moment as his fingers passed, then relaxed.
"You were gone for half a month." Her hips began to move. Range small, frequency slow. The canal wrapping the spear lifted halfway before sitting back down; every time she sat down, the flower heart was hit by the coronal ridge, and her tail would whip fiercely in the air. "I was dying of missing you alone in the dormitory. Dreaming of you every single night. The day the newspaper said you died, I cried until midnight; the next day I woke up and found half my pillow was wet."
Her tail drooped from the air, wrapping around Jerry's wrist. The furry texture enveloped his wrist bone, the tip curling within his palm.
"And then you suddenly appear today. Alive. Stepping out of a fireplace. When I heard the news in the corridor, my legs went weak. Ran back to the dormitory to wait for you. Waited for almost an hour before you finally came back."
"I took a detour through the Great Hall and got blocked by students."
"Excuses." Catherine's hips accelerated their rhythm. The canal emitted sticky wet sounds as it tightly swallowed and spat out the long spear; hot liquid squeezed out from the connection point, flowing down the base of the spear and dripping onto the roots of his thighs.
Every time she sat down, she let out a cat-like whimper. Short, the tail end pitched upward, released from the throat with a breathy sound. When aroused, the vocal cords of the cat demon lineage would involuntarily produce a vibration, mixing overtones of a cat's mewl into their cries.
"From now on... whimper... you are not allowed to disappear again..."
"Alright."
"Saying alright... ah... doesn't count... whimper-whimper... every time you say alright, you run away..."
"This time is different." Jerry slid his hand from her inner thigh to her hip bone, his palm pressing against her waist, his thumb hooking into the hollow of her hip. He thrust his hips upward. As the coronal ridge ground past a slightly raised spot within her canal, Catherine's entire body jerked; her tail released from his wrist, suddenly puffing up violently. The fur stood straight on end, every single hair distinct, as if she'd been electrocuted.
"There... don't hit there... whimper..."
Jerry thrusted again.
Catherine's waist gave way for an instant; her upper body slumped forward, her hands bracing against his chest. Her cat ears flattened out to the sides, pressing against her hair. That was the instinctual reaction of the cat demon lineage under extreme pleasure... ears flattened, tail puffed up, and a continuous purring beginning to rumble in the throat.
"Whimper-whimper-whimper... bastard... you did that on purpose..."
"Yes. I did it on purpose."
Gripping her waist, Jerry began thrusting upward from below. Rhythm fast, range large. Every single thrust precisely ground over that spot, then slammed into the absolute depths of her flower heart. Catherine's cries shifted from whimpers to continuous, irrepressible moans; the cat demon overtones echoed within, vibrating the soundproofing curtains of the entire dormitory.
Her tail went completely out of control. Whipping wildly back and forth in the air, it knocked over the water cup on the adjacent coffee table; the cup rolled onto the carpet, spinning twice with a clatter-clatter.
The canal began to spasm completely from the opening to the depths. Wringing layer by layer, constricting in a wave-like motion from the outside in; every wave milked the long spear entirely from head to base. Hot liquid surged from the depths, churned into a white froth by the high-frequency entry and exit; the froth clung to the base of the spear and the edges of the labia at the vaginal opening, splashing fine droplets with every impact.
"Gonna... gonna come... whimper... little pervert Master, you slow down... ah-ah..."
As she cried out, she collapsed completely onto Jerry's chest; her two cat ears were plastered flat against her scalp, her tail sticking out stiffly behind her, trembling several times. The canal writhed as if convulsing; a massive flood of hot liquid erupted from her flower heart, drenching the coronal ridge of his spear. Clamped tight by the continuous orgasmic spasms, Jerry couldn't hold back; thrusting his hips upward one last time, he shot deep into her canal.
Catherine lay on his chest, panting for a long time. Her tail slowly regained its softness from its stiffness, drooping down to rest against his leg, the tip idly sweeping back and forth against his calf. Her cat ears slowly stood back up, returning to their normal angle.
The purring in her throat hadn't stopped. That was the instinctual reaction of the cat demon lineage when satisfied; she couldn't control it.
"You're purring."
"Shut up. Not doing it on purpose."
Jerry rested his hand on her back, his fingers sliding down her spine to the base of her tail. The instant his fingertips touched the base of her tail, Catherine's entire body shuddered; the grip around the shaft still buried within her tightened another notch.
"Don't touch the base of the tail. Sensitive."
"I know."
"You know, and you still touch it."
"Want to touch it."
Catherine's cat ears twitched, then she lifted her face from his chest. Her vertical pupils had returned to their normal width; having calmed down emotionally, they reverted to gentle vertical ovals.
"Little pervert Master."
"Mmh."
"From now on, wherever you go, you have to take me with you." Her tail shifted from his calf to his waist, wrapping around it once more. "I'm like a cat. If you leave me at home for too long, I'll tear the house apart."
"You already have." Jerry tilted his head, glancing at the water cup her tail had swept off the table.
Catherine buried her face back into his chest, her purring growing louder.