Death Stone ch.10

Now, thanks to Fleur’s power-hungry ways, Harry faces having a harem... how the hell to even name it?

These are fashion icons, trendsetters, carefully chosen by Fleur to ensure Harry is surrounded only by flawless, wealthy women – fit as fiddles and loaded with cash. And young, oh so young. The oldest is just twenty-five, most closer to twenty.

“I cut them off at twenty-seven,” Fleur explains. “When they are older, they tend to spoil, you know?”

Fleur seems to read his mind – or maybe she just wants him to think she is telepathic and leaves it at that. Either way, it is hot.

“The girls usually leave around twenty-six to avoid the shame of being asked to leave,” Fleur continues. “It still gives them a few years in the media as personalities or influencers.”

Most of these influential people eagerly become spokespeople for Fleur's hyper-capitalist, authoritarian regime. Fleur has promised them rejuvenation—eternal youth, just like hers—as a reward. She doesn’t have to, and they both know it. They are true believers. They revel in the twisted state of the world, worshipping Harry’s glory, delighting in the humiliation of the lesser, and basking in their own superiority.

The girls are unsure how to approach him, clustering on one side of the massive table. It reminds him a bit of school dances where boys would gather to see who would dare ask a girl to dance. They chat excitedly, biting their lips, giggling, shaking their hair, and casting longing glances at him.

A stunning blonde, dressed in an almost transparent white pleated dress and high white heels, approaches. Her flawless skin glows, and her hair falls in perfect waves, showcasing its golden thickness.

“Fleur tells me again,” she smiles, extending her hand to embrace Zara in a long, tight hug. “She is from Sweden. She’s nineteen. You must have emigrated here as soon as you heard about our team, right, doll?”

“Well,” Zara giggles, “I’ve been watching these shows forever. Cartoons and everything. They shaped everything I ever thought.”

Zara’s light blue eyes remain fixed on Harry with every word she says.

“Cartoons?” Harry asks.

“Definitely. Beauties vs. Uglies. It’s already in its sixteenth season. I still watch them sometimes!” Zara laughs. “I just never get tired of seeing the Beauties win. They are so much better than the Uglies. It’s funny to watch them fail and fail, never being as good as the sexy, beautiful women they were born to be.”

Brainwashing. Propaganda on a massive scale. Harry’s cock throbs, and Gabrielle is right there to squeeze him.

“You deserve it, .,” she whispers in his ear. Her tight, virgin pussy still holds his cum. “All this and so much more.”

Zara, openly flirting, grabs Harry’s forearm. “You definitely are someone who likes beauties a lot more than uglies, right?”

Her profile looks like an AI-generated concept of “the most symmetrically perfect blonde in history.” Harry’s stiff, aching cock strains uncomfortably from just looking at her. And of course, from Gabrielle still stroking him, insisting he deserves to fill her with children.

This kind of woman was out of his league before he even existed. She’s probably hotter than Fleur ever was or will be. Her entire existence, dedicated to being nothing but aesthetic perfection, has paid off with brilliant genetics and a torturous training regime. Torturous for anyone else; Harry doubts Zara has any issues with it. She could probably do push-ups in her sleep for three days straight. She is fit.

“I just don’t see the point in looking at someone ugly when there are girls like Fleur around,” says Harry. “Or you.”

Zara purrs, pleased to be complimented in the same breath as Fleur.

“You’re so charming,” she says, turning to Fleur. “Is this him?”

Fleur nods. Zara turns back to Harry, barely suppressing a lustful squeal. She clutches her hands to her chest, trembling with excitement.

“I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I knew it by how big he was when he walked in and by how you clung to him.” She bites her lip. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

Fleur wraps herself around Harry even tighter. “Yes, you can.”

“Yes,” stammers Zara, clearly afraid she’s offended Fleur. “Of course, I can, darling. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Fleur’s tone remains warm and friendly; Harry can tell she genuinely likes Zara. “Honestly, darling, we’ve been busy enough with just the three of us.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Zara’s eyes glaze over. “That’s so wonderful. You three, you’re really together, aren’t you?” Both nod excitedly, showing off the diamond rings Harry had previously materialized on their fingers.

“Oh my God!” Zara claps her hands, her breasts bouncing playfully. “I just want you to know that I know I’m good. I know I’m amazing. I know I’m better than everyone here except for your wives.” She licks her lips, her arrogance arousing herself and Harry as well. “But I would never threaten Fleur’s or Gabrielle’s primacy in the fight for your love, my king. Not in reality, not in intent. To be the third favorite of the Glory that you are? The one we’ve been waiting for?”

To catch up, the Swedish girl with absolutely perfect facial features and an objectively flawless body refers to me in both religious and royal terms, coating every syllable with extreme desire, love, and adoration.

“Oh, Sir. Oh, my King. My Lord. Such a fate would be beyond my wildest dreams if I were a commoner, like some others here.” She throws shade at the other girls gathered behind her, and Harry almost fucks her right then and there. “This isn’t beyond my wildest dreams. I know my worth. Worshiping at the feet of Fleur and Gabrielle, while they are at your feet, is my only dream.” She presses against him fully. She moans. Gabrielle whispers in his ear, almost inaudibly: Fuck her. You can fuck her right now and no one will stop you. You deserve this. You deserve her praise. Her adoration. You are her king. Aren’t you going to fuck her? Please, let me watch…

Zara’s heavy breasts press against Harry’s chest, and a large button on her dress pops open.

“Oh dear, darling,” Fleur says. “Zara really deserves a raise.”

“My raise?” Zara asks, still looking into Harry’s eyes. “The Master just fucked Gabrielle, but now he’s hard, fully erect. That deserves its own raise, doesn’t it? How much more, darling? How much should we pay Zara for being on your team?”

Somehow, Harry already has this information in his head—she’s already being paid over thirty million dollars a month. He groans.

“I have so many followers,” Zara says. “Especially in Europe. Can you imagine what they’ll do knowing I belong to you? Can you just imagine how many girls will have to emigrate here immediately to somehow have a chance with you?” Her voice drops dangerously low. “Can you imagine how easy it will be to breed them? Three of them. Three eager, willing seductresses. She can’t stop moaning. No wonder Fleur likes this girl. She made her into a monster of her own design—which, in a way, is a monster of his design. Fleur insists. “Should we double her salary?”

“Nine,” he finally grunts, staring helplessly into Zara’s light blue eyes.

“Nine million dollars more?” Fleur doesn’t look impressed.

“Nine times more per month. Do it.”

“That would make her one of the richest women on the planet. Only Gabrielle and I would be wealthier.” Fleur kisses Harry’s jaw and cheek. “That’s so hot.” She turns to Zara. “Darling, won’t you sit next to Harry at the table and negotiate the final terms of your new contract? I’m sure Gabrielle could help you. I need to speak with the girls.”

Damn. Fleur has something to say.

Harry internally chastises himself. He should have predicted this. Fleur will unleash another torrent of wishes. But instead of putting a stop to it, he sits down, and Zara and Gabrielle slide onto his massive thighs, unzipping his cock under the table and stroking him. Their fingers are long, but they seem tiny against his massive member. He watches Fleur effortlessly circle around the gathered cheerleaders.

“For years, I have advised you all not to have boyfriends. Some of you chose not to listen. Those of you who had boyfriends, I advised you to deprive them of sex. And again, some of you chose not to listen.”

Harry somehow knows that “sex” refers to a male slave using a dildo on his mistress. The notion of a man using his penis for intercourse is beyond taboo. Fleur continues to move, her gaze filled with desire and love directed at him. He loves watching her move. She is magnificent.

"And now, today, those of you who trusted me will be rewarded. The more you trust me, the more I will reward you. Those of you who still have boyfriends? Contact them now and break up. Do it permanently. You have one minute."

Seven girls immediately pull out their phones and carry out the task. "Breaking up with a boyfriend" means selling him back on the market or exterminating him. Mentally, Harry relegates the girls who had such men in their lives to the very bottom of his list.

Zara, without interrupting her stroking, calmly hands Harry an unlocked phone. Her selfie in bridal lingerie adorns the screen, followed by another picture of her kneeling, pleading.

"I made these especially for you. No one has ever seen them," she whispers, stroking him more firmly. "In every picture, I was thinking only of you, my king."

No one told her to call him that. She just does it. It is insanely arousing.

"So here's the situation," says Fleur. "This is Harry. He is in incredible shape. He is amazing in bed—I don't think I ever came so much before meeting him, and now I’ve reached my record several times. His cock is huge. He is the richest living man. He is so fucking handsome. And I belong to him with my whole body, mind, and soul, forever."