[Exclusive] January’s Choice: Vacation with Veelas 4/4

This story is inspired by the results of January’s Choice, where you voted for Harry’s Vacation with Veelas (Fleur/Gabrielle/Apolline). Thank you for participating, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

The kitchen smelled like heaven—garlic, butter, something rich bubbling on the stove. Fleur moved around like this was just another evening, cool and collected as she chopped vegetables and stirred sauces. She didn’t look like a woman standing ten feet away from her little sister getting absolutely wrecked at the dining table.

But she knew.

And Gabrielle? Gabrielle didn’t give a single fuck.

She was on top of Harry, riding him like she was trying to break him, her ass bouncing with every frantic slam of her hips. No hesitation, no teasing, no shame. Every time she came down, a filthy slap echoed through the kitchen, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of her own desperation.

“Oh! Oh! Oui! Putain!” she gasped, gripping his shoulders like her life depended on it. “Il est trop gros! Mon dieu, je vais mourir!”

Harry groaned, his fingers digging into the chair hard enough to splinter the wood. His whole body was on fire, every nerve lit up, every muscle tense as he tried to keep some fucking composure.

Fleur, completely unfazed, poured wine into the pan and stirred. “‘Arry, do you prefer coq au vin or boeuf bourguignon?”

Gabrielle slammed down harder, letting out a wrecked moan. Harry’s head snapped back against the chair, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

“Fucking—” He exhaled sharply, trying so hard to keep it together. “What?”

Fleur didn’t even look at him. “Dinner, ‘Arry. What do you want?”

Gabrielle’s nails raked down his chest as she leaned in, her voice thick with pleasure. “Mmm, mon amour, focus… do you want ze beef… or do you want to fill me up instead?*” Her ass slapped down hard, her walls squeezing him tight, her breath hot in his ear. “Je sais que tu veux ça… donne-moi tout, fais-moi la tienne…”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, gripping her hips so tight she’d have marks tomorrow.

Fleur tossed some herbs into the pan, still cooking, while her little sister rode him like a damn professional.

“Boeuf bourguignon takes longer,” she said, her voice smooth and unaffected. “But it’s worth it.”

Gabrielle moaned, her movements wild now, reckless. “Il me détruit!” she gasped. “Remplis-moi, ‘Arry… j’ai besoin de toi!”

His whole body locked up, his eyes flicking to Fleur—cool, calm, perfect as she stirred the sauce. She was completely in control, completely aware, completely ignoring him like she wasn’t making this worse.

And that did it.

A growl ripped through Harry’s throat, his grip on Gabrielle’s hips turning bruising as he lost himself. Gabrielle cried out, her body convulsing, her ass slapping against his thighs as she milked him for everything.

Fleur finally turned around, one brow raised as she took in the sight of him wrecked and gasping beneath her sister.

“Pathetic,” she said lightly, turning back to the stove. “Now clean up before dinner.”

Gabrielle giggled breathlessly, collapsing against Harry, pressing a messy kiss to his jaw. “Mmm… bien joué, mon amour…”

Harry was so fucked.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

The voice was smooth. Not angry. Not surprised. Just curious.

Harry barely had time to register it before Gabrielle let out another breathy little giggle, stretching like a satisfied cat, completely unbothered. She made no attempt to cover herself as she slid off his lap.

Fleur, still at the stove, didn’t even turn around.

“Ah,” she said, tapping her spoon against the pan. “Maman is home.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, so slowly, he forced himself to turn his head toward the doorway.

There stood Apolline Delacour.

She looked perfect—because of course she did—dressed in an elegant silk blouse, shopping bags in one hand, her long platinum hair cascading over her shoulders in effortless waves. Her blue eyes swept the room in one slow, painfully assessing glance.

Harry saw the exact moment she took it all in.

Gabrielle, still completely naked, flushed and glowing, the curves of her body on full display as she practically draped herself against her mother, pressing a lazy kiss to her cheek like this was all perfectly normal. Fleur, standing at the stove, her silvery hair tied up in a neat bun, stirring her sauce with that same unbothered grace. And then—

Her gaze dropped to him.

To the wrecked, ruined mess of him, slouched back in his chair, his shirt rucked up slightly, his breathing still uneven. To the way his spent cock sat against his thigh, slick and shiny.

Apolline’s lips parted slightly. Then—

“Mon dieu… c’est énorme.”

Gabrielle let out a delighted little laugh, pressing herself closer against her mother. “Oui, Maman,” she purred. “Big juicy cock for all of us to suck…”

Apolline tilted her head slightly, her eyes still very much on him.

“I do hope,” she said smoothly, “that my daughters have been taking care of you properly.”

Harry actually choked.

Gabrielle beamed, completely thrilled by the question.

“Oh, oui, Maman,” she hummed, her fingers trailing lazily over her own stomach. “We take such good care of ‘Arry…”

Apolline exhaled through her nose, stepping further into the kitchen, finally setting her shopping bags down on the counter. She looked at Fleur.

“And you, ma chérie?” she asked. “Are you making sure he is… satisfied?”

Fleur finally turned, giving her mother a slow, cool smile as she wiped her hands on a dish towel.

“Dinner is almost ready,” she said simply. “Gabrielle, put some clothes on.”

Gabrielle sighed dramatically but finally peeled herself away from Apolline, disappearing down the hall.

Apolline finally met his eyes again, her expression unreadable. Then, she smiled.

“Welcome to the family, ‘Arry.”

And like nothing had happened, she walked past him, took a taste of Fleur’s sauce, and nodded approvingly.

Harry sat there, still slumped in his chair, fried beyond repair. His brain was somewhere between catatonic and fight-or-flight, except there was no escape. Not in this house. Not from them.

The water was perfect—hot enough to sink into, muscles loosening instantly. Harry let his head tip back against the edge of the massive tub, eyes closed, steam curling around him. It was quiet, peaceful. Almost normal.

Almost.

Fleur was pressed against his right side, her bare leg stretched out over his, her hand lazily resting on his chest. Gabrielle was on the other side, her arms wrapped around his shoulder, nuzzling into him like she had no plans of moving anytime soon.

Soft voices, soft touches, the slow rise and fall of their breathing.

“Ze water is good, non?” Gabrielle sighed, shifting slightly against him.

Harry hummed, too comfortable to form words.

Fleur reached for a bottle of something on the ledge—oils, maybe, the scent of vanilla and jasmine thick in the air. She poured some into her hands, rubbing them together before smoothing it over his shoulders, working out the tension there like this was just a normal part of her night.

Gabrielle giggled. “You will put ‘im to sleep, Fleur.”

Fleur smirked. “I doubt that.”

Harry exhaled, eyes still shut. “I don’t know… might actually die right here.”

Before either of them could answer, the bathroom door opened.

Soft footsteps, the rustle of silk, and then—

Apolline.

Harry cracked an eye open just in time to see her untie her robe, letting it slide off before stepping into the bath.

His entire body went tight.

She moved slow, lowering herself into the water like she had all the time in the world. No hesitation. No second-guessing. She sat right across from him, stretching out, steam rising between them.

Her lips curved slightly as she took in the sight of her daughters curled up against him, completely at ease.

“Well,” she said, sinking deeper into the heat. “I see you are settling in just fine, ‘Arry.”

A moment ago, Harry had been too relaxed—boneless, floating in warmth, half a breath away from passing out right there in the water.

Now?

Now, he was wide awake.

Apolline stretched out in the bath, sinking into the heat, her body half-submerged but still very much on display. She was older than her daughters, sure, but fuck if that mattered.

Her skin was smooth, golden, barely touched by age except for the subtle signs—soft creases at the corners of her mouth, a bit of fullness around her hips that only added to her appeal. And then there was her body—Fleur and Gabrielle were gorgeous, but Apolline? She was stacked. Heavy, full curves, breasts that sat high even without support, waist still narrow despite the motherly softness around her stomach and thighs.

A proper fucking MILF.

And she knew it.

The way she sat there, one arm resting on the edge of the tub, watching him rather than her daughters, said everything. She wasn’t in a rush. She wasn’t flustered. She wasn’t anything. Just completely at ease, soaking in the moment.

Gabrielle sighed, shifting against him again, still nuzzled into his side like she was completely oblivious to how not relaxed he was anymore. Fleur kept massaging his shoulders, fingers gliding over his skin, completely unfazed.

Apolline tipped her head slightly. “You were almost asleep when I walked in,” she mused. “Now you seem… quite alert.”

Harry swallowed, his fingers flexing slightly where they rested on the edge of the tub. “Just surprised, is all.”

Apolline hummed, clearly amused. “Mmm. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Fleur let out a soft, lazy laugh. “You would not care if you were.”

Apolline smirked, picking up a glass of wine from the ledge and taking a slow sip. “Non,” she agreed. “I would not.”

Harry exhaled through his nose, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. The heat of the water wasn’t helping.

He had walked into something insane when he agreed to this trip.

Apolline swirled her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. “So, ‘Arry… tell me about Hogwarts.”

Harry blinked. “Hogwarts?”

Gabrielle snickered against his shoulder. Fleur sighed, tipping her head back. “Maman, really?”

Apolline ignored them. “You are the famous Boy Who Lived, non? Surely, your school days have been… eventful.”

Harry exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He could handle Hogwarts talk. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Apolline smirked. “And Quidditch? You play, do you not?”

Harry nodded. “Seeker. Best position on the pitch.”

Gabrielle grinned. “Mmm, quick hands, sharp eyes, always knows where to find ze prize…” She trailed a finger down his chest, voice full of mischief. “I do love a good Seeker.”

Harry arched a brow at her. “Do you, now?”

Fleur snorted. “Gabrielle, behave.”

Apolline, still watching, tilted her head. “You must have had many admirers.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “I dunno about that.”

Apolline’s lips curled. “No?” She traced the edge of her glass. “Handsome, athletic, famous… women must flock to you.”

Gabrielle hummed against his shoulder. “Oh, I bet zey do.”

Fleur sighed again, clearly unimpressed. “Maman, are you going somewhere with this?”

Apolline smiled. “I am simply curious about our guest.”

Gabrielle grinned, looking up at him. “Tell us, ‘Arry… what kind of women do you like?”

Harry’s stomach tightened. He could feel the trap. There was no safe answer.

He smirked, stretching out a little, forcing himself to play along. “The fun kind.”

Gabrielle giggled. Fleur arched a brow.

Apolline just smiled. “Ah… good answer.”

Gabrielle pouted, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his stomach. “Just fun?”

Harry felt the trap closing in.

Gabrielle stretched, pressing against him, all soft curves and trouble. “I can be more than that, you know.”

Fleur let out a long-suffering sigh. “Gabrielle.”

Didn’t matter. Gabrielle wasn’t listening. She never did.

Her hand dipped lower, just enough to tease. “Sit up,” she murmured.

Harry frowned. “What?”

She grinned. “On the edge.” Her fingers pressed against his thigh, insistent. “Let me show you.”

The heat in the room had nothing to do with the water.

Apolline swirled her wine, watching. Fleur rolled her eyes, muttered something in French, but didn’t stop her.

Harry sat up. Water dripped off his skin, steam curling around him.

Gabrielle licked her lips.

And then—

She got to work.

Harry was shaking.

Not visibly—at least, he hoped not—but inside, where every muscle was locked tight, where every nerve was fried beyond repair.

Gabrielle had been a problem from the start. Sloppy, hungry, making obscene little noises like she was addicted to the taste of him. Wet, messy, relentless.

But Fleur? Fleur had been the final straw.

She had sighed, muttered something about handling things properly, then slid under the water without hesitation. And now?

Now, her tongue was everywhere. Hot and slow, teasing the sensitive skin beneath as Gabrielle worked him with her mouth. It was too much. He was losing it.

Then—

“Tell me, ‘Arry,” their mother said, perfectly calm, perfectly composed, like this was a normal fucking conversation, “have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?”

Harry’s breath caught.

His mind snapped.

Because fuck, now he was thinking about it.

Not just the act itself—no, his brain went straight to Apolline, bent over, stretched wide, taking him like she could handle it, like she wanted it.

Tight. Hot. Perfect.

Gabrielle moaned around him, taking him deeper, her throat squeezing just right.

Harry groaned, head tipping back, fingers gripping the ledge so hard his arms ached. “Fuck.”

Apolline smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The bedroom was thick with heat—something heady, something wrong, something that had Harry gripping the sheets.

Apolline stood at the edge of the bed, her robe slipping from her shoulders in one smooth motion. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t fidget. She just let it happen.

Let her daughters touch her, guide her, prepare her. Gabrielle was kneeling behind her, hands firm on her hips, massaging, spreading, teasing.

Fleur stood close, fingers gliding down the curve of her back, pressing into soft, golden skin with the same calm precision she used for everything.

Harry swallowed hard, barely breathing. Gabrielle grinned, tilting her head to press a slow kiss just above her mother’s ass.

“Mmm, she is so soft here…”

Fleur hummed in agreement, smoothing her hands lower, parting just enough to make Harry’s stomach clench.

“She is perfect.”

Apolline exhaled like she had all the patience in the world. Then she turned her head, locking eyes with Harry, a slow, wicked smirk curling at her lips.

Harry stood behind Apolline, hands firm on her hips, his breath coming hard and uneven. Everything about this was insane, but there was no stopping now. Not when Gabrielle was grinning up at him, mischief in her eyes, Fleur was watching like this was perfectly normal, and Apolline—Apolline was waiting.

Gabrielle reached for his cock. She gave him one slow stroke, then—without breaking eye contact—brought her hand to her lips and spit.

Harry groaned, his whole body tightening as she spread it over him, making sure he was slick and ready.

Then, grinning, she reached down, her smaller hands guiding him exactly where he needed to be.

“Go slow,” she murmured. “At first.”

Apolline shifted, tilting her hips, like she had done this before—like she knew exactly what was about to happen.

Harry exhaled sharply. Then, gripping her hips tighter, he pushed in.

Her body was a fire he couldn’t escape, and he loved it.

Apolline let out a low, throaty moan that seemed to echo through the room. Her body tensed around him, a delicious resistance that had him gritting his teeth to maintain control. She was tighter than he’d imagined, a snug fit that sent waves of pleasure coursing through his veins.

. “That’s it,” Gabrielle encouraged, her voice a sultry whisper. “Take your time. Feel every inch.”

Fleur moved to the side, her eyes locked on the point where Harry and Apolline joined. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips parted slightly as she watched the erotic display before her. “You look so good together,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Harry began to move. Apolline’s moans grew louder with each thrust, her body rocking back to meet his. The room was filled with the sounds of their coupling—the wet slap of skin on skin, the heady panting of their breaths, the occasional creak of the bed beneath them.

Apolline turned her head, looking back at Harry over her shoulder. Her eyes were half-lidded with lust, her cheeks flushed with arousal. “More,” she demanded. “Harder.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He gripped Apolline’s hips tighter, his movements becoming more forceful.

Gabrielle’s hand slipped lower, her fingers brushing against Harry’s balls as he drove into her mother. The added stimulation was almost too much to bear, but he welcomed the pleasure-pain, letting it fuel his desire.

Fleur watched with rapt attention, her hand drifting down to the juncture of her thighs. She began to touch herself in time with Harry’s thrusts, her fingers dancing over her clit as she lost herself in the voyeuristic delight of the scene unfolding before her.

Harry slammed into Apolline’s ass, his cock driving deep with each powerful thrust. “Take it, you fucking MILF,” he grunted, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back roughly.

Apolline moaned loudly, her ass cheeks bouncing with every impact. “Yes, ‘Arry! Fuck my ass harder!” she begged, pushing back against him, meeting his savage thrusts with equal fervor.

Fleur and Gabrielle were lost in their own pleasure, their fingers flying over their clits as they watched the obscene display. “Fuck, that’s hot,” Gabrielle panted, her eyes wide as she watched her mother get railed.

Fleur spanked her mother’s ass hard, leaving a bright red handprint. “You love this, don’t you, Maman?” she asked, her voice thick with lust. Apolline could only scream in response, her orgasm building rapidly as Harry continued to pound into her relentlessly.

Harry could feel his own climax approaching, the pressure building in his balls as Apolline’s tight ass milked his cock. “I’m gonna come,” he growled, his hips snapping forward one last time as he buried himself deep inside her.

Apolline cried out as she felt Harry’s hot cum filling her ass, the sensation sending her over the edge. Her body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her ass clenching around Harry’s cock as she came harder than she had in years.

Spent and gasping for air, they all collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. Harry’s cock slipped out of Apolline’s ass with a wet squelch, a trickle of his seed following it out. They lay there in a daze, the room filled with the scent of sex and the sound of their ragged breathing.

Harry stepped into the Burrow, dropping his bag by the door as Ron looked up from the kitchen table. “So, how was France?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry smirked to himself, memories of Fleur’s warm touch and breathy moans flashing through his mind. “Yeah,” he said, stretching lazily, “it was fun.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

Harry just grabbed an apple from the table, biting into it with a grin.