Dudley's Domination 20 (Patreon)

Harry felt tired as he stirred, but this time, it was not wholly about his sickness. Alcohol, bad dreams … staying up half a night imagining what he watched.

His cheeks burning with shame. Watching Dudley through that cracked door, even if it was just with the same escort he let watch felt wrong, invasive, a betrayal of the fragile peace they'd built since the war. He was Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake; he shouldn't be spying like some naughty schoolboy. Trying to distract himself from the guilt, he dressed quickly in jeans and a worn t-shirt, hoping a cup of tea downstairs would clear his head.

The stairs creaked under his feet as he descended, the house awake with the soft clatter of dishes and murmured voices from the kitchen. Harry paused at the doorway, his gaze landing on Fleur and Dudley seated next to each other at the scrubbed wooden table, steaming mugs of tea before them.

They were chatting amiably, Dudley's bulky frame leaning back in his chair, a relaxed grin on his face. Fleur laughed at something he said, her silver-blonde hair catching the morning sun. But Harry's breath caught— she was dressed in a loose silk robe that barely reached mid-thigh, the neckline plunging low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, the fabric clinging in ways that left little to the imagination.

It reminded him too vividly of last night's "nightmare," the one where she'd paraded nearly nude, flirting shamelessly. His mind flashed back unbidden: her body arched against Dudley, moans echoing, wine glasses clinking. No, that was a dream. Just a dream. But the guilt twisted deeper. Why had his subconscious conjured that?

"Morning," Harry mumbled, forcing a smile as he entered, his face heating. Fleur turned, her eyes lighting up with that Veela warmth. " 'Arry! Bonjour. Come, join us. Ze tea is fresh." She gestured to an empty chair beside her, the robe slipping slightly off one shoulder, exposing smooth, pale skin. Dudley nodded casually. "Yeah, pull up a seat, cousin. We were just talking about French customs over breakfast."

Harry sat across them, pouring himself a cup from the pot, the steam rising like a barrier against his swirling thoughts, a part of him flinching over the wording. He suppressed it, and let himself listen.

It wasn’t their fault that he had complicated dreams. Not to mention, he owed Dudley one after spying on him…

The chat flowed easily. Fleur described some Beauxbatons tradition, Dudley shared Muggle anecdotes, but Harry found himself tuning in and out, a vague unease gnawing at him. Dudley's compliments to Fleur seemed overly warm.

"You've got that glow this morning, Fleur. Must be all that... relaxation last night." She giggled, her hand brushing his arm. "Oui, it was quite... invigorating." Harry sipped his tea, missing the layered meanings, the subtle winks. It felt off, like a conversation with hidden traps, but he chalked it up to his own paranoia.

After all, they were just being friendly. Right?

&&&

Dudley stirred his tea lazily, watching Fleur across the table, her silk robe doing a piss-poor job of covering those magnificent tits he'd claimed just hours ago. The fabric gaped enticingly with every movement, her nipples faintly visible through the thin material, a teasing reminder of the night before. Harry shuffled in, looking like he'd barely slept—guilty as sin, no doubt, from peeking at what he thought was an escort while Dudley took Hermione.

Dudley suppressed a smirk; the ploy had worked like a charm, all he needed was to get Harry drunk and adjust the scene a bit, and he determined that everything he watched was a dream.

Now here was Fleur, fresh from cheating on him, playing innocent.

He leaned in slightly as Harry poured his tea, his voice dropping to a murmur only Fleur caught: "You were incredible last night. That pussy of yours... still feeling me?" Fleur's eyes sparkled with mischief, her foot sliding under the table to rub against his calf. "Shh, Dudley. But oui... sore in ze best way." She shifted, the robe parting further, giving him a flash of her bare thigh and more, where she wore no panties, her shaved mound peeking briefly.

Dudley hardened under the table, his cock stirring at the memory. After Harry passed out, he'd fucked her again, slow and deep, her legs over his shoulders as she begged in French. Now, with Harry oblivious, Dudley reached under the pretense of passing the sugar, his fingers grazing her knee, then higher, dipping between her legs. Fleur bit her lip, spreading subtly, her wetness already evident. "More tea?" she asked Harry innocently, as Dudley's finger slipped inside her, pumping slowly.

Harry nodded, missing it all, buried in his guilt. Dudley finger-fucked her leisurely, adding a second digit, the table hiding the motion. Fleur's cheeks flushed, her breath hitching. "Ze weather today... so warm," she sighed, clenching around him. Dudley grinned. "Yeah, hot as hell." He curled his fingers, hitting that spot, and she gripped the table edge, stifling a moan.

By the time Harry finished his tea, Fleur was dripping, on the edge. Dudley pulled his fingers free, sucking them clean without letting Harry notice. Fleur looked tense at her aroused state, but Dudley smirked, and whispered. “If you want to continue, prepare your ass tonight,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. “I, I think I’ll ‘ave a shower, ‘arry. Want to join,” she asked.

Harry said nothing, just blushing furiously. Dudley smirked. “Maybe I should come and help you, Fleur,” he suggested, making Harry flinch, and earning a crystal laugh from Fleur. She departed, her hips shaking alluringly.

He wanted to take her over the table, but to convince her to anal, which she apparently never done before, some sacrifices were required. Instead, he turned his attention to his cousin, who lacked the courage to watch Fleur climb the stairs with her ass shaking.

One that would be his properly soon.

“D-Dudley,” Harry whispered. “Maybe be more careful about joking around them. It’s … rude.”

“Sure, cousin,” Dudley replied. “Any plans today.”

“Nothing. Daphne will be arriving today to help us invent a better potion, so I need to prepare the ingredients while Hermione goes and picks her up. We can’t apparate here due to wards.”

“Daphne? Another of your … girls?” Dudley asked. Harry nodded.

Dudley smirked, more than happy to try his hand in taking yet another girl from him.

&&&

Dudley gripped the steering wheel of his car, enjoying the drive. Hermione sat beside him in the passenger seat, her bushy hair tied back in a ponytail, but that wasn't what held his attention.

She was dressed sexily. The moment she'd climbed into the car she'd hiked up her tiny pleated skirt high enough to hint her lack of panties, and tied her button-up shirt into a knot just below her breasts, exposing her toned midriff and the underside of her perky tits. No bra, of course, following his direction. Harry had waved them off from the porch, unaware of what would happen, even thanking Dudley for giving Hermione a ride rather than letting her deal with the bus.

Oblivious as ever.

Even more amusing, after getting the lesson about sex, unaware the learning aid was his own girlfriend, Harry started to trust him more, and the guilt from peeking on him made him even more compliant. He almost pitied Harry.

Almost.

Naturally, he had other plans than obediently bringing his newest girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass, back.

The first departure plan was to pull to a secluded meadow shaded by overhanging trees, the engine idling, and take Hermione at the backseat a flip of her skirt confirming that she wasn't wearing panties either. Now, she was bent over the backseat, ass up, as Dudley knelt behind her, his thick cock slamming into her tight pussy with relentless force. The car rocked slightly with each thrust, her moans fogging the windows.

"Fuck, Hermione, you're soaked already," Dudley grunted, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto him. Her walls clenched around his shaft, hot and slick, milking him as he pounded deeper. He slapped her ass, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin, and she yelped in pleasure, pushing back to meet him. But he wasn't just here for the fuck; he needed intel on the new arrival. "Tell me about this Daphne chick. What's her deal?"

Hermione gasped, her fingers digging into the upholstery, breasts bouncing freely under the tied shirt with every slam. "D-Daphne... she's a control freak," she managed between moans, her voice breathy and strained. Dudley thrust harder, burying himself to the hilt, grinding against her cervix. "Ah! She... she has to be in charge of everything. Plans every detail, hates surprises."

Dudley chuckled, reaching around to rub her clit roughly, fingers circling the swollen nub as he kept up the punishing rhythm. The wet slap of skin echoed in the confined space, her juices dripping down his balls. "Control freak, huh? Sounds like she'll be fun to break. Keep going." He pulled her ponytail, arching her back further, exposing her neck for him to bite down lightly.

She whimpered, hips bucking involuntarily as another wave of pleasure built. "Competitive... oh god, right there... she's so competitive. Slytherin through and through, always has to win, whether it's debates, spells, or... or anything. She doesn’t like me much, because I was always the top of our year, and she was the second."

Dudley slowed his thrusts deliberately, teasing her, pulling out almost fully before slamming back in, making her cry out. "And abrasive! She's blunt, sarcastic... doesn't sugarcoat. Can come off as cold or mean if you don't know her."

He flipped her onto her back then, spreading her legs wide across the seat, her skirt bunched around her waist like a belt. Dudley loomed over her, thrusting back in deep, her breasts spilling out from the tied shirt as he pinched a nipple hard. "What else? Does she hate not knowing shit?" He pounded faster, the car creaking, her moans turning frantic.

"Yes! Hates... not knowing anything," Hermione panted, her hands roaming his chest, nails scratching. "She's inquisitive, but if she's out of the loop, it drives her mad. And Muggle traditions. She's pureblood, unfamiliar with them. Thinks they're quaint or backward sometimes."

Her eyes rolled back as he hit that spot inside her, rubbing her clit in time with his thrusts.

Dudley grinned, sweat beading on his brow, his cock throbbing inside her. "Perfect. I'll use that, and you will help." He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a rough kiss, tongue dominating as he fucked her harder, the buildup coiling tight. Hermione shattered first, her pussy spasming around him, a gush of wetness soaking the seat as she screamed into his mouth. Dudley followed moments later, groaning as he pumped hot spurts deep inside her, filling her up.

They collapsed in a heap, panting, Hermione's legs still wrapped around him. "We're going to be late," she murmured, but her smile said she didn't care. Dudley pulled out, watching his cum leak from her, and smacked her thigh.

"And, it’s going to be your fault. I want you to needle and mock her subtly about how she couldn’t handle the muggle way every step, especially when we go shopping. Time to meet the control freak." As they straightened clothes and resumed driving, Dudley plotted—Daphne sounded like a challenge, and he loved breaking those. Harry would never suspect a thing.

&&&

They pulled to the station almost an hour later. Hermione straightened beside him, adjusting her tied-up shirt that still showed off her midriff, a subtle reminder of their roadside fuck just miles back, but it wasn’t as revealing. Cum still leaked slightly between her thighs despite her lowered skirt.

She wiped it with the inside of her skirt, and Dudley smirked at the thought, his cock twitching in his jeans. But now it was game time. Daphne Greengrass, the next piece in Harry's convoluted harem puzzle, had already arrived, waiting for them.

“She’s there,” Hermione pointed at a distant figure, not that Dudley needed. Even from such a distance, she was clearly a witch, wearing a mismatched absurd dress that any women wouldn’t be caught after the eighteenth century.

She was just like Hermione had briefed him, with zero clue about Muggle ways. Perfect for breaking.

"Remember," Dudley murmured as they stepped out, his hand grazing her ass possessively under the pretense of guiding her through the crowd. "Prime her subtly. Challenge her intellect, stoke that rivalry you two have from school, mock her about failing to decipher muggle ways. Get her riled up without her knowing why. I want her off-balance."

Hermione nodded, her eyes gleaming with that mix of loyalty and mischief she'd developed since he'd claimed her. No wonder she was Harry’s favorite. She was incredibly competent and proactive … once properly broken, of course. "Sure. Slytherins like her hate being second-guessed. It'll be easy."

They navigated toward her. There she was, waiting with the poise of someone who owned the world, with an ethereal, noble aura that implicitly claimed that she was better than rest despite the impatience.

Breaking her would be fun, Dudley decided.

Tall, sleek blonde hair in a severe ponytail, sharp green eyes scanning the platform like she was assessing threats. She wore bulky dress that shouted costume drama, though the kind the matron would wear and not the heroine. All prim and proper, but Dudley could spot the curves beneath that bulky dress, firm ass, modest but perky tits, legs that went on for days. Competitive type, yeah; she moved like she was always one step ahead.

"Hermione," Daphne said coolly as they approached, her voice clipped and aristocratic, luggage she dragged with ease that suggested some magic assistance. She gave Dudley a brief, dismissive glance, barely registering him as anything more than scenery.

Just like Hermione said. Arrogant yet dismissive. Dudley smirked. It was just as smart as turning her back against a tiger.

Instead, she focused on Hermione. Her eyes widened as she took a stock of her clothes, which was extremely revealing even after the adjustments, but Dudley caught her indecision. She wanted to mock her, but she didn’t know whether it was normal or not, and she didn’t want to be wrong.

Fun.

"Prompt as ever. I assume you couldn’t be bothered to wake up?" she said, abrasive.

Hermione smiled sweetly, but Dudley caught the edge in it. "I was busy with potion prep." She leaned in slightly, her tone turning conversational. "Speaking of, Daphne, I read your latest article in the Prophet on potion regulations. Bold stance, but I couldn't help noticing you overlooked alchemical parallels. Fascinating how potions could benefit from other disciplines, don't you think? Or is that too... unconventional for a traditionalist like you?"

Daphne's eyes narrowed fractionally, her posture stiffening as she handed her luggage to Dudley without a word, like he was hired help. He took it with a grunt, playing the part, but inside he was cataloging. Abrasiveness that dismissal screamed superiority complex, check. She dismissed Muggles? Even better; it meant she'd underestimate him, see him as beneath notice. Easy target. He'd have her begging before the day was out.

"Unconventional? Hardly," Daphne replied smoothly, though her jaw tightened. "But why dilute pure magic with mad drivel? It's competitive enough in our world without borrowing from crazies like Flamels and Dumbledore." She shot another glance at Dudley, this one laced with pitying disdain, like he was a dumb animal.

Dudley loaded the trunk into the boot, his mind racing. Yeah, she was a control freak, already trying to steer the conversation, assert dominance. Competitive, too, turning Hermione's subtle jab into a debate. And that pureblood ignorance? Gold. He'd use Muggle "traditions" to throw her off, make her question everything until she cracked.

Dismissing him as a Muggle just made it sweeter; she'd never see him coming.

Hermione chuckled lightly, linking arms with Daphne as they walked to the car, her voice dripping honeyed challenge. "Quaint, perhaps, but effective.Remember that Arithmancy debate the last year? One that I won with a landslide." Daphne's cheeks flushed faintly, her grip on control slipping just a hair, rivalry heated, as requested.

As they piled into the car, both at the back, Dudley started the engine, glancing in the rearview. Daphne sat rigidly, arms crossed, dismissing the Muggle vehicle with a sniff. Oh yeah, he thought, this one's gonna be fun to break.

As he drove, they were already lost in a debate, which would have been boring, but Hermione’s tiny skirt rode high enough to flash him glimpses of her bare pussy whenever she shifted, keeping him entertained.

In contrast, Daphne perched like a queen on her throne, arms crossed, her sharp eyes flicking disdainfully at the passing scenery. She didn’t speak to him … at least not until he parked in front of a store, one that was mostly empty in this hour.

“Are we here?” Daphne asked.

"Not yet," Hermione said. “You can’t walk around in these. We need to pick appropriate muggle clothing for you so you don’t shout witch. Though, it’s good that you left shopping to me.”

Daphne froze. Dudley could see that she was under the belief that she was already dressed correctly, but she smoothed her expression. “Exactly, that was the plan. Even you have some utility,” she said to Hermione dismissively, lying smoothly. She raised an elegant eyebrow to radiate confidence.

Hermione twisted in her seat, flashing that sweet-but-sharp smile, shockingly vindictive. "Oh, exactly,” she said. “Though, I’m afraid. Muggle fashion is … intriguing. I’m afraid that you might not have the courage to wear them."

Daphne's eyes narrowed, the competitive spark that was already stoked by their earlier debate igniting just as Dudley had hoped.

Dudley stood up, leading them to the boutique they parked in front. It had with sleek windows displaying mannequins in tasteful party dresses, far more modest than stuff that was inside. Secret Wardrobe, the sign read in elegant script.

Inside, it was all sexy lingerie: push-up bras, sheer teddies, silk chemises, and some flirty party clothes like mini dresses and crop tops designed to turn heads. No hardcore toys or kink gear that might alert Daphne, just enough allure to push boundaries without going full erotic.

They stepped inside, the bell tinkling softly, the air scented with light perfume. Soft pop music played, and racks of satin and lace invited browsing. Dudley hung back, letting the women lead, his eyes on Daphne's ass as she strode in with forced confidence, but her composure cracking as her gaze bounced between the mannequins.

Hermione grabbed her arm lightly. "Look at this—French lace panties. Bet they'd look stunning on you, Daphne. Or are you too traditional for something so... revealing? I mean, I tried a pair like this once; drove … well, someone wild."

Daphne stiffened, thinking Hermione referred to Harry, instead of the man behind her, watching them.

Daphne snatched the item from the rack, holding it up with a critical eye, though her cheeks pinked slightly. "Revealing? This is barely fabric. Muggles wear this? How vulgar." But she didn't put it down, turning it over.

“Only if they want to impress their boyfriends,” Hermione replied.

Dudley smirked inwardly, impressed by Hermione’s peformance.

She wandered closer, picking up a tiny strappy dress from a display. "Ever tried something like this, Daphne? Muggle party wear." She paused. “What am I thinking. I’ll find you something more … fitting,” she added, the last word laced with mocking.

Daphne glanced over, her shock clear, then her gaze examined Hermione, and how much skin she revealed.

Easy target, he thought. She hated not understanding it, hate being out of the loop, and forced herself to play along.

“Give me that,” Daphne growled, ripping it from Hermione’s hands, desperate to prove that she could handle Muggle fashion without flinching. After a quick direction from Hermione, she headed to to the changing rooms with a huff. "Afraid? Watch me own it," she declared before she pulled the curtain close.

As she disappeared behind the curtain, Dudley leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. This was going perfectly—her abrasiveness masking vulnerability, her control issues making her predictable. Hermione sidled up to him, her hand brushing his crotch. "She's rattled."

"Yeah," Dudley murmured, his cock stirring at the thought of what came next. "Time to turn up the heat. I’ll bribe the sales girl, you prime her.”

Bribing the girl to keep away had been easy, since the store was built with some technically illicit plays in mind, hence the reason he picked the place.

Soon, Dudley was lounging in a plush chair near the changing rooms, the boutique's soft lighting casting flattering glows on the racks of lingerie. Hermione perched on the armrest beside him, her skirt hiked just enough for his hand to slip under, fingers teasing her wet folds idly as they waited. Only when they saw the stirring, Hermione left her seat and stood up.

Daphne emerged with the strappy party dress, black satin with a plunging neckline that showcased her cleavage, the skirt short enough to flash her thighs with every step. No bra underneath, her breasts bouncing slightly as she walked forward, only to freeze. “What’s he doing here,” she asked, pointing at Dudley, choking slightly as she blushed.

“Oh, he’s Harry’s cousin, and he’ll be at the house. Don’t tell me that you are feeling shy, Daphne,” Hermione replied, her tone mocking. “We can find you some grandmother clothes if you are shy.”

Daphne coughed once before she tried to act unaffected, failing greatly. She adjusted the straps to get some time, then her competitive glare fixed on Hermione.

“Of course not. I was just startled. I assumed he would be with the car to make sure it’s there.”

Hermione smirked. “Don’t worry, the car is locked.” She smirked, and passed another dress she had prepared, softer with better flow. “Why don’t you try the next one, it’s more fitting for homewear.”

Daphne said nothing as he grabbed it and disappeared inside.

The moment the curtain closed, Dudley pulled Hermione into a shadowy corner. "Good girl, keeping her riled," he murmured, slipping two fingers inside and pumping, her juices coating his hand. Hermione gasped softly, grinding against him. "She's... competing hard. Ah—don't stop." He kissed her neck, his free hand squeezing her breast through the shirt, pinching the nipple until she whimpered. "We'll push her further. But first..." He spun her around, bending her slightly over a display table, and freed his cock, thrusting into her from behind in quick, deep strokes.

Hermione muffled her moans in her arm as he fucked her relentlessly, his balls slapping against her. "Quiet, or she'll hear," he growled, but he slapped her ass lightly, drawing a sharp gasp.

Hermione whispered inside. “So, what will be my reward if I can get her to buy some really interesting underwear…”

Dudley smirked. “Oh, we’ll find a way, maybe another lesson,” he whispered, and Hermione tightened.

Harry would never guess how easy it was to chip away at Daphne's control, one revealing outfit at a time.