Giving Her Host The Most update (Patreon)

“Then you’ve had enough?” Mab asked.

“Not for the rest of my life.”

Mab’s eyes slanted to the panting Harry. “And you feel the same way? You’ve taken it upon yourself to keep her satisfied? Happy? Out of trouble?”

“Lash won’t cause any trouble,” Harry told her, finally beginning to catch his breath. “Well, no more than I do.”

“That’s what has me worried.”

What do I do now? Harry wondered, trying not to show how bewildered he was. He really didn’t know what to say or do. Should he get dressed? Would that offend Lash? Would not doing it offend Mab? Who’s reaction should he care about more?

“I’ve never really considered what a nice body you have,” Mab said, summoning up a cigarette out of nowhere Harry could see.

“Let me slip into something more… anything,” Harry said, somewhat embarrassed.

His cock was moderately sized now, limp, though he felt a near-subconscious worry that when it wasn’t hard, it would look smaller than it really was, leave people with a lasting impression of being undersized.

It was ridiculous to have a male ego at a time like this—but then, it was ridiculous to be in this situation with Mab and Lash, considering who they both were. They made him, a wizard, seem downright boring.

“No, I want a look at you,” Mab said, lighting her cigarette.

“Hear, hear,” Lash agreed sleepily, her eyes heavily lidded. After a fuck like that, she needed a rest.

Harry could sympathize, but his concern with Mab was too invigorating for him to feel tired—just wired.

Mab stared at him, looking him over up and down, smiling, nodding. “You should show a little skin more often.”

“I’m not—“

Mab cut him off. “Not to say you should wag your dick in front of people in the middle of an argument, though I could imagine that proving quite effective. I’m picturing you in jogger pants—tight jogger pants, low-slung, showing some hair. And do you need a shirt?”

“Generally, if I want to get service,” Harry retorted.

Lash yawned. “You can get serviced just fine without one,” she giggled, fuck-drunk on what he’d done to her. Mab gave her a glowing look, evidently approving of both her naked body and how Harry had satisfied her.

This was getting too weird for Harry. He’d been spontaneous with Lash, real spur-of-the-moment playboy cocksman stuff like he never did in… he hated to think of it as real life, but there it was… and now he seemed caught in the middle of a Playboy video.

With a quick spell of moving wind as he got to his feet, his jeans flew to him from where he’d left them. He caught them and slid into them, knowing Mab was watching thoughtfully as his cock disappeared behind his chrome fly.

“You’re not being a very thoughtful host, Harry,” Mab noted. “You didn’t even get the door for me.”

“You broke in.”

“What’d I break?” Mab asked, not so much innocently as with a blithely total disregard for the notion of guilt. She laid back on the couch, her skirt coming up her thighs, the cigarette in her mouth. “Get me a drink.”

“I don’t have anything to drink,” Harry said, having poured all the alcohol in the house into a last-ditch spell the other week. Replenishing his stock had struck him as too depressing to carry out for some reason.

“Yes, you do,” Mab told him with such certainty that Harry wondered if refilling his liquor cabinet was somehow in her bag of tricks.

It wasn’t.

Mab hiked up her skirt to expose her lack of panties, the sheer pantyhose that were the only thing she wore below the waist. The sight of her pussy was as clear as could be.

“Take a drink,” she said, rolling her head back to face the ceiling.

Harry’s prick hardened instantly, lengthening down the leg of his jeans, which put the lie to any protests he might make. Mab obviously had decided she deserved the same treatment as Lash had gotten. And after how crazily Harry had given into her, he didn’t know if he had it in him to refuse Mab. Maybe he should treat this as the wet dream he half-suspected it was… keep on digging until he found out how deep a pit he could make for himself.

“Come here, my knight,” Mab breathed, “and kneel.”

Harry chanced a look at Lash, but she was fast asleep by now. And knowing her like he did, he doubted she would care what he did with his body, so long as it was still available when she wanted it.

He decided to wash his hands of this. He’d give Mab whatever she wanted—chalk it up to relationship building—and so long as she was ordering him around, he’d take no responsibility for following her royal lead.