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SD: CH20 - Narcissa Malfoy
🕑 Added 2022-11-19 18:34:16 +0000 UTCWhat happened next was kind of hazy. I remember being dragged by an excited Tracey through the lounge into a long, empty corridor with wide, nicely polished doors on both sides. The more I saw, the more I wondered if garment sales were simply a front for something else.
Tracey had pushed me into a loo, shut the door, and smashed her lips into mine. I felt my erection grow painfully against her stomach as she circled her arms around my neck, grinding herself on my body.
“A loo, really?” I asked, breathless as we came up for air. “Isn’t it too risky?”
“I’m a filthy half-blood,” she said, unbuttoning my shirt. “Feels poetic to get fucked by the Boy-Who-Lived in a filthy location.”
Tracey unbuckled my belt and pulled my trousers and boxers down to my ankles, and ran her tongue along the tip of my cock, jerking it with one hand. Filthy, depraved or otherwise, I would not stop her. Rather, I’d let her get as dirty and slutty as she wanted. This act was a glorious taste of freedom for her in its own twisted way.
“Wow!” she whispered. “I know I just sucked it, but it feels so fucking hot!” She grabbed it with both hands and gave it another long lick. I knew she could make me cum from that, but Tracey had other ideas. She stood up, ditched her own robes and pulled my shirt off. Her white laced bra worked wonders against her dark skin and pushed her breasts together. She surprised me with a devilishly delightful grin and jumped upon me, her legs entwining around my waist, pushing me against the wall again.
She licked her lips.
“We don’t have a great deal of time,” she said regretfully.
I winked. “Let’s make the most of it, then.”
I unclasped her bra as she bit her bottom lip. My hands moved down, dragging her panties with them, until her bare arse was resting within my palms. Her hairless, juicy mound rubbed against my abdomen, begging to be licked, sucked and fucked until she could take no more. But there wasn’t much time, so I mauled her arse with one hand, grabbed my cock with another, and impaled her right upon my rod.
“Fucking hell!” She hissed.
Her curses and moans echoed mine as I felt her tunnel envelope my shaft completely. I pulled hard against her hips, wanting to bury myself deeper inside her body. There was no time for words, no time for sweet whisperings to one another. The risk of being caught made the moment highly erotic, and I doubted I’d last long with the pace she had set. Tracey worked her hips and rode me like she tried to get an entire week of cardio in just one session. Sweat glistened on her chest, and rolled down to her breasts, and mashed with my skin. It filled the loo with the slapping sound of our naked flesh and moans of pleasure as Tracey and I worked in tandem for an explosive climax.
I grabbed her tightly, and turned around, sandwiching her between myself and the wall, with her legs still around me, leaving her nowhere to go. I pulled my hands out from her back and began squeezing her delicate breasts, while slamming my hip upwards and burying my cock deeper with every thrust. Tracey raked her nails at my arms, nearly drawing blood as she whimpered and wailed and bit into my shoulder under the thrall of ever-increasing pleasure.
“Fuck! This is so good!” She gasped out after a minute had passed.
I opened my mouth to reply, but she silenced me with a kiss. I was still hard as a rebar and could go on for another couple of rounds–courtesy of being a wizard–but I was conscious of where we were. Pushing her off me, I let her legs slowly slip down mine, until she stood on the ground, her knees weak. She rested her head against my shoulders and nibbled at my neck.
I flexed my wrist, and my wand soared up into my palm.
“Wa–wandless magic?” Tracey gasped.
I carefully kept the smirk from showing on my face. I could almost see the gears running in her mind, associating the display with her belief in the myriad and extraordinary powers of the Boy-Who-Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. This belief, if harvested properly, could become a tool more potent than fiendfyre.
The truth was remarkably simple. The Black Ring, normally invisible unless I willed it to, could hold up to five spells, enchanted into it through runic carvings. Its only real limitation was that the spells had to be particular. Even the standard summoning charm Accio was too much for it.
Hence, I had gone for a more specific version, namely—
Accio Wand.
I aimed for the door and cast a quick spell.
“Colloportus!”
I turned towards her and grinned. “Where were we?”
“Fucking!” she whispered, flicking her tongue into my ear. I shuddered at the sensation. She put one knee on either side of my hips, and then reached down slightly, grasping my cock in her hand and pointing it straight into her sopping wet pussy. She lowered herself further down, enough to rub my cock up and down between her smooth, shaved, outer lips, covering it with her slippery juices, and then pushed the head deeper inside her tunnel and sat down, sealing it within her tight, wet pussy in one long, deep stroke.
Tracey closed her eyes and moaned, holding herself up with her hands on my shoulders, pushing her hips down hard, and then using my arms to lift her all over again, grinding her hips all along, rotating them around and around in small circles while she squeezed the life out of my cock using her inner muscles.
I kid you not. This girl was a natural. It took everything not to cum right there. Maybe I would have, but it felt like she was trying to draw it out, enhancing our passion.
“Oh! My! That feels so good!” She gasped, meeting my eyes, pushing her chest forward until her nipples, sharp enough to cut glass, were touching my lips. She continued this for several long, pleasurable minutes, slowly increasing the tempo of her hips until she was riding me at a pretty good pace. The unmistakable wet slurping sounds of a soaked pussy sliding up and down on a very hard cock filled the room, and it only added to the excitement I was feeling.
“Bloody. Fucking. Hell!” I yelled. “I’m gonna cum!”
“No, no, no, we can’t have that! Not yet!” She said, instantly dropping to the floor and spinning until her breasts were facing the wall. “Won’t be long now, baby, but just not yet,” she said in a sultry whisper. She pulled me by my neck, pushing my hips against hers, trying to get my cock into her. I went ahead with the motions, thrusting my cock into her pussy, pressing my hips against her arse, falling into rhythm with her movements.
I felt her smile as I pistoned my cock in and out of her, while she gasped for breath, her breasts slapping against the cold, hard walls of the loo over and over.
“Cum for me, Harry,” she whispered as I thrust into her. “Give it to me, Harry Potter!”
I slid my hands over her breasts, mauling them as tightly as possible, while carving her pussy with my cock. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was playing me like a fine instrument, despite being trapped between myself and the wall.
And now it was time.
“Fill me up with your hot cum! Let me feel you inside my wet pussy!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind me. I spun around, pulling out of Tracey, wand raised and an exploding curse ready on my lips, ready to blast whatever hag had interrupted my happy time.
Instead, I faced a woman with the kind of beauty that makes men murder people and start wars.
She stood right there, wearing a dark purple silk robe, its buttons unfastened, with her arms folded across her chest. The combination of both revealed a momentary speck of her firm and supple breasts, as if teasing me. She had dark hair, with several bands of pure white right above her eyes, perfectly matching with her alabaster skin. Her lips, colored with frozen mulberries, brought an almost alien impression upon her smooth and lovely face, and her oblique eyes were a deep, stormy gray that felt like they could gaze through my soul. She wasn’t old, wasn’t young, wasn’t anything but stunning.
I caught the scent of her perfume — something wild and flowery, like lavenders. My heart sped up, and the testosterone-oriented part of my brain wished I’d grab this woman and start making babies.
Her mouth quirked into a smile, and she arched one pale brow.
“My, my,” she purred. Her voice was rich and cultured. “Quick with the wand they said. I see they weren’t exaggerating.”
It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was still gawking. Gripping my wand tightly, I aimed it between her eyes.
“Who are you?”
The woman threw her head back and laughed. Before I could respond, I found a shell-shocked Tracey look at the woman in surprise and mutter—
“Lady Malfoy?”
Five minutes earlier⸻
Narcissa Malfoy suppressed a sigh as she gave a smile to the attendant, trying to relax her up. The smile was patently false, however; she was skilled enough at giving even false smiles that he didn’t realize it. Instead, the attendant, a healthy nineteen-year-old male, took it as an encouragement to continue attempting to bring her to orgasm by licking her cunt lips.
Narcissa was familiar with such approaches. She was used to the services of Twilfitt and Tattings for years now, enough to be given her own private lounge with a private set of attendants–all of them being muggle born males, fifth-years and above. Normally she’d not step within the vicinity of anyone with pure blood less than three generations if she could help it, but there was something utterly depraved about having these mudblood males–fresh stock from Hogwarts - down on their knees to serve her. None of them could even touch their cocks, and instead kept sucking and licking her folds to get her to cum.
It was their rightful place.
She sat in a luxurious bath, scented with lavenders and roses, soaps and other exotic fragrances, the finest of exquisiteness that gold could buy. Not that she had gained them. No, her personal lounge had it all collected and prepared beforehand so that she could enjoy a calm, relaxing moment. The manager had a robe packed and ready for her to take back home, her ‘purchases’ after hours of nitpicking at Twilfitt’s designs.
Every bit the controlling bastard, Lucius was jealous of even the hint of adultery or something that would reflect badly on his social position. He monitored everyone she interacted with. Other aristocratic wives could at least get together for tea or maybe a girl’s night out, ending up in a mutual masturbation session or hiring some escort for the night. But Lucius ensured that no hanky-panky ever happened in such meetings, and yet, he never so much as touched her, despite her alluring beauty, choosing to go after young girls. Her husband didn’t savor the sex so much as dominating the weak and soiling an innocent.
It left her endlessly frustrated.
It was also why she had to resort to… well, this.
Resting her head, she allowed the attendant–Talbot something, to kiss her legs and gently massage her toes. Narcissa liked them young–sixteen to nineteen, old enough to not be pedophilic, and young enough before the reality of the post-Hogwarts world took away the hunger and desire from their hearts. That they’d spend the rest of their pathetic lives groveling for sickles and knuts while she’d refuse to even look in their general direction shot a rush of arousal through her body.
If only her baby boy could have been a little less like his father, and a little more like her. He reveled in his being a Malfoy so much that he forgot that behind that vault of gold and blood money lay a shameful history. Compared to that, the Blacks were a Most Ancient and Noble House, something that the Malfoy Vault, regardless of the wealth contained within, could ever achieve. Just like his father, her dear dragon spent his time with his sycophants instead of enjoying the affections of that Parkinson girl. Not very clever, but at least she had enough pure blood in her veins for Narcissa to consider making her a pet project. Maybe if she was submissive enough, Narcissa could teach her certain rituals to enhance her performance in bed, giving her son a satisfying intercourse after a hard day of work.
Narcissa sighed. All her attempts to shape Draco into a worthy heir of the Black name had ended up in dismal failure. As the years passed, he was growing into a twisted facsimile of his father, hung on his father’s tales of power, wealth and being a feared Death Eater. Draco already acted as if that power was already his. Her spies in Hogwarts had confirmed that.
Sometimes she cursed herself not accepting Aunt Walburga’s suggestion to woo Sirius. Gryffindor or not, he was a ladies’ man through and through. Sure, she’d have to bear being in proximity to Potter’s mudblood wife, but at least she’d stay in the Black family, and sexually satisfied.
The bitterness in her grew just a tad.
“Enough.” she whispered, politely declining the attendant’s efforts. She was growing tired of his slow, unsatisfying, mechanical movements. Her need, her hunger for something real and passionate, was becoming a real problem rather than a mere indulgence, and if she didn’t take care of it soon, it could devolve into a potential mess.
Narcissa realized she was waxing a little maudlin and decided it was a good sign, as she was getting a little peckish. If only she could leave for Grandma Irma’s place in Marseilles for the summer, things would have been more comfortable.
Damn Lucius and that blasted Quidditch World Cup!
“Impatience can be lethal!” She told herself, dragging herself up from the scented bath. The boy Talbot fetched her robe for her, a satin, purple robe. She passed her naked shoulders through them and stepped out, uncaring of the unfastened buttons. The management of this meager establishment knew better than to entertain other people when she was around, so even the sheer possibility of—
“Oh! My! That feels so good!”
She paused.
That voice, a girl’s voice, was coming from the loo. This area was closed off to everyone except the most illustrious clients hosted by Twilfitt, purebloods of high pedigree and too much gold to burn. None of them would ever be depraved enough to be in the loo with a mudblood, not to mention fucking her while being there.
Her loins stirred. Not because the mudblood bitch was getting the satisfaction she herself had been denied. Certainly not! It was because it was unhygienic! And improper!
That someone could be inside there, thrusting their dick into some slut’s clit and making her whimper made bile rise in her throat. Yes! That’s the reason! Filthy mudbloods spreading their legs in the dingiest of places to get some pureblooded sperm!
Oh, how she wanted to cruciate the lot and teach them a lesson!
“Come for me, Harry!” cried the bitch. “Give it to me, Harry Potter!”
Narcissa froze.
Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Surely she had misheard it. Harry Potter was a goody two-shoes. Albus Dumbledore’s stooge. The Gryffindor Golden Boy. That brat was the kind to spend his time amidst blood-traitors and mudbloods and spit on the world that considered him a hero. He was the last person on the planet to visit Twilfitt & Tattings and have his way with some mudblood.
Or was he?
Narcissa knew all about masks. She herself had adorned many in the past, and would continue to adorn several more in the future. But could it be that the heroic facade of Harry Potter was just that?
A mask?
She couldn’t stop herself. A quick wave of her wand warned her of the locking charm on the door. Silly boy! As if a locking charm could keep her away. She was a Charms Mistress, and a damn good one at that. With practiced ease, she wove a neat combination of a silencing charm and an illusion spell into a notice-me-not ward around the very door, before unlocking it.
And there he was.
Harry fucking Potter. Fucking one attendant. She took the sight of him, lean and muscled and maybe an inch less than six feet tall, with shaggy, dark hair that fell all over his face and neck, his powerful arms mauling her breasts and smacking his hips into her cunt.
Narcissa’s cheeks went red in anger. Yes, anger. Pure murderous anger. This — this was an outrage!
“Fill me up with your hot cum! Let me feel you inside my wet pussy!”
“Oh, I don’t think so!” her mouth challenged without confirming with the rest of her. Narcissa inwardly cursed herself and let the ward fade. The boy instantly whirled around and felt his eyes widen. Narcissa inwardly sighed, ready for disappointment. It always began with a quick look, followed by a startled, much longer look. Injecting Veela blood into herself to gain her husband’s lust was a mistake she had made during her early marriage years, a mistake that she reaped for even to this day. Lucius still wouldn’t touch her, but his lust wouldn’t let him let her be touched by anyone else.
Her medication had become her disease.
So color her surprised when his lustful gaze shifted into alarm, and the wand in his hand tightened, aiming between her eyes.
This… she had not expected. But she was Narcissa Malfoy! She could play this to her advantage.
Crossing her arms, she rested with her arm pressed against the cold marble wall. She noted how his eyes traced the brief swathes of her flesh where the satin robe didn’t hide them. She did not blame him. After all, she had arranged it to be in the most tempting way.
“My, my,” she purred. “Quick with the wand they said. I see they weren’t exaggerating.”
His resolve didn’t waver in the slightest. How… interesting!
“Who are you?” He demanded.
Narcissa blinked. Not at the question, but at the absolute lack of desire in his eyes. That she had not been recognized was a bit of a novelty as well, given who she was. But the lack of desire? That was unheard of. She’d have thought Harry Potter to be gay if not for the proof before her very eyes. Was it his unfathomable will power, or something else? She needed to know. That she, Narcissa Malfoy, plunderer of hearts, would find her match in a boy of her son’s age was…
Narcissa couldn’t help it. She threw her head back and laughed.
The bitch, meanwhile, had turned around, and instantly recognized her, given the sudden paling of her features.
“...Lady Malfoy?” She whispered.
Narcissa smiled.
