A Slytherin Seduction

A Slytherin Seduction

What brought you here, dearest heart? Was it the excitement of shagging a Death Eater? No, most probably, you have no idea about what I am. You are still so innocent. Just three years older than my son.

Yes, I know you are of age. I do like young flesh, there is no doubt. But I don’t touch minors. Laugh if you will, but even I have morals. And besides, I cannot afford being caught with a minor. In the years to come, I will need to be able to rely on my immaculate reputation.

So what brought you here then? Why are you here in my chambers with me, and not still up in the Great Hall, dancing and snogging one of your male peers, who would most obviously do anything to be allowed to paw you?

Yes, I saw the lusty look in their eyes. And I also saw you wrinkle your nose ever so slightly at them. And who can blame you? Boys your age rarely know what they are doing. Their kisses are slobbery, and their hands bruise more often than they caress. I cannot blame you for choosing a man instead, someone who knows how to make your body sing.

I had been observing you from the other side of the Great Hall. Somehow, you had seemed out of place, as if you didn’t want to be at the Yule Ball. You had turned down every single one of those boys who had asked you to dance. But the way your hips swayed almost unnoticeably to the beat of the music told me that you would very much have liked to dance.

I lost sight of you for a while as I danced with your Astronomy professor. But when I went to get a glass of brandy, you were there at the drinking table, looking at me. And I had a feeling that your blue eyes had been on me the entire duration of the last song, watching me dance. As I reached out for the brandy, you bravely stepped forward and put your hand in mine, asking me for a dance. And it was not even ladies’ choice. Plucky little thing.

I obliged, of course.

You lay feather-light in my arms, and you did not step onto my toes once. You certainly have been taught how to dance by a capable teacher. Either that, or you are a natural. And I noticed that your red hair smelled of vanilla and nutmeg. How fitting for a Yule Ball. Now that I bury my face in your hair, I also detect a subtle note of honey. And as I trace your jaw line, I notice that your taste is just as delicious as your scent. You are just begging to be tasted.

One dance turned into two, and I would have granted you a third had the band not chosen to play a very slow love song. How would it have looked if a school governor had danced with a student to such a song? So I bowed, kissed your hand and took my leave.

I found you again a while later, out in the grounds. You were leaning with your back against the stone wall, drinking Butterbeer directly from the bottle. I tutted and told you that it was uncouth for a young lady to drink from the bottle. You snorted and replied that Butterbeer was such a common brew that it did not matter how it was drunk. I could do nothing but agree and told you that a beautiful creature like you should be treated to fine wine instead, and that had made you giggle. It was a lovely sound, and I relish hearing it again now as I nibble at your ear. It seems you are ticklish.

You refused to go back inside. There was still slow music playing, and you said you had no desire to have some hormonal boy grind himself against you and slobber all over you face. I couldn’t resist but ask you if you didn’t like kissing. And you said you enjoyed being kissed very much when it was done the right way.

It seems as if you are enjoying it indeed. You are moaning into my mouth now as our tongues entwine, and you don’t seem to mind me grinding myself against you. On the contrary; I can feel your embrace tighten, and as you lift up your leg, I grab hold of your delicious little butt and pull you towards me. I want you to feel my arousal as you are the reason for it, dearest heart.

Your fine dress, that accentuates your smooth curves and which I had admired earlier tonight, is nothing more than a nuisance now, and I do not waste our time by trying to undo the lace. I am a capable wizard, and a wave of my hand is all it takes for the fabric to glide off you and puddle at your feet.

I push you backwards, lay you down on the bed and let my eyes trail over your body. You are wearing the most exquisite emerald green lace, and I cannot help but smirk at your choice of colour. It is Christmas, after all, and the green goes perfectly with your red hair. How festive.

I position myself on top of you, and as you hungrily suck my tongue, once more making the most delicious of noises, I let my hand slide into your knickers. Not shaven, but neatly trimmed, I conclude. I like it that way. Natural, yet groomed. And I am delighted to find that your arousal matches mine. You are wet and ready to be taken.

My robes are as quickly discarded as your dress has been, and your legs open at the slightest touch of my hand against your inner thigh. I do not even bother peeling your knickers off you. My lust is getting the better of me, and for the time being, pulling the delicate fabric to one side to give me access to your pussy needs to suffice. You stiffen under me as I enter you, and for a moment I am too overwhelmed by your tightness to realise that the moan that has escaped your swollen lips has not been one of pleasure.

Dearest heart. You sweet, silly little thing. You should have told me that you were still untouched. I would have been gentle with you. I cannot have you tell your friends and everyone else who will listen that Lucius Malfoy has been rough with you. I can do better than this. I have a reputation to protect. And deflowering a virgin is a treat not even I get every day.

I tenderly kiss away the tears that are hanging at your lashes and whisper sweet words into your ear while slowly, gently easing in and out of you, waiting for your body to relax and get used to me. You do feel good, dearest heart. Warm and oh-so-tight.

Eventually, you do relax. Your eyes flutter shut, and you head sinks deeper into the pillow. I slide out of you, despite your disappointed whimper. But the sound soon turns into the most delicious little moans as my lips caress the sensitive flesh of your neck. I am going to treat you now like I would have treated you from the very start had I known I was your first. And when I am done with you, you will have forgotten all about how I hurt you. When you tell your friends about our night together, you will tell them that Lucius Malfoy is the most considerate and at the same time most passionate lover there is. You will shiver at the sheer memory, just as you shiver now as I slowly make my way down towards your breasts, covering your flesh with small, tender kisses.

I massage your firm orbs through the delicate fabric of your bra and then unhurriedly peel the fabric away, giving each exposed inch of flesh a quick lick with the tip of my tongue. When the first nipple is freed, I enclose it with my mouth and start suckling at it as if it were the most delicate sweet Honeyduke’s has to offer. There is only one thing sweeter, and that is the sounds of pleasure coming from your slightly parted lips. I let my thumb and index finger replace my lips to tease your now awakened bud, while I take the other into my mouth, rubbing my tongue against it until I feel it harden and hear you whimper with pleasure.

Don’t fret, dearest heart. I have not forgotten about the rest of your body, even if I could spend hours at your succulent breasts. I kiss my way downwards over your belly, my hands tracing down your sides and your perfectly rounded hips. As I hook my fingers into the waistband of you knickers, I comment on your choice of colour, and you giggle. You haven’t chosen green for the holiday, you point out. Green is your House colour.

I should have known. Only a Slytherin would have had the cheek to ask me right outside the walls of Hogwarts if I were a better kisser than the boys inside. Only a Slytherin would have known that I, Slytherin myself, would want to prove it. Only a Slytherin would have dared to cup my balls through my robes while we shared a first kiss and then ask where I was spending the night. And only a Slytherin would have had the guts to follow me to the room Severus had provided me with down in the dungeons.

Severus. Oh, he will have my head when he finds out that I shagged one of his students. But then again, how would he find out? On second thought, maybe I should tell him myself, and ask him to send me an owl the next time he gives you detention, dearest heart. I would not mind occupying you for an hour or two.

Your scent is intoxicating: vanilla, nutmeg and a subtle note of musk. And I cannot resist taking a lap from your entrance all the way up to your clit. You taste like an exotic fruit. Sweet and ripe for the taking.

I hear your sharp intake of breath as I close my lips around your clit, and as I start suckling it gently, I have to place my hands onto your hips to keep you from bucking up against my face. I am the one in charge. I decide what you will get.

I slide one finger inside your tightness, then a second one, all the while suckling your clit. Your moans and whimpers are turning me on even more than your taste and scent, and I am now stroking myself with my free hand, imitating the rhythm with which I am stroking the coarse spot inside you.

Your muscles start tensing around my fingers, and I feel your clit pulsate against my tongue, the most erotic feeling of them all. Just thinking of it could drive me over the edge, but it is not my orgasm I am concerned with now. I want you to come for me now, and when you tell your friends about our encounter, I want you to remember it with every fibre of your body.

You scream my name as you peak. I knew you would. And I swiftly cover you with my body and thrust into you with a swift, fluid motion, burying myself up to the hilt inside you.

I have to bite my lip not to spill myself inside you right here and now. I knew you were hot and tight, but now your muscles are contracting around my cock, and the sensation is almost driving me insane. But I cannot lose control. Mustn’t. Not yet. I have my reputation to think about.

I am making sweet love to you, looking into your eyes, kissing you tenderly and whispering words of love into your ear. As a reward, I receive a smile, and the look in your eyes tells me that you have by now all but forgotten about the rough way I took your virginity. When you tell your friends, you will only tell them how I made love to you thinking solely of your needs.

My nimble fingers between our bodies play with your nub and soon you are thrashing around your head again, and I feel your muscles contract around me once more. And this time, I will not hold back. I mutter the spell that will keep you from conceiving and me from fathering a bastard child, and I thrust into you with short, quick movements, spurting my seed into you while your muscles milk me of the very last drop. Gods, what a feeling. I have not come that hard in ages.

I cover your face and neck with small kisses while caressing your breasts with my hands. I would love to just have a smoke and then roll over and sleep, but I cannot just send you away like a cheap little whore. I will have to treat you nicely so you won’t forget how considerate a lover I am. You will tell your friends, and you will follow me to my room again the next time I visit the castle. I know you will. Because after what I have just shown you, there is no way you will ever be satisfied with what your peers have to offer. You have experienced perfection, and you will never again settle for less.