100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,608
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,608
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Purple
Title: Purple
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: M/F, foot fetish.
Summary: Prompt #16 – Purple, only royalty could wear purple.
Word Count: 917 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Purple, my second favourite colour.
Number 16 – Purple
She ran the ball of her right foot along his bare side, from under his arm, down his ribs to his hip. Licking her lips, she smiled at him as he watched her through his long lashes. Blaise shifted his head against the arm of the settee, his braids falling over his right shoulder.
Hermione Granger lay facing him, her face flushed, a bead of sweat trailing from her throat to disappear into the valley of her creamy breasts. She was a vision of lusty flesh, her hair pulled back in a hasty knot so that wavy rivulets of caramel hair fell about her face. But it was her quirked lips that Blaise stared at, and the purple stain upon them, so dark that her skin seemed paler to the deep shade.
As Hermione’s toes moved to his thigh, over his sticky sac, he wondered if the colour purple had some sort of significance that he was missing…even her toenails were painted that royal shade…
Hermione adjusted her hips on the settee so that her knees were bended and her nimble purple toes could caress his burgeoning organ. When she added her left foot to cradle his cock in the arches of her dainty feet, he growled.
It was not enough that he was a bit sore from their play moments before, it was not enough that his well toned muscles in his waist and lower back ached, and it was not enough that he could smell her arousal wafting from between her open thighs…she was torturing him for some insane reason. As far as Blaise knew, he had been a very good boy.
Of course, to have Hermione Granger on his sitting room settee while his wife of ten years just asleep in her room a story above…well…it was sinful. Blaise’s young wife had her own lovers, which she took outside their home, but Blaise was the master of the house, and he could have Hermione Granger on the sitting room settee if he wanted.
Blaise grunted as Hermione began stroking his cock with the silky insoles of her feet, her hands moving to touch her wet folds, purple fingernails flicking over a hooded nubbin of flesh just between juicy, shaven labia.
Blaise glanced to the dress discarded on the wood parquet floor between the raging fireplace and the velvet green settee.
Again, purple. The word ‘purple’ had been first used in the English language in 975 CE…he thought to distract himself…
Hermione moaned as a sticky drop of pearly white liquid dribbled from the head of his dark cock to lubricate her feet. Simultaneous to her moan, or so it seemed to Blaise, Hermione’s purple-nailed fingers disappeared into her body, and the squelching sound of juices accompanied the motion.
He could not take it…not his wanton Hermione Granger, not her perfect, tiny, purple painted feet around his cock, and definitely not her purpled painted fingers thrusting inside her succulent pussy. And so, he rose, ignoring the pain in his back, and pounced upon her, falling gracefully into the notch of her hips.
He grabbed her hair, and wrenched her head back roughly to bite into her neck, sure to leave bruises that even well place glamours could not hide easily. Blaise Zabini did not like to be teased, albeit so affectionately with his mistress’ nimble feet. He sucked at her pulse point and marked her, his lean, dark body exhorting over her, crushing her into the green velvet.
Hermione groaned as he shifted his hips, the tip of his thick cock brushing against her folds. He relished the satisfaction of how she could not force her body to be impaled upon him…how her hips rocked to attempt to take him in. Her purple tipped fingers dug into the backs of his thick arms, struggling to regain some semblance of control, but to no avail. Blaise held her legs at the back of the knees, and his mouth moved to plunder her purple stained lips. When Hermione acquiesced to tangle her tongue with his, her arms falling to her breasts, Blaise pushed at the backs of her knees, spreading her wide, sliding her on the settee so that when he sank into her pussy, she screamed.
Blaise lifted his torso to gaze down at his mistress, and her tortured face, as he slipped deeper into her. He glanced down with emerald eyes to their joining…the way her inner labia stretched taut to accommodate his massive girth, the way the thin tendons of her inner thighs twitched…and visually tracing the line of her calf to her foot…how the purple painted toes curled.
Blaise grinned, his perfect pearl white teeth barred. Hermione’s pussy clenched as she gazed up at her lover. Blaise rarely removed his stoic mask, but when he did, it was sign to expect something deviously extreme.
“Purple…is…” he started, his deep voice reverberating through Hermione’s body, working its way down to her clit.
He thrust, his large hands pushing her knees down so they touched her shoulders. Hermione cried out, her arms pinned under her thighs, unable to touch Blaise, unable to hang onto him, and hang on to keeping herself from plunging into a sweet, ecstatic orgasm.
“…for royalty, my dove,” he hissed as he established a brutal, powerful cadence against the walls of her core and womb.
Blaise grunted as she came, juices staining the expensive settee and his groin. She was not royalty, but Blaise knew she was queen of his desire.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: M/F, foot fetish.
Summary: Prompt #16 – Purple, only royalty could wear purple.
Word Count: 917 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Purple, my second favourite colour.
Number 16 – Purple
She ran the ball of her right foot along his bare side, from under his arm, down his ribs to his hip. Licking her lips, she smiled at him as he watched her through his long lashes. Blaise shifted his head against the arm of the settee, his braids falling over his right shoulder.
Hermione Granger lay facing him, her face flushed, a bead of sweat trailing from her throat to disappear into the valley of her creamy breasts. She was a vision of lusty flesh, her hair pulled back in a hasty knot so that wavy rivulets of caramel hair fell about her face. But it was her quirked lips that Blaise stared at, and the purple stain upon them, so dark that her skin seemed paler to the deep shade.
As Hermione’s toes moved to his thigh, over his sticky sac, he wondered if the colour purple had some sort of significance that he was missing…even her toenails were painted that royal shade…
Hermione adjusted her hips on the settee so that her knees were bended and her nimble purple toes could caress his burgeoning organ. When she added her left foot to cradle his cock in the arches of her dainty feet, he growled.
It was not enough that he was a bit sore from their play moments before, it was not enough that his well toned muscles in his waist and lower back ached, and it was not enough that he could smell her arousal wafting from between her open thighs…she was torturing him for some insane reason. As far as Blaise knew, he had been a very good boy.
Of course, to have Hermione Granger on his sitting room settee while his wife of ten years just asleep in her room a story above…well…it was sinful. Blaise’s young wife had her own lovers, which she took outside their home, but Blaise was the master of the house, and he could have Hermione Granger on the sitting room settee if he wanted.
Blaise grunted as Hermione began stroking his cock with the silky insoles of her feet, her hands moving to touch her wet folds, purple fingernails flicking over a hooded nubbin of flesh just between juicy, shaven labia.
Blaise glanced to the dress discarded on the wood parquet floor between the raging fireplace and the velvet green settee.
Again, purple. The word ‘purple’ had been first used in the English language in 975 CE…he thought to distract himself…
Hermione moaned as a sticky drop of pearly white liquid dribbled from the head of his dark cock to lubricate her feet. Simultaneous to her moan, or so it seemed to Blaise, Hermione’s purple-nailed fingers disappeared into her body, and the squelching sound of juices accompanied the motion.
He could not take it…not his wanton Hermione Granger, not her perfect, tiny, purple painted feet around his cock, and definitely not her purpled painted fingers thrusting inside her succulent pussy. And so, he rose, ignoring the pain in his back, and pounced upon her, falling gracefully into the notch of her hips.
He grabbed her hair, and wrenched her head back roughly to bite into her neck, sure to leave bruises that even well place glamours could not hide easily. Blaise Zabini did not like to be teased, albeit so affectionately with his mistress’ nimble feet. He sucked at her pulse point and marked her, his lean, dark body exhorting over her, crushing her into the green velvet.
Hermione groaned as he shifted his hips, the tip of his thick cock brushing against her folds. He relished the satisfaction of how she could not force her body to be impaled upon him…how her hips rocked to attempt to take him in. Her purple tipped fingers dug into the backs of his thick arms, struggling to regain some semblance of control, but to no avail. Blaise held her legs at the back of the knees, and his mouth moved to plunder her purple stained lips. When Hermione acquiesced to tangle her tongue with his, her arms falling to her breasts, Blaise pushed at the backs of her knees, spreading her wide, sliding her on the settee so that when he sank into her pussy, she screamed.
Blaise lifted his torso to gaze down at his mistress, and her tortured face, as he slipped deeper into her. He glanced down with emerald eyes to their joining…the way her inner labia stretched taut to accommodate his massive girth, the way the thin tendons of her inner thighs twitched…and visually tracing the line of her calf to her foot…how the purple painted toes curled.
Blaise grinned, his perfect pearl white teeth barred. Hermione’s pussy clenched as she gazed up at her lover. Blaise rarely removed his stoic mask, but when he did, it was sign to expect something deviously extreme.
“Purple…is…” he started, his deep voice reverberating through Hermione’s body, working its way down to her clit.
He thrust, his large hands pushing her knees down so they touched her shoulders. Hermione cried out, her arms pinned under her thighs, unable to touch Blaise, unable to hang onto him, and hang on to keeping herself from plunging into a sweet, ecstatic orgasm.
“…for royalty, my dove,” he hissed as he established a brutal, powerful cadence against the walls of her core and womb.
Blaise grunted as she came, juices staining the expensive settee and his groin. She was not royalty, but Blaise knew she was queen of his desire.