TomCats

Inspired by Utopia's Cocktail Challenge, this chapter didn't quite meet those requirements, I think, but the inspiration came from there, so credit where credit is due.

I hope y'all enjoy. Bottoms up!

Pitt

~*~ Straight Tequila Nights ~*~

Once more, dusk settles over Diagon Alley and I Apparate to the hidden point just outside Marvolous’. With a bored sigh, I push open the employees’ entrance door and assume my most menacing stride. My fingertips brush the brass rail as I stroll into my familiar domain. Bellatrix sits, as usual, at the end of the bar, her gleaming French white manicure tapping maniacally against the lacquered wood finish. I quite like the juxtaposition of pure white against deep dark wood.

“Good evening, sir.” She smiles up at me with absolute deference. Perfection! Finally.

“Good evening, Bellatrix.” I answer her with a regal nod of my head as I ease past her toward my office. “Anything I should know?” I demand as I slip off my gloves.

“No, sir, all is well, and the TomCats are straggling in.”

The witch resumes her compulsive tapping on the bar surface. I flow past her to my office. I step into the darkened interior of my safe haven, lulled into security by the predictability of my every day routine. Brandy, as always, would be perfect. Safely resting my cane against the table, I pull each finger of my gloves free, relishing the delicious slide of butter-soft leather against my skin. With studied care, I lay them on the table and proceed to free each gleaming silver clasp on my robe. Pouring a generous amount, I settle behind the overly large mahogany desk to peruse the daily mail. Bloody end of the month paperwork, tedious, dull, and necessary, prevents me from returning to the floor as quickly as I prefer. As the clock chimes again, I finish my drink and prepare for another evening’s entertainment.

When I finally don my mask and slip unnoticed into the main part of the club, I immediately see my delightful Mudblood daughter in law leaning precariously in a stool at the bar. Stealthily, I make my way to the service bay and motion my serving cat over. Instantly, he springs to life and pads over to me. So much better, not a single hint of insolence.

“The bushy-haired one?” I query softly as he turns surreptitiously to single out the patron I indicated.

“Yes?” he nods his recognition as he polishes a perfectly clean glass simply for effect -- so much improvement in this staff, and all in just one year, truly remarkable what a hint of fear can accomplish.

“What is she drinking?” I watch as she sloppily attempts to drink yet another shot of crystal clear liquid.

“Straight tequila, sir,” he informs me gravely. “She seems upset.”

“Upset, indeed.” I study her carefully. She appears to be completely unaware of her surroundings, focusing, or barely focusing on the now empty shot glass in front of her. I have been forced to share my roof with this disturbing little Mudblood know-it-all for nigh on a year and not once, not even once, has she ever shown even the slightest tinge of impropriety, nor has she ever looked at me for more than was politely necessary. And now, here she is, sitting in my nightclub, at my bar, amongst naked dancing men, drinking damned straight tequila, and nearly falling off her stool. Here she is an invader once more in my sacrosanct oasis amongst the new order. Suddenly, memories of her hen night, and the pleasure I took in violating the Mudblood bride before my bridegroom son, swim back to my consciousness. Involuntarily, I shiver in sheer delight -- the taboo of my actions that night adding to my pleasure. Oh, to dip into that well again. I watch her more closely as she beckons the barkeep back to refill her glass. She’s wearing the same clothes she wore when she left the Manor for work this morning. And, she’s alone. There must be trouble in paradise and now that Mudblood has invaded mine. She orders more tequila quite belligerently. The barkeep glances at me, allowing only me to see his annoyance. I wave a dismissive hand at him. Allow her this moment. Serve her as much as she will drink. All the better for my rapidly growing plan. Sweet Selene, I have not toyed with anyone for such a long time. Do I dare?

She drops the shot glass on the bar. I can almost hear the thump over the pulsing bass of the music. She whips her head up, looking for the barkeep. I ease deeper into the shadow, only wanting to observe for now. The plan forms more solidly in my thoughts. I return to my office and change into my every day clothes. When I return to the service area, I watch as the Mudblood drinks a few more shots in quick succession then quite unsteadily stands, staggering drunkenly towards the main exit.

With a satisfied sneer, I slip through the employee entrance to wait in the protection of the shadowed alley. Smiling, I gauge her wobbly approach. My reflexes, although too long unused, serve me well, and I reach out, clamping my gloved hand over her mouth and pinning her arms to her sides. Spinning neatly in place, I Apparate directly to my private dungeon in the bowels of Malfoy Manor.

I know full well her thoughts must be reeling as she sags against me. I release her mouth. She screams – such a satisfying sound scathing my auditory senses. My cock twitches slightly as I pin her to me with one arm and remove my belt from its safety in the pocket of my robes. I bend her over, clutching both wrists together and she tries valiantly to struggle, still screaming her protests – protests that echo engagingly off the cold stone walls. Louder, witch, louder, I silently plead. I pull the loop of leather tight around her thin wrists, binding her, then, more swiftly than I thought my aging muscles would allow, I rip the loosened tie from my neck and blindfold her. What is it that those Muggles were saying? Ah, yes, like riding a bike, I still remember how to manage a recalcitrant captive.

“You BASTARD!” she bellows in rage, words slightly slurred. “Do you know who I am?”

Her demanding outrage amuses me. Of course, I know who you are, Mrs. Malfoy. I smile, unseen by her, and grab a handful of her hair, yanking it sharply to tilt her head so I may peer down into her red-splotched face. Clearing my throat, I pitch my voice deeper and whisper to her.

“Straight tequila, Mrs. Malfoy? And in such quantities – tsk, tsk, dear. You’ll be lucky to remember leaving the Club in the morning.”

The little hellcat kicked me in the shin, hard. Damn! Her mouth kicked into gear, berating me, threatening me with my, MY, own family’s retribution.

“If you’re not going to scream so prettily for me again, I do not want to listen to this tripe,” I hissed, reaching for the leather gag on the table next to me. Roughly, I force it between her teeth and buckle it more tightly than necessary.

I threw the Mudblood away from me. She fell heavily to her knees, struggling to keep from toppling to her face. She presented so a lovely picture: hands bound behind her back; hair falling around her face; the tight gag cutting a ridge in her riot of curls – a ridge in exacting parallel to the dark silk of my tie/blindfold. As she regained her balance, she raised her head defiantly even though she was unable to see anything in her surroundings. My, my, the tequila seems to have worn off quickly. She is breathing heavily, obviously trying to listen for me to make some noise to pinpoint my location. Pity, with her heart pounding in her ears and my skill in stealth, she will never know from which direction I will attack.

She lost one shoe in the struggle, and she is kneeling on her skirt, pulling the front of the prim navy dress down to reveal more of her breasts than my normally staid daughter in law would dare consider showing -- a beautiful view from my height. I can even see the delicate platinum chain that holds the snake charm Draco gave to her for Christmas. It rests between her breasts, just above the band of her navy bra. Still, this picture is not enough for my tastes. I brandish my wand, “Evanesco,” and her clothing disappears. My view is much improved. I watch her shiver, on her knees. I can almost taste her fear, tangible in the damp, cool air.

Circling around her, I stare at her back, her long hair falling over her shoulders, between her arms, the cross of her wrists in my bindings. “Beautiful,” I hiss. “On your knees, trapped, helpless and naked – everything you should be.” The Mudblood draws a shuddering breath at my words. I take a deep breath as well, leaning closer to run my fingers through her hair. Another scent wafts towards me in the dankness of my long-neglected dungeon: arousal, and not mine. Great Circe, could she be?

“I am going to make you scream around that gag,” I threaten her experimentally. I have to stifle my own gleeful gasp as she shivers again, gooseflesh rising along her arms and the scent grows stronger.

“You would like that wouldn’t, you?” I demand as I pull her hair back harshly, forcing her head back, her pale neck to arch. Of course, she cannot possibly answer me. She swallows hard at my words and her nipples harden further. I have abstained from play for far too long. This, this, Mudblood stirs yearnings deep in my darkened soul that I have so long sought to deny. I release her hair and step in front of her. She holds her position, neck arched, breasts thrust forward, straining. I look down at my own hands, still gloved with kid-soft leather.

“CRACK!” the sound of my hand in sharp contact with her face rings and echoes off the stones. Her head jerks, then returns to position, a red handprint glowing to life on her cheek. I step back to observe. I see the muscles in her thighs quiver with the strain. Then, my reward: a single teardrop escapes from under the blindfold and rolls across her cheek, near her ear and drips to the floor, lost forever. Quickly, I step in, and lick that teardrop’s path from her jaw to the edge of silk. Sweet nectar of the gods! I am lost.

One hand in her hair, I use the other to pinch the side of her breast, raising another red mark. She moans around the gag then bites into it, hard. My desire has grown uncomfortable. I want nothing more than to yank her to her feet and slam her against the wall to fuck her senseless. There is nothing here to stop me, except, me. Dare I?

I lift her up and shove her in the direction of the table. She stumbles blindly into it, the impact forcing the air from her body. I press her head down into the hard wood. I kick her feet wide and hold her down with one hand on her neck. My urges are becoming more insistent. Oh, too quickly I yield. The same whispered spell and I am gloriously naked. She flinches when she feels my bare skin against hers. Perfection. I pull her further off the table, dragging her breasts against the grain of the wood. She hisses around the gag. I bite on my own moan at the sound. Dipping my fingers between her legs, I am fully rewarded at the oozing dampness there. She is – glorious goddesses, she wants this, Mistress Malfoy, indeed.

Violently, I shove inside her, forcing my length into that clenching heat and nearly spilling over the edge like some firstie. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood and the urgency passes. More tears leak from her eyes. The magnificence of the moment nearly brings tears to my own eyes. She is struggling under me, her fingers clenching and unclenching in desperation. She clenches her vaginal muscles in an undulating sleeve, silently demanding. Very well, then, Mistress Malfoy, I accede this time. Now, that I know what you are, there will be tequila available at all times in the Manor. I withdraw slowly then ram home once more. Tequila and a few memory potions, perhaps I will even invest in some new toys. She is whimpering now. I increase the tempo, reveling in knowing that each of my brutal thrusts drives her unpadded hipbones into the unrelenting edge of the table. She screams around the gag, an unsatisfying sound. I tear the buckle loose to allow her music to wash over me.

“YES!” she screeches as I twist my hips, driving down against the front of her womb. I am lost in the game. My mind blissfully closes off to everything save the blurred motion of my own body and the ecstasy produced therein. I feel her body go limp under mine as she spasms violently around my shaft, clenching at me, sucking me further inside her web. I reach under her to pinch her clitoris, hard. Her entire body returns to taut attention so that I may continue my assault. And, what a superb assault I allow myself. She screams again. My eyes involuntarily roll back in my head as I explode and her body surrenders once more.

“Yes,” I whisper my agreement.

~*~

Later, I sneer as the early morning light casts a warm glow over me, washing me with an unusually peaceful feeling.

“I do hope you indulge in straight tequila nights more often, Mudblood,” I growl with menace. “And just in case straight tequila isn’t strong enough – Obliviate.” I hiss vehemently, pointing my wand at my daughter in law’s quite wonderfully mussed head. With a quick glance at my sleeping son, I turn and tiptoe quickly to the door, which snicks shut quietly behind me as I make my graceful exit.


~*~

As soon as the door closed completely, Draco rolled over, pulling his wife close to him, whispering, “You were brilliant,” Draco purred at his wife in the early morning light.

A completely non-stunned, non-obliviated Hermione opened her fluttering eyelids to stare up at the love of her life, “Oh yes, it was brilliant,” she breathed tiredly, satisfaction shining in her eyes. “Do you really think he might actually …” her voice trailed off as her husband pressed against her insistently, his member throbbing against her sore muscled thigh.

“Yes, love, I do,” he whispered before kissing her deeply, possessiveness and promise glowing in his slate grey eyes. “And, we’ll find out soon,” he vowed as he nuzzled her neck.

“Ah, another straight tequila night,” Hermione groaned tiredly as she arched her back into her husband’s persistent prodding.

“Two Fingers, two Malfoy men next time, love,” Draco promised solemnly.

“We get to surprise him next, right?” she asked as he stroked her breast gently.

“Indeed, and I will make sure to wear that matching g-string.” Draco smiled as he watched his wife’s face light up with glee.


~*~
Don’t ask her on a straight tequila night. She’ll start thinkin’ about him and then she’s ready to fight. – Straight Tequila Night by John Anderson.