100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,644
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,644
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.
Fire
Title: Fire
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: Oral, M/F
Summary: #52 – Fire. Playing with fire always results in...
Word Count: 1,111 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by liz_marier. FEH compatible.
Prompt 52 – Fire
“Kneel.”
Hermione complied, her hands steadying herself as she could not see for the blindfold around her head. She could feel the rug under her bare knees and the blaze of the fire against her back. Besides those two things, Hermione would not have been sure she was in the groom’s quarters on the Malfoy lands.
“Back straight, chin up, that’s a good girl.”
His voice was soft and smooth, but every word trickled over her skin like liquid fire.
They were playing a game, or so he said. Draco Malfoy had stripped her bare, blindfolded her, and told her that she was going to learn to appreciate how she made him feel. With the blindfold, she could not see his strange, mismatched eyes, or his long platinum hair, but she could imagine that the fire was the only light those eyes reflected.
“Touch me.”
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but remembered that Draco had expressly suggested she did not. It was part of the game, he said. She had felt him circling her slowly, and when he stopped, she was not sure where to reach. Reach, she did, her arms covered in goose pimples, only the fire keeping her bare skin warm. She reached before her only to find air. And then to her right, again, no Draco. It was at her left that her fingers found him.
She felt his thigh, bare and warm in the fire at her left. Her fingers felt the course hairs of his leg, moving down to his knee.
“No. Higher,” he growled.
Hermione licked her lips as her other hand found his other thigh, and slowly her fingers inched up the fronts of his legs. When he had put the blindfold on, he had been clothed, but as she knelt before him, her fingers memorizing the contours of his thighs, she knew that she would have to swallow her hesitation.
This was a game, and his harsh tones were part of that game, weren’t they?
His cock was only partially erect when her fingers found it, but at her fiery touch, she felt it twitch in her hands, blood pumping into the organ making it hot between her fingers.
“This is where the game begins, my dear…” he growled, “Taste it.”
Hermione took a deep breath, rising up on her knees. She had taken him before in such a manner, not often, but she knew what he liked. Draco had always been the one who would taste her, relishing her taste rather than have her suck him off for the mere sight of her lips around his cock—or so he claimed. However, as Hermione moved, her hands braced against his hips, she swallowed his hardening cock, sucking sharply as she withdrew, plunging toward his pelvis again, her nose tickled by the curls wreathing his organ. He was not fully erect yet, and he had not touched her. This fact annoyed her.
Hermione continued, hoping to hear a sigh, just like the one he usually made when they were in bed—but he did not make a sound. As far as she knew, he was standing like a statue before her, not even looking at her. No matter how hard he got, she was not getting any other response. Even when she grasped his sac roughly, her fingers wrapping about the base—nothing.
She did not like this game, and Hermione felt fire rise up from her belly to consume her. She had felt that internal flame, knowing that his eyes had studied her body with appreciation before he had her kneel on the rug. She had felt his love, his passion then, why could not she feel it now?
And so, in either a manner that Hermione knew would shock or anger Draco, she pulled away, his cock popping from her mouth. With the speed of a cat on the pounce, she was on her feet, and with a move that she knew would achieve her desired effect, Hermione was sitting on Draco Malfoy’s face.
He had protested, cursed, but when his back slammed into the rug, his eyes fixed upon the damp, pink flesh of Hermione’s centre, he said no more. Instead, it was Hermione who spoke, her hand stroking Draco’s organ in the firelight. The blindfold was gone, and her hair tumbled about her back and shoulders, the tips brushing Draco’s ribs.
“I don’t like games, Draco. I do not like being teased. If you want to show me how to pleasure you…you are going to have to learn how to pleasure me,” she sang, swaying her hips over his face.
With a particularly rough and intentional tug on his cock, Hermione glanced back to see Draco mouth another curse, his hands lifting to grasp her hips. With another tug, this time on his sac, Draco moaned into her centre.
Hermione tried hard not to make a sound as his tongue laved her flesh, never having much resistance to his exquisite tongue torturing her flesh. However, as she leaned forward, prying her hips away from his face, Hermione licked the length of his organ, eliciting a hiss.
Hermione did not want to play, she did not want to tease, and she was tried of games. She wanted Draco Malfoy. If he was unsatisfied with the way she felt, he would have to find himself another woman—another wife.
She moved over him, twisting, turning, until she knelt just over his cock, the tip barely lodged inside her.
“No more games, Mr. Malfoy,” she hissed as Draco’s hands on her hips tried to force her down against him.
Draco’s face was flushed, his usually perfect platinum hair mussed, and the stubble on is sharp chin glistened with her juices.
“No more silly rules.”
She let her body slip downward slightly. Draco’s eyes burned into her face, a scowl on his lips. The frustration was clear and as he tried to thrust up into her body, Hermione slapped her palms painfully into his chest causing him to exhale sharply.
Leaning forward, Hermione’s eyes burned back into his.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”
Hermione lifted her hips so the tip of his cock was barely inside.
Draco gritted his teeth. “Tell me what?”
Hermione’s core rippled at the sound of his anger.
“If you play with fire…” she began, pulling back to straighten her back and lift her chin. “…you always get burned.”
The sound ripped from his throat was one that delighted Hermione Malfoy as she slammed her hips down against his, riding him in the firelight.
Her husband had so much to learn when it came to pleasuring her.
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: Oral, M/F
Summary: #52 – Fire. Playing with fire always results in...
Word Count: 1,111 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by liz_marier. FEH compatible.
Prompt 52 – Fire
“Kneel.”
Hermione complied, her hands steadying herself as she could not see for the blindfold around her head. She could feel the rug under her bare knees and the blaze of the fire against her back. Besides those two things, Hermione would not have been sure she was in the groom’s quarters on the Malfoy lands.
“Back straight, chin up, that’s a good girl.”
His voice was soft and smooth, but every word trickled over her skin like liquid fire.
They were playing a game, or so he said. Draco Malfoy had stripped her bare, blindfolded her, and told her that she was going to learn to appreciate how she made him feel. With the blindfold, she could not see his strange, mismatched eyes, or his long platinum hair, but she could imagine that the fire was the only light those eyes reflected.
“Touch me.”
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but remembered that Draco had expressly suggested she did not. It was part of the game, he said. She had felt him circling her slowly, and when he stopped, she was not sure where to reach. Reach, she did, her arms covered in goose pimples, only the fire keeping her bare skin warm. She reached before her only to find air. And then to her right, again, no Draco. It was at her left that her fingers found him.
She felt his thigh, bare and warm in the fire at her left. Her fingers felt the course hairs of his leg, moving down to his knee.
“No. Higher,” he growled.
Hermione licked her lips as her other hand found his other thigh, and slowly her fingers inched up the fronts of his legs. When he had put the blindfold on, he had been clothed, but as she knelt before him, her fingers memorizing the contours of his thighs, she knew that she would have to swallow her hesitation.
This was a game, and his harsh tones were part of that game, weren’t they?
His cock was only partially erect when her fingers found it, but at her fiery touch, she felt it twitch in her hands, blood pumping into the organ making it hot between her fingers.
“This is where the game begins, my dear…” he growled, “Taste it.”
Hermione took a deep breath, rising up on her knees. She had taken him before in such a manner, not often, but she knew what he liked. Draco had always been the one who would taste her, relishing her taste rather than have her suck him off for the mere sight of her lips around his cock—or so he claimed. However, as Hermione moved, her hands braced against his hips, she swallowed his hardening cock, sucking sharply as she withdrew, plunging toward his pelvis again, her nose tickled by the curls wreathing his organ. He was not fully erect yet, and he had not touched her. This fact annoyed her.
Hermione continued, hoping to hear a sigh, just like the one he usually made when they were in bed—but he did not make a sound. As far as she knew, he was standing like a statue before her, not even looking at her. No matter how hard he got, she was not getting any other response. Even when she grasped his sac roughly, her fingers wrapping about the base—nothing.
She did not like this game, and Hermione felt fire rise up from her belly to consume her. She had felt that internal flame, knowing that his eyes had studied her body with appreciation before he had her kneel on the rug. She had felt his love, his passion then, why could not she feel it now?
And so, in either a manner that Hermione knew would shock or anger Draco, she pulled away, his cock popping from her mouth. With the speed of a cat on the pounce, she was on her feet, and with a move that she knew would achieve her desired effect, Hermione was sitting on Draco Malfoy’s face.
He had protested, cursed, but when his back slammed into the rug, his eyes fixed upon the damp, pink flesh of Hermione’s centre, he said no more. Instead, it was Hermione who spoke, her hand stroking Draco’s organ in the firelight. The blindfold was gone, and her hair tumbled about her back and shoulders, the tips brushing Draco’s ribs.
“I don’t like games, Draco. I do not like being teased. If you want to show me how to pleasure you…you are going to have to learn how to pleasure me,” she sang, swaying her hips over his face.
With a particularly rough and intentional tug on his cock, Hermione glanced back to see Draco mouth another curse, his hands lifting to grasp her hips. With another tug, this time on his sac, Draco moaned into her centre.
Hermione tried hard not to make a sound as his tongue laved her flesh, never having much resistance to his exquisite tongue torturing her flesh. However, as she leaned forward, prying her hips away from his face, Hermione licked the length of his organ, eliciting a hiss.
Hermione did not want to play, she did not want to tease, and she was tried of games. She wanted Draco Malfoy. If he was unsatisfied with the way she felt, he would have to find himself another woman—another wife.
She moved over him, twisting, turning, until she knelt just over his cock, the tip barely lodged inside her.
“No more games, Mr. Malfoy,” she hissed as Draco’s hands on her hips tried to force her down against him.
Draco’s face was flushed, his usually perfect platinum hair mussed, and the stubble on is sharp chin glistened with her juices.
“No more silly rules.”
She let her body slip downward slightly. Draco’s eyes burned into her face, a scowl on his lips. The frustration was clear and as he tried to thrust up into her body, Hermione slapped her palms painfully into his chest causing him to exhale sharply.
Leaning forward, Hermione’s eyes burned back into his.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”
Hermione lifted her hips so the tip of his cock was barely inside.
Draco gritted his teeth. “Tell me what?”
Hermione’s core rippled at the sound of his anger.
“If you play with fire…” she began, pulling back to straighten her back and lift her chin. “…you always get burned.”
The sound ripped from his throat was one that delighted Hermione Malfoy as she slammed her hips down against his, riding him in the firelight.
Her husband had so much to learn when it came to pleasuring her.