Licking the Salt from the Biscuit of Life - FIC: The Filthy Half-Blood (NC-17)

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August 3rd, 2007


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11:43 pm - FIC: The Filthy Half-Blood (NC-17)
Title: The Filthy Half-Blood
Pairing: Lupin/Narcissa, implied Severus/Narcissa, Lucius/Narcissa, Lupin/Snape
Kink: non-con, bondage
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1000ish
Summary: Narcissa wants some dirty sex, and she wants to leave evidence.

Originally written for pervy_werewolf for their Christmas Kink 2006, for snegurochka_lee



He was a half-blood, he was a traitor, and he was bound naked across her bed. His arms and legs were stretched so tightly she could almost hear the tendons creak.

She’d made sure that he was tied up and gagged tightly - but not blindfolded. Oh no. That wouldn’t have suited her purposes at all.

Narcissa unbuttoned her silk robe and slipped it past her finely turned shoulders, revealing two elegant breasts enclosed in ivory lace. Her silk robe dropped, brushing against her back, her buttocks, her thighs.

It really was beyond thrilling. She was about to take that dirty, lowlife, mudblood cock inside her and slam down onto it, again and again. That the cock also belonged to a werewolf, a beast, was only icing on the cake. Narcissa shivered all the way down her spine at the very thought of it. The low throb that had been simmering between her legs for the last few hours intensified even further and twisted into a brief, delicious convulsion.

Mounting herself over the prisoner’s bony hip, she reached down to her crotch to push aside the thin lacy fabric of her knickers. The material there was even wetter than she’d realised, her lips even more engorged, all just from fantasising about what she was going to do with this dirty half-blood.

Lupin had been straining helplessly against his bonds, but as soon as he felt the first touch of her smooth ivory thighs he froze rigid. His breath started to huff out of his nostrils in sharp, short bursts.

Narcissa reached out and grabbed his filthy, mudblood cock. It was erect and perfect, a suffocatingly tight golden ring glinting around the base. Her loyal assistant had prepared the subject really astonishingly well - but then, she’d never known him to fail her. All she had to do was turn on the tears, and then – anything she wanted - even sexually preparing captured spies, apparently.

She lowered herself just enough so she could rub her juiciness along the length held between her fingers - forward, then back, then forwards again. Narcissa moaned. Pale hair tumbled as she threw her head forward, sighing into the pleasure.

Enough preparation - she wanted it now. She wanted this artificially constrained erection to thrust inside her, where all was wet and aching and desperate. And she wanted for the moment of her glorious desecration to be recorded for all posterity.

“Severus?” she whispered, her voice breathy and low. Narcissa’s dark-clad assistant stepped forward from a corner of the room, a strange silver apparatus in his hands. “Are you ready?” The wizard nodded abruptly.

Narcissa exhaled a sigh; long, deep and heartfelt. She drew herself higher, lining up the head of the cock with the entrance to her body. Her thighs began to tremble with pure need.

“Now, Severus!” she panted. “Do it now!”

A faint crackling indicated that the Wizarding camera had started.

Narcissa bore down on the erection with gusto.

*******


Although Lucius Malfoy’s hands were full of the photographs, he wasn’t exactly looking at them. His eyes were focusing on something invisible; something far away.

“Letting yourself be captured!” hissed Narcissa in a fierce undertone. She tucked her dove-grey skirts underneath her on the seat; the prison floors were none too clean. “Abandoning me! Our names smeared all over the papers! Well, have your soul sucked tomorrow and see if I care. I’ve found a new lover. A werewolf. A half-blood.”

A tiny spark of pain ignited at the back of her husband’s eyes. Narcissa saw with delight that she had scored a point, and continued, her voice sugared with malice. “In fact, we’re already planning on having children together. Half-blood children. I probably won’t have any more time for your son if I have a new, half-blood baby to look after.”

Lucius gave a roar of anguish. He threw himself at his wife but was checked by the short, heavy chains shackling him to the ground, and crashed back down with a deafening clatter of metal against stone.

The photographs fluttered into the air. In them, from a dozen different angles, the beautiful Narcissa Malfoy was enthusiastically humping the cock of a spread-eagled, bound and gagged man. He was twisting his face to the side as far as possible, trying to escape what was happening to him, his eyes wide, his face animated by desperation.

*******


Severus waited for Narcissa outside the prison. He had polyjuiced himself as a blonde witch in an attempt to throw off any Aurors.

“Any word on Avery?” she asked.

“Dead. Avada Kedavra.” His tone was brusque.

Her delicate brow creased. “I still can’t believe Avery helped the prisoner escape. It makes no sense. Why would he do it?”

“Only the Dark Lord knows now.”

She sighed. “What a pity. I had such plans for that half-blood. I’d only just got started, really.”

Severus turned his polyjuiced eyes away from Narcissa. “Such a pity,” he agreed.

Severus fell silent. The photograph he was carrying under his robes felt hot and heavy, as if it were about to burst into screaming, visible flames. It wasn’t much, just a snapshot of Lupin’s face, with a brief, pained smile - a smile just for him - and the flicker of his own hand as he started to apply the leather gag.

He knew he was being a flobber-headed, idiotic, suicidal fool, taking such risks for no good reason. He’d destroy the photograph tonight. He would.

A small, sly hand had inveigled its way into Severus’. He jumped, startled.

“I’m so glad I’ll always have you, Severus.” Narcissa turned her sweet, smiling face up towards him. “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

She closed her eyes and offered up her mouth. Severus hesitated, then bent to kiss her in reply.

The two elegant blonde witches walked hand in hand all the way back to the Dark Lord. At every step, their skirts brushed against each other, like two silken birds in a teasing slipstream dance.

(Indulge your wild theories here)

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