(Harry Potter) – Ron Blackmailed to fuck

She looked at him from the green satin armchair next to the window. His handsome body was hit by the faintest rays of the moonlight, but she didn’t need her eyes to see him through the dark. She knew where his muscles and his bones were; she knew where he liked to be touched when they had sex; she knew what made him moan. Above all she knew what made him come, spilling his hot seed inside of her.

What Pansy Parkinson didn’t know was how to moan and come herself. She’d had sex with Draco Malfoy for too long to be turned on by his rude and rough hands which touched her body without much grace, claiming every inch of her flesh as if it was his property. She screamed, oh yes, she screamed a lot; but never from pleasure. Sometimes, when he bit her bony hips a bit too eagerly, her eyes had filled with tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks and ruin her perfect make up. Like that first time he had taken her. Like that moment that he had taken her virginity.

The blond Slytherin wasn’t gentle; taking her wherever he wanted and whenever he felt like it. An empty classroom, the Slytherin common room, the dungeons, the corridors, the Room of Requirement. Every place was perfect if the wicked boy wanted to get some sex, and every moment was simply perfect to him, even if she had to go to class or if she had her period. She felt she couldn’t complain about anything, like her body seemed to be made only for giving him pleasure.

Pansy shivered and looked out of the window, to the starry night sky. At the beginning it hadn’t been like that, had it? She couldn’t remember. She was so used to having a possessive and rude Draco at her side that she couldn’t recall if he had ever been gentle to her. How had he stolen her heart? He was rich and handsome, and so she didn’t need much to fall for him. She thought that love was not important, she thought that all she needed was to be touched by him, to feel his hands and his lips on her naked body, to be filled by him.

She was wrong. Oh! How badly she was wrong! Now she wanted all the kisses and hugs and caresses that she thought she didn’t need. She felt like she could die if Draco turned on his back another time after they had sex, panting and smiling and obstinately looking away. It was as if he didn’t care that her beautiful, petite body was next to him between his wet sheets. As if he became numb all of a sudden to her graces, and all he wanted was to sleep, and snore, and never turn to smile at her.

Why did she care so much? Pansy didn’t know. She had been raised in a family where the only love was that for power and richness, where her father and her mother never even looked at each other. Where they had taught her to stay close to Draco Malfoy to please him and share everything with him; just to link their two families together one day. Maybe she was sick of all that. Maybe she just needed to be treated like the girl she was and not like a piece of meat.

She glared furiously at the sleeping figure of Draco, and for a moment the thought of pushing him out of bed and hexing him crossed her mind, causing a mischievous smirk to appear on her face. But she was in his dorm, it would have got her in trouble if she did anything different than what she was supposed to do: walking out of the male dorm silently, glancing at the sleeping figures of Nott, Goyle and Zabini laying on the couches of the Common Room and finally entering her dorm just to sleep in her cold sheets, between the beds of Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.

No. She couldn’t go to sleep. Not at that time, not with all the rage she had in her. She needed to grab something and throw it miles away, to scream and swear about Draco Malfoy. That little spoiled brat, Malfoy , she thought bitterly.

She picked up her dressing gown and wrapped the silky material around her bony hips, tying it loosely around her waist. She crossed the dorm with quick and silent steps, not even turning to glance one last time at the boy who was the cause of her grief. Pansy walked down the stairs with a flutter of her dressing gown, her chin up in the air as she walked past the Portrait Hole. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. Even if Filch caught her wandering in the corridors at that hour of the night, she wouldn’t have cared much. Her head was filled with anger and her eyes were filled with bitter tears, that she couldn’t let fall down.

Pansy shivered in the cold night air. The dungeons were frozen, and the fact that they were dug right under the lake didn’t help the temperature at all. For a moment she missed the warm blankets on Draco’s bed; hot and wet with their sweat and bodily fluids. She shook her head forcefully, as if to send the thought away. She was mad at Draco, she wanted to never talk to him again. Or until the next morning at least.

The floor was iced. She bit her bottom lip, and for a moment cursed the fact that she hadn’t worn anything on her feet. Her pedicured toes were turning blue from the cold and she wondered if she could have lost them, for they were hard and they hurt her every time she took a step. But she didn’t even think about turning back, yet. “Hate you, Draco Malfoy,” she hissed into the darkness of the castle.

Then, as if someone had been listening, a noise answered her. She stopped, standing still, petrified and frozen from the fear and from the cold. There was someone close to her. Someone that made a soft and rhythmic noise, someone that grunted and moaned. Pansy’s heart started to increase its pace. She grabbed her wand in her pocket, the temptation of pulling it out and lighting the place where she was standing almost overcame her, and then she noticed it. A thin and delicate light was coming from a half closed door, the beaming light hitting a portrait whose owner was complaining loudly to nobody at all.

“Every night, almost every night,” an old wizard with a pointy hat was murmuring. When Pansy passed next to him, he looked at her and raised his voice a little. “Tell them at least to close that damn door. People here want to sleep.”

Pansy glanced at him, then she turned her head curiously towards the door. It was a classroom, one of the classrooms that she’d had some lessons in, in her first, or something like that, not a place that she could recall to be anything in particular. She peered through the doorway, holding her breath as if she was afraid that someone might have heard her soft respire.

The classroom was nothing different from the other hundreds of classes there were in the school. Desks and chairs crowded the room, and a black board was hung on the wall. What there was in that place that didn’t fit the surroundings was candles. Floating, lit candles that were standing in midair, and gave a soft, warm orange appearance to the classroom. They seemed to fly without a goal, but they gave the impression that they preferred a certain place of the class, close to the right wall. As Pansy pulled the door open a bit more, she understood why they were floating in that place. She understood, and her heart started to beat furiously in her chest.

Some of the desks had been moved together to form a bigger surface. On those tables two people were enjoying themselves as if they had an excess of hormones mixed up with endless horniness. To Pansy’s great surprise those two people were the ones that she had thought would reach their marriages as pure as their mothers had done, for they were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

Pansy’s first impulse was to walk into the classroom or at least go and get someone to show that person the passion that two of the prefects were consuming in a classroom in the middle of the night. A smirk appeared on her face, and for a moment she forgot everything, from Draco Malfoy, to the fact that she was cold, to the fact that she angry. The two of them would have been a lovely way to vent her feelings.

She stepped back, her brain thinking hard about who she might want to call in a moment like this; she was going to damage the perfect Hermione Granger and her lover. She had to call someone important. McGonagall will do , she thought.

But when Hermione Granger let out a hushed cry, and Ron Weasley grunted with her, Pansy, against her will, found herself stuck back to the door. Her eyes were following the scene that was going in front of her, her nipples pressed against the door through her nightgown, her inner folds becoming sensitive. She couldn’t help admitting to herself that they knew what they were doing.

Hermione was lying on the desks. She was naked, except for her Gryffindor tie, that in the orange light matched perfectly with her brownish skin. Her hands were wandering on her belly and her breasts, her nails brushing her skin with convulsed movements. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair fell all over her shoulders in a way that was much more sensual than it did in the classroom. Pansy found herself staring at her body. She wasn’t as skinny as her or as most of the girls were, but Pansy couldn’t help finding that soft fleshiness attractive.

Ron was standing at the base of the desk, his hands keeping her legs apart, and his eyes seemed glued to her breasts as they bumped up and down. He was moving rhythmically in and out of her, his face concentrating on her graces and on the effort of giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him.

His body was covered in sweat and his muscles darted on his abdomen every time he pushed inside of her, his penis disappearing in her wet, warm folds deeper every time. His hands slid down her calves and thighs up to her waist and then he gripped her hips.

Finally, he let out a grunt, tensing up his muscles, as he collapsed on her body. She cried out as well, something incomprehensible, and her body tensed up as well, her head back, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed. Pansy knew that she had reached her orgasm with him. They stayed like that for what seemed like ages, and Pansy seemed frozen under the charm that their union had cast on her. They were perfect; they had come together and they were perfectly satisfied. Why it couldn’t be like that with her and Draco?

Hermione hugged Ron, who had his head on her breasts. She neared her lips to his ear and muttered something. They both laughed, and Hermione even blushed a little, then she nibbled at his ear with her teeth, her hands slid down his back until she reached his rear end. Her fingers slipped in between her cheeks and Ron struggled a little when she inserted the tip of her finger in his anus.

Pansy bit her bottom lip and sucked in her breath. She mechanically brought a hand to her folds and started to caress her clitoris, still warm and lubricated with her and Draco’s moisture. Her breaths started to come in short puffs as she spied on the lovers and gave herself pleasure at the same time.

Ron was still struggling a little as Hermione’s finger wandered a bit too deep into him. He grunted and freed himself from her sweaty limbs, looking at her beautiful body in the candle light.

“That was not fair, Miss Granger,” he murmured so quietly that Pansy almost didn’t hear it.

Hermione smiled, she brought a finger to her lips and bit it. Her cheeks, flushed with pleasure, gave her the appearance of a misbehaving child. Ron smiled at her, and Pansy couldn’t help noticing how lovely his smile was.

He bent down again on top of her body, kissing her fiercely on her lips. She brought her hands to his hair, entangling them in his rebel locks. He let her lips go, his mouth kissing its way to her jaw. He bit her playfully, and she giggled. He cupped her breasts with his hands and slowly he slid down her body, his mouth sucking and kissing and biting every single inch of her skin.

He pushed her breasts up, taking her nipples between his lips. Hermione moaned, evidently the fire was building once again inside of her, and Pansy didn’t have any difficulties to understand why. Her owns fingers were busy pleasuring herself, and the view of Ron covered with nothing but sweat was making her shiver with bliss.

Ron let go of her breasts and kissed his way down to her belly, showering her navel with his tongue, pushing at it with force, so that every time his tongue entered it Hermione would scream with pleasure. He cupped her bottom cheeks and raised her rear end from the desk. He kneeled in front of her looked at her secret; lust shining in his eyes.

Hermione held her breath. She was sucking her index finger between her lips, while one of her hands was gripping at the edge of the desk. Ron cast her a glance, and she wetted her lips with her tongue. The red-haired boy smiled and, without notice, he attacked her inner folds with his tongue.

Hermione curved her back, her breasts up in the air as she tried to push her secret against Ron’s face. She started screaming and moaning and tensing up again on the desk.

Pansy couldn’t see much, but she was sure that Ron was caressing her folds with his tongue in the most sensual way. Sometimes a dart of white was visible between his ruby lips and she knew that he was using his teeth as well. At those points, Hermione cried out louder; the soft and delicate pain mixing up with the immense pleasure.