A/N: This is dedicated to the interminably dedicated Isa, author of the
freaking HILARIOUS stories "My Family" and "Little Nicky" (which has not
been updated in awhile :::looks at watch::: ) Time's ticking, dear! I'm
waiting! While this was originally going to be just a one-part fic, she has
given me the inspiration to continue.
On that same note, I would also like to point out that the first chapter was heavily influenced by the feminist theorist Luce Irigaray and her essay "The Sex Which is Not One."
You're the daughter of a Death Wench, Weasley. What sort of a shock was it when you found out? To know that your mother was just like you: a whore. Oh, not just any whore, but a Death Eaters whore? That she lay there underneath countless Death Eaters who used her, fondled her, just as I do to you each and every night? Do you feel a sense of kinship with your slut of a mother, Weasley? You should. You are no better.
I am damn lucky that my father is such an egotistical bastard, otherwise he never would have told me what she did for them. And like my bargain, so to speak, with you, she willingly did each and every single thing they wanted. Hours of entertainment she provided, my father has told me, often whispering whenever you and your flame-haired siblings pass us in Diagon Alley with your immaculate-as-Mary-herself mother and your stupid git of a father - the only boy willing to make an honest woman out of their trollop. Insatiable, he would quietly reminisce, that Molly was, fascinated by the Dark Arts - but too scared to explore them herself. So instead of putting her career at Hogwarts in peril, she put out. It was the closest thing to the Dark Arts she could let herself near.
Your jezebel of a mother was a groupie, Weasley, but that is not the worst thing she did, is it? Only you, your mother, my father, and I know the real truth of the matter.
When my father and your mother attended Hogwarts, the Death Eaters needed people on their side, new minds to mold, fresh flesh to shape. They needed young soldiers - children - to stand for our side, so what did your mother do to contribute her part? The only thing a real harlot can do: she bore the Death Eaters a bastard. I say Death Eaters only because your mother was so easy that no one was ever sure which swimmer finally did the deed and knocked her up.
Who would guess that your matronly mother was once a wanton slattern? That she had beautiful supple breasts not unlike the ones I put pressure on as I climax? Or creamy thighs not unlike the ones I spread every night in order to enter you? Not many, I would think. This is apart of our bargain, Weasley. I keep your secret and you keep me satisfied. My own real life blow up doll that wanks me when I feel the need or gives me an easy lay when I desire it.
And I make you feel like crap, don't I, Weasley? I make you feel debauched, cheapened and ruined, don't I? I have ruined sex for you entirely, haven't I? I took your virginity, and any sort of self-respect you may have still possessed after I told you I knew your mother's secret. And every time I climax into you, I feel you tense up, because you feel what I feel. The same thoughts run through my head as through your's: Will I turn you into your mother? Will I ruin your career at Hogwarts as my father attempted to do to your mother? Will you bear my bastard?
And I'll tell you what, Weasley. I think you are more perceptive than you let on. You know what it does to me to play with your future; sex with me, a Slytherin and your desired's enemy, no less, is one thing, the mother of my bastard is definitely another. You once told me you never wanted to see a redhaired, ferret faced child come from your womb; you would sooner abort than bear my child - so I took that option away from you, for if I gave you the option to terminate or prevent a pregnancy, my personal power over you would diminish because that child is your ultimate nightmare.
And as much as I despise you, Weasley, you are a satisfying screw. Just as your mother was before you.
And as I enter your room, I see you stiffen. I put a silencing curse on your bed as you ready yourself, not allowing the other Gryffindors to hear my moans and your silent tears. I love knowing that I can have you anytime I want, and that you will always be conscious of what I am doing to you, Ginny Weasley, my weight on top of you as I start, and the remnants of me inside you as I finish.
On that same note, I would also like to point out that the first chapter was heavily influenced by the feminist theorist Luce Irigaray and her essay "The Sex Which is Not One."
You're the daughter of a Death Wench, Weasley. What sort of a shock was it when you found out? To know that your mother was just like you: a whore. Oh, not just any whore, but a Death Eaters whore? That she lay there underneath countless Death Eaters who used her, fondled her, just as I do to you each and every night? Do you feel a sense of kinship with your slut of a mother, Weasley? You should. You are no better.
I am damn lucky that my father is such an egotistical bastard, otherwise he never would have told me what she did for them. And like my bargain, so to speak, with you, she willingly did each and every single thing they wanted. Hours of entertainment she provided, my father has told me, often whispering whenever you and your flame-haired siblings pass us in Diagon Alley with your immaculate-as-Mary-herself mother and your stupid git of a father - the only boy willing to make an honest woman out of their trollop. Insatiable, he would quietly reminisce, that Molly was, fascinated by the Dark Arts - but too scared to explore them herself. So instead of putting her career at Hogwarts in peril, she put out. It was the closest thing to the Dark Arts she could let herself near.
Your jezebel of a mother was a groupie, Weasley, but that is not the worst thing she did, is it? Only you, your mother, my father, and I know the real truth of the matter.
When my father and your mother attended Hogwarts, the Death Eaters needed people on their side, new minds to mold, fresh flesh to shape. They needed young soldiers - children - to stand for our side, so what did your mother do to contribute her part? The only thing a real harlot can do: she bore the Death Eaters a bastard. I say Death Eaters only because your mother was so easy that no one was ever sure which swimmer finally did the deed and knocked her up.
Who would guess that your matronly mother was once a wanton slattern? That she had beautiful supple breasts not unlike the ones I put pressure on as I climax? Or creamy thighs not unlike the ones I spread every night in order to enter you? Not many, I would think. This is apart of our bargain, Weasley. I keep your secret and you keep me satisfied. My own real life blow up doll that wanks me when I feel the need or gives me an easy lay when I desire it.
And I make you feel like crap, don't I, Weasley? I make you feel debauched, cheapened and ruined, don't I? I have ruined sex for you entirely, haven't I? I took your virginity, and any sort of self-respect you may have still possessed after I told you I knew your mother's secret. And every time I climax into you, I feel you tense up, because you feel what I feel. The same thoughts run through my head as through your's: Will I turn you into your mother? Will I ruin your career at Hogwarts as my father attempted to do to your mother? Will you bear my bastard?
And I'll tell you what, Weasley. I think you are more perceptive than you let on. You know what it does to me to play with your future; sex with me, a Slytherin and your desired's enemy, no less, is one thing, the mother of my bastard is definitely another. You once told me you never wanted to see a redhaired, ferret faced child come from your womb; you would sooner abort than bear my child - so I took that option away from you, for if I gave you the option to terminate or prevent a pregnancy, my personal power over you would diminish because that child is your ultimate nightmare.
And as much as I despise you, Weasley, you are a satisfying screw. Just as your mother was before you.
And as I enter your room, I see you stiffen. I put a silencing curse on your bed as you ready yourself, not allowing the other Gryffindors to hear my moans and your silent tears. I love knowing that I can have you anytime I want, and that you will always be conscious of what I am doing to you, Ginny Weasley, my weight on top of you as I start, and the remnants of me inside you as I finish.