Disclaimer i own nothing. This is a weird ai smut story with female harry as Atalanta. I was bored wanted a smut story it wasn't to bad idk
In the bustling heart of Diagon Alley, a peculiar yet unassuming character named Atalanta Potter began her daily routine with a sense of trepidation and anticipation. The cobblestone streets shimmered with enchantments and the air hummed with the whispers of spells, as the early morning sun cast its soft, golden light upon the ancient brick walls. Atalanta's blond hair with emerald streaks bobbed as she walked, the soft swish of her tail trailing behind her hinting at the hidden feline grace within her human form. Her eyes, a vivid shade of jade, darted around, taking in the familiar sights of the magical marketplace. The gentle swish of her pointed ears picked up the distant chatter of wizards and witches haggling over magical goods.
Her destination was a peculiar spot, a wall with an unnoticed irregularity, a tiny hole nestled between the more illustrious shops. Atalanta approached the spot with a quiet determination, her heart racing in a mix of excitement and dread. She had discovered the hole quite by accident, a little over a week ago, and since then, she had been drawn to it every morning. It was as if the wall itself had called out to her, whispering promises of something she had never experienced before. With a deep breath, she stepped closer and, with a graceful twist, her lower body sank into the darkness of the narrow space.
The cool stone of the wall pressed against her thighs and hips, her tail swishing with the sudden confinement. The upper half of her body remained in the alley, obscured from view by an invisibility charm she had cast. Only her hands and forearms remained visible, clutching the edges of the hole with a white-knuckled grip. She felt a sudden rush of cold air, a prelude to the unknown. The hole was tight, almost too tight, but she had learned to trust it, to crave the sensations it brought her.
And so, she waited. The alley was still relatively quiet, but she knew it would soon come alive with the hustle and bustle of the day. Atalanta's breaths grew shallower as the first tentative touches brushed against her exposed flesh. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, stifling a gasp. The sensation grew more insistent, and she felt the unmistakable pressure of someone's hand exploring her, delving into the warm, wet folds of her pussy. This was it, she thought, the start of another day at her secret post. Her job was simple: to provide a brief but intense release for the unseen men who stumbled upon her hidden nook. It was a strange life she had chosen, but the allure of the anonymity and the thrill of the unknown kept her coming back.
The hand grew bolder, its fingers sliding in and out of her with a rhythmic ease that spoke of experience. Atalanta's grip on the edges of the wall tightened as waves of pleasure began to build within her. The hand was replaced by something else, something much larger and more intimidating. She took a sharp breath as the object, a magical strap-on belonging to the person on the other side, pushed against her. With a grunt, the stranger worked it into her, filling her completely. She had learned to appreciate the variety, the different textures and sizes that visited her each day. The strap-on was smooth and unyielding, a stark contrast to the roughened fingertips she had felt before.
The rhythm grew faster, the stranger's breaths heavy and erratic. Atalanta felt her body responding, her hips jerking involuntarily to meet each thrust. She knew she couldn't be heard over the slowly growing chorus of the alley, but the thought of someone's eyes on her, watching her pleasure, was almost too much to bear. Her eyes closed, and she leaned her forehead against the cold stone, letting the sensations wash over her. The stranger was rough, almost violent in their need, but she welcomed it, her own desires swelling with each pump.
As the first orgasm crashed over her, she couldn't help the small cry that escaped her lips. It was muffled, lost in the cacophony of the alley, but she felt it resonate through her body. The stranger grunted, their pace quickening before finally, with a strangled groan, they released themselves into her. The strap-on was removed, and she felt the warmth of their cum dribble down her legs. With trembling hands, she wiped it away and took a moment to compose herself, her breaths slow and ragged. Another day had begun at the hole in the wall, and she was ready for the next round. The wall was cold against her back as she leaned into it, her tail twitching with anticipation. Who would come next to satisfy their desires in her hidden sanctuary?
The hours passed by in a blur of anonymous faces and unseen hands. Atalanta had long ago lost count of the men who had used her body for their pleasure. She had become a silent observer of their desperation, their hunger for release. Some were gentle, others rough, but she took them all in stride. It was her secret, her escape from the mundane world. The wall was her confessional, the hole her altar of pleasure and release.
Mid-morning brought with it the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the nearby shop, mingling with the musky scent of sex. Atalanta's stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. She had her own hunger to sate. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting shadows that grew shorter and less forgiving. Despite the chill of the stone, she felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of purpose that she hadn't known before. Her life had a strange rhythm now, dictated by the needs of these strangers and the pulsating beat of her own desire.
The flow of customers was steady, each one bringing a new set of sensations to her. Some took their time, whispering sweet nothings or sharing their darkest fantasies, while others were quick and efficient, taking what they wanted before vanishing back into the throng of the alley. Her pussy was sore, but she pushed through the discomfort. It was part of the experience, the price she paid for this addictive thrill. And as the day wore on, she felt a strange kinship with the wall that held her, the cold stone a silent witness to her clandestine encounters.
As the sun reached its zenith, casting a sliver of light across the cobblestones, Atalanta felt the familiar pressure of the next patron. This one was different. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. He took his time, caressing her clit with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine. He whispered in her ear, his voice a soft purr, "You're so beautiful, Atalanta. So perfect." The sound of her name sent a jolt through her, and she realized that he knew her. Panic fluttered in her chest, but she stifled it. This was her world, her secret place. She couldn't let anyone ruin it.
He slid into her slowly, his cock thick and hot, filling her in a way that made her want to purr back. His strokes were long and deliberate, and she found herself matching his rhythm, her hips moving in time with his thrusts. It was as if he could read her body, knew exactly what she needed. Her orgasm built gradually, a slow crescendo that had her panting and moaning. She clutched the edges of the wall, her nails digging into the stone. The sound of their coupling grew louder, a symphony of wet slaps and ragged breaths.
But as she reached the peak, the spell was broken. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the alley, growing closer. The man inside her stiffened, and she knew he was about to be discovered. In a flash of desperation, she reached out and pulled him closer, her hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds he might make. She felt his hot breath against her palm, his eyes wide with fear and lust. The footsteps grew louder, and she held her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. The moment the person passed, he pulled away, leaving her panting and exposed. With a wink, he vanished into the crowd, leaving her with the echo of his voice in her ear and the sticky evidence of his release on her thighs.
Atalanta took a shaky breath and resumed her position, waiting for the next encounter. Her secret was still safe, but the taste of almost being caught lingered on her tongue, adding a new, thrilling flavor to the mix. The day continued, each encounter adding another layer to the tapestry of her experiences. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the game had changed. Someone knew her now, someone who wasn't just a faceless part of her morning ritual. She didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew that her life would never be the same. The wall was her sanctuary, but now, it felt like a stage, and she was the star of a very private show.
The shadows grew longer, and the alley grew quieter. Atalanta had been in the wall for hours, her legs aching, her pussy tender from the constant use. As the light began to fade, she felt the last of her patrons leave her, their footsteps receding into the distance. With a sigh, she climbed out of the hole, her muscles protesting. She straightened her clothes, her cheeks flushed with the afterglow of countless orgasms. As she looked around, she caught sight of a figure leaning against the opposite wall, watching her with a smug smile.
Draco Malfoy. The very last person she expected to see here. His eyes raked over her, and she felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He knew, she realized. He had to know. The way he looked at her, it was as if he could see through her clothes, right to the heart of her secret. For a moment, she was tempted to run, to disappear into the crowd and leave the alley behind. But she couldn't. This was her place, her escape, and she wouldn't let him take that from her.
Instead, she faced him, her chin held high. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the quaking in her belly. Draco pushed off the wall and approached her, his stride confident and predatory. "I want what every man here wants," he said, his voice low and seductive. "But unlike them, I know exactly who you are." He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath warm on her neck. "And I plan to make sure no one else gets to enjoy you but me." His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. "You're going to be my wife, Atalanta, and together we'll make a fortune from your little... talents."
Panic flared in her chest as he pulled out a parchment from his robes. "What's this?" she snarled, trying to pull away. He smirked, holding it out of her reach. "It's a contract," he said, his eyes gleaming. "You'll sign it, and from this day forth, your body will be mine to use, mine to sell." The words hit her like a slap across the face, and she felt the color drain from her cheeks. "You can't do this," she whispered, her voice shaking.
Draco's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, but I can," he said, his voice like silk. "You see, I know all about this little... service you provide. And I know that no one knows it's you. Except me." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "I'm the only one who can give you what you truly crave. Safety. Security. And an end to the anonymity." He paused, letting his words sink in. "And in exchange, I'll charge them for the privilege."
Her stomach churned at the thought, but she knew he wasn't bluffing. Draco had always had a silver tongue and a way of making the most unsavory of propositions sound like the sweetest of deals. "What makes you think I want that?" she spat. "What makes you think I want you?"
He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because, my dear, you're a whore. And whores need pimps to keep them in line. And I intend to be the best pimp you've ever had." His hand slid down her arm, coming to rest on her hip. "Think about it," he murmured. "All the power, all the pleasure, and none of the risk. You'll be the queen of this alley, and I'll be your king."
Atalanta felt sick, but she knew he had a point. If he exposed her, she'd be ruined. Her life as she knew it would be over. And deep down, she was afraid that she might like the idea of belonging to someone who could give her what she needed, someone who knew her darkest desires and didn't judge her for them. "Fine," she said, her voice trembling with anger and fear. "But you'll treat me right, Malfoy. Or you'll regret it."
He leaned in, his lips grazing her cheek. "I'll treat you better than any of these commoners ever could," he promised. "You'll have the finest robes, the best potions, and all the pleasure you can handle." His hand slid up her side, cupping her breast. "But you'll be mine, Atalanta. And you'll never forget it."
Her heart raced as she nodded, feeling the weight of the contract in her hand. "I understand," she whispered. And with a flick of his wand, Draco sealed the deal, and Atalanta's fate was irrevocably bound to his. She was now the property of Draco Malfoy, to be used as he saw fit. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
The next few days passed in a blur. Draco had moved quickly, setting up a discreet yet luxurious space in a hidden part of the alley. He had even gone so far as to charm the wall to be more comfortable for her, lining it with velvet and silk. Each day, a line of eager patrons formed, their gold coins clinking together like a symphony of desire. And as she lay there, her lower half still stuck in the wall, she couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. They were all here for her, paying for the privilege of her body, and she was being taken care of like the precious commodity she had become.
The men who came to her were powerful and wealthy, their desires as varied as the stars in the sky. Some were gentle, whispering sweet nothings as they moved inside her. Others were rough, their hands bruising her flesh as they claimed her. But through it all, she remained stoic, a silent goddess of pleasure for those who could afford her. And every night, Draco would come to her, taking his own pound of flesh, reminding her that she was his.
But as the days turned into weeks, Atalanta began to feel a strange sense of belonging. Draco was true to his word, providing for her every need, wrapping her in luxury and showering her with gifts. He had a way of making her feel desired, even as he pimped her out to the highest bidder. The money rolled in, and with it, a sense of security that she had never known. Her nights were filled with his whispers of love and promises of a future together, a life of power and wealth beyond her wildest dreams.
As the weeks turned into months, the walls of her heart began to crack, and she found herself longing for the touch that wasn't just about business. The gentle caress that didn't come with the clink of gold. And when Draco took her for the first time without the barrier of the wall, she realized that she had grown to crave his touch, his possession of her. He had become the only constant in her life, the one person who knew her deepest, darkest secrets and still wanted her.
And so, she signed the parchment, binding herself to him in marriage, becoming Lady Atalanta Malfoy. The gossip in the alley grew like a wildfire, but she didn't care. She had everything she needed: a warm bed, food on the table, and the knowledge that she was desired. Each day, as the line of men grew longer and the gold grew heavier, she felt a twisted sense of pride. She had become something more than just a whore in the wall. She was now the queen of this twisted kingdom, and Draco was her king.
But as the seasons changed, so too did the tides of their relationship. The excitement of their clandestine encounters had faded into routine, and she found herself longing for the days when she had been a nameless face in the alley. The thrill of the unknown had been replaced by the cold, hard reality of being owned. Draco had become more possessive, his touch more demanding, his voice louder in her ear as he took her. And she began to wonder if she had made a deal with the devil, selling her soul for a few moments of pleasure and a lifetime of security.
Yet, she remained, trapped by the contract she had signed in haste. The wall had become her prison, and Draco her jailer. But deep down, she knew that she had made the choice. And as the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, she clung to the warmth of his body, the only warmth she knew. The hole in the wall had become her home, and Draco Malfoy had become her world. And as she lay there, her body used and abused, she whispered to the silent stones, "I am yours."