CHAPTER 3: THE SEDUCTION OF NARCISSA
Into her bedroom, and this was not the master bedroom but her own private chamber, full of a women's touches. Pastels and pillows, cream shaggy rugs laden with stuffed bears from childhood. She stopped suddenly, perhaps realizing he was the first man to enter this domain in years, perhaps ever, and as she stopped so suddenly, he pressed his naked hardness into her bottom. She flinched but didn't move as he pressed forward, the fabric moving out of the way so he was pressed under her netherlips, separated by her skirt and her panties. Harry swore. The memories of a younger Tom doing this a dozen times did nothing to lessen the impact of the sensations, the imagery. His rival's young, beautiful mother, a picture of elegance and beauty. He was going to fucking ruin her.
Harry gently slid the strap of her dress from her shoulder, savoring the sight of creamy skin revealed as the fabric peeled down and pooled at her feet. His anticipation faltered as he frowned at her plain, uninspiring underwear. The delicate fantasy he had woven in his mind threatened to unravel.
"This will not do," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.
She shivered under his intense gaze. "My Lord?"
"Your underwear," he clarified. "Do you have nothing more enticing?"
Flustered, she coughed softly, her embarrassment palpable. "Of course, my Lord. Allow me five minutes to prepare for your magnificence."
Narcissa hurried to her drawers, hastily selecting lace and silk to replace the mundane garments she wore. Harry, unlike Tom, had never seen a woman undress, let alone dress. His fascination with her movements was genuine, untouched by Tom's calculating desires. He followed her into the bathroom, relishing the slight tremor of alarm that flickered across her features.
"I want to watch you," he explained softly, his eyes fixed on her. In his world as Harry, he sought authenticity; a moment of vulnerability or poise might reveal truths hidden from Tom's manipulative machinations.
She nodded, trembling slightly as she took a deep breath, and then shed her clothes completely. Harry's gaze consumed her eagerly. She was a study in contrasts as his eyes roamed downward—a noble visage with sharp cheekbones and a graceful neck, paired incongruously with ample teardrop-shaped breasts proudly standing high. Her stomach, with a hint of softness, widened into hips more suggestive of the Weasleys than the refined Malfoys.
"She's built for bearing children," he mused inwardly, a thought that sent a thrill through him. He found himself stroking his cock once more as he leered at the sight of her pussy, nestled between plump labia beneath a neat strip of blonde pubic hair. He was taken aback to notice her lips glistening with arousal.
"You're wet," he observed, his voice betraying a mixture of fascination and discomfort.
She blushed deeply, unable to meet his gaze directly. "Your approval is... gratifying, my Lord," she managed, stealing a nervous glance at his unabashedly aroused state.
"Proceed quickly," he commanded brusquely, his impatience barely veiling his own desire. "Pleasing you is not the objective."
"Yes, my Lord," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly.
"You're soaked," he remarked, disliking the reverence in his tone.
She blushed, avoiding meeting his gaze. "Your new attire is... delightful, my Lord," she murmured, stealing a glance at his impressive member, trembling as she observed him fondling it unabashedly.
"Proceed quickly, for pleasing you is not the goal."
"Yes, my Lord." Gracefully, she slipped her legs into long stockings, and Harry thought it might be the most arousing sight he had ever witnessed as she turned away from him, striving to maintain her modesty. Even better was the unintended view it offered of her ample posterior, quivering and bouncing as she sought cover.
"Stand tall," he commanded.
"Yes, My Lord," she acquiesced, slipping into a forest green bra that strained against her bosom with considerable effort, lifting and emphasizing. The floral lace barely covered the lower halves of her breasts, leaving her nipples tantalizingly visible above. Harry took charge as she selected matching panties, sliding them up her legs deliberately, his breath warm and heavy on her skin. She quivered as he placed a feather-light kiss on her thigh. Could he maintain control if she aroused him so intensely before they even started?
"Much improved," he grinned at her, surprised to see her smile in return. How neglectful had Lucius been of this delicate flower that she flourished with so little attention?
Leading her back to the bedroom, he drew her close against his chest, her breasts pressing into him, his erection brushing against her core. He closed his eyes, grasping for memories of Tom's lovemaking, anything to prevent his first time from being a humiliation, to ensure he pleased this exquisite beauty. She would be his once the binding spell was cast, but it mattered to him that, perhaps, he could prove himself without it.
Years before Voldemort's rise, when Tom was still a charismatic Hogwarts student, he had seduced several witches. Harry focused on those memories, summoning them forth, and smirked as he opened his eyes.
Narcissa squeaked as she was pushed to the bed, closely followed by an aggressive, all encompassing lover, his lips on hers, his hands on her thighs, on her ass, everywhere. His tongue battled hers, but where he won she did not withdraw but gave, so that even on her back, him between her thighs, she melted into him. His lips vanished and when they reappeared, she realized her bra was gone, his lips on her nipples, and she shuddered as he found her weakness, her sensitivity.
A moment, a minute, how long and she was on her side, her legs intertwined with his as his long fingers slipped under her panties and found her lips. A sudden memory; a moment alone at Florean Fortescue's, enjoying her cherry and chocolate cone while she flicked through a Teen Witch magazine someone had left on her table. The headline screamed 'Ten Reasons Why Harry Potter Would Make You Scream Like A Banshee', and number five was his long, almost feminine, fingers.
Harry gently wrapped his fingers around hers, causing her to gasp in anticipation of what was to come. In a swift motion, he withdrew, taking her panties with him. Instinctively, she moved to shield herself, blushing deeply as she felt her arousal linger. His hands gently held her thighs apart, his expression now a mix of uncertainty and excitement, akin to an inventor about to test a new invention on the brink of of Form
Harry approached, wielding his erection like a potent force. It throbbed with a mixture of his magic and desire, the mystical connection between wizards and the intensity of sex long pondered. Uncertain of the implications, Harry quivered with a surge of power. Narcissa, overwhelmed with pleasure, pondered whose life would be more altered - his or hers.
As he entered her swiftly, she gasped in pain, biting her lip as though entering a neglected garden. Pausing, he kissed her, his touch almost apologetic. Unlike the Dark Lord, who never apologized, Harry didn't ravage like a conqueror; his movements were gentle, tender, akin to a lover's embrace as he moved rhythmically.
"Oh," she murmured as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper inside her. He penetrated her further than she had ever experienced, causing her to cry out in wordless ecstasy. His large cock filled her completely, making her feel possessed. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the new sensations, she dared a glance downward, avoiding his eyes out of embarrassment. What she saw was overwhelming—his massive member buried deep within her, stretching her abdomen, his hair mingling with hers.
He withdrew, and she gasped at the sudden rush of sensations—the sight of his glistening, veined cock slick with her juices, both beautiful and strangely unfamiliar. The sensation of him leaving her, every nerve ending tingling, his warmth fading away. The wet sound as he retreated, her arousal unmistakable. The scent of their mingled musk and sweat, the undeniable aroma of their union. Then, he thrust forward again, and she was engulfed once more by it all.
He thrust faster and harder, transforming their lovemaking into a passionate frenzy. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, his lips ravishing hers and then trailing along her neck, teasing her nipples while his hands explored every inch of her trembling form. She felt like a marionette, completely at the mercy of his desires, his cock possessing her fully. Her moans crescendoed into a chorus of "Oh's" that echoed through the air, rising higher and higher until a wave of pleasure crashed over her, starting at her toes and sweeping upward until she was utterly undone.
Collapsing against the headboard, her body limp yet tingling with satisfaction, she felt him lift her with the sheer force of his thrusts. "Mine," he growled possessively, his wand suddenly in hand, a mystery she could only briefly ponder. Inside her, he stilled, seeming to swell impossibly larger before releasing a torrent of warmth that filled her in the most intoxicating way. She reveled in the feeling of being thoroughly claimed, feeling deliciously filthy as though she had shattered every societal taboo, defying the memory of a mother long lost.
"Yes," she breathed in response to his dominance, relishing the sensation of his release inside her, again and again. Narcissa Malfoy, who had been untouched and unloved, had brought him to this moment of utter abandon. As he continued to pour into her, she felt a sense of completion, a swell in her stomach from his sheer intensity. It didn't concern her; of course he wouldn't release like any other man. Wizards of great power defied conventional norms – a truth every witch knew well.
As he used her body, one hand clutching her ass possessively as his load dribbled, reaching its finality, she stroked the black hair from his sweaty forehead, suddenly possessive in her own right. That revealed his glimmering emerald eyes, famous for a good reason. They shined with delight and possessiveness. He pressed a kiss to her lips and murmured a spell.
Her arm burned, suddenly, sharply. "Oh." She could only murmur as she examined a small black lightning bolt, branded into her pelvis. Her mind was absent as her hand traced down her body, over her cum-filled stomach to the new tattoo. It was magical, she realized, pulsating with pleasure. The tattoo vanished, swimming away, to be called back at his command, anywhere on her body. She looked up and met Harry's eyes and suddenly she understood.
She understood everything.
"Oh," She said again.
"Yes." He said simply, smiling as he felt their bond settle. He felt her magic, powerful, as expected from a witch of House Black, and beyond that, her memories. He ignored them for now, with more than enough foreign memories to assimilate first.
"Harry." She said, uncertainly. "Not the Dark Lord?" She said, a little scared.
"Shh, my dear," he murmured soothingly, guiding her gently onto the bed, her head cradled on the pillow, their connection still intimate and deep. Pressing a tender kiss to her lips, she eagerly responded, her enthusiasm confirming the success of the spell. It was a kiss of lovers, of a devotee so wholly dedicated that nothing else mattered.
"I never imagined the bond could feel like this," she whispered, her happiness casting a youthful glow upon her face.
"It isn't like any other bond," he assured her softly. "This is ours, not the Dark Mark. Isn't it marvelous?" He kissed her again, feeling her tug at his lip as he pulled away, knowing she would never resist him, never release him easily. Could he maintain his resolve when faced with such allure? Could any man stay on his chosen path when temptation beckoned so irresistibly?
His hand traced a path up her slick thighs, over her tender pubic hair, lingering at the tattoo marking his dominance over her. Moving further up, he caressed her arching stomach where his cock remained buried, his substantial release still filling her. His touch was possessive yet tender, his lips pressing against love bites left in the heat of passion. He wondered how soon he could mark her again. As his thumb trailed upward, she sucked it into her mouth, a gesture that stirred a fresh surge of desire within him.
"I am yours with purpose, Master," she murmured, her eyes full of gratitude. "I can never thank you enough."
"There'll be time enough for that," he smirked, relishing the flush of her cheeks. The thrill of pleasure coursed through him. His spell hadn't altered her essence; it had simply won him her heart, which was the ultimate triumph. He desired not a compliant shell, but the entirety of her being. And now, she was his.
Finally, he withdrew from her, and with his withdrawal came a flooding of his seed from her abused pussy, more than he'd ever thought possible, more than any normal man. But powerful wizards were different, and with her power feeding him, he felt more powerful than ever. How much further could he go? How much seed would he produce when he had conquered five more witches? Ten more? A hundred more?
Narcissa gasped in astonishment as she trailed her finger downward, delicately caressing herself. Her intimate folds parted slightly, releasing another trickle of moisture that flowed down over her tight entrance and onto the bed linen.
"Taste it," he commanded abruptly. Narcissa blushed but held his gaze. Using her fingers, she gathered some of his essence and brought it to her swollen, bruised lips.
She made a spectacle of savoring it, allowing it to linger on her tongue before swallowing. A shiver ran through her, the cause—whether the taste, the submission, or the pleasure—unclear. Turning a tender smile to him, she leaned forward, taking his slick member in both hands.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, my love," she murmured, and he believed her. Rising to his feet, he towered over her as she reclined against the headboard, dutifully enveloping him with her lips. He groaned as he stiffened once more within her.
Harry wondered if he could stop himself from blinking, so that he could capture every moment of this, her sweaty, glistening, full-bodied figure, every inch a woman, his cum pooling from her pussy and dripping down. He allowed himself a laugh of triumph as he gathered her long blonde hair in his hand, ready to guide her obedience until he came down her throat, or perhaps painted her face. His rival's mother, the wife of his enemy's greatest follower, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and he'd fucked her senseless and had her eating out of the palm of his hands. He felt the bond with her in his mind, felt her pleasure through it, felt her thrill at his attention. There was a lot of experimenting to do with the bond, but her love was enthralling in its absolution.
"My love, do something for me." His voice was throaty, still unable to believe his victory. "Kill your husband when he returns."
She made a gurgle of assent as she lapped at his cock, completely uncaring, her wide doe eyes staring up at him in adoration, her hands stroking his thighs.
"And the next time I visit, I expect you to be dressed provocatively. You belong to me, my dear, and your attire should reflect that," he murmured huskily, his voice dripping with possessiveness and desire.
She responded with a soft hum of agreement, her fingers trailing down his back and gripping his waist, pulling him closer against her. Her eyes widened slightly, the intensity of their connection palpable as she deepened her embrace. She understood his desires implicitly; perhaps it was their bond, or perhaps it was the intoxicating power of their love.
"Your wish is my command," she whispered, her voice a sultry promise as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips hungry and urgent against his. Their embrace lingered, charged with unspoken promises and the undeniable chemistry that bound them together.
As they parted slightly, she traced a finger along his jawline, her touch lingering with a tantalizing hint of what was to come. "I'll make sure every moment is worth the wait," she murmured, her words laced with a teasing challenge that mirrored his own intensity.
He met her gaze with a heated intensity of his own, a silent acknowledgment of their shared passion and the unspoken depths of their connection. In that moment, amidst the soft glow of candlelight and the faint murmur of distant music, they were bound not just by love, but by a mutual understanding of each other's desires.
Their night stretched before them, filled with whispered promises and the heady anticipation of passion unleashed. In the embrace of their love, they found solace and strength, each moment a testament to the unbreakable bond they shared.
"And so it begins," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine, his words a declaration of their shared journey into the depths of desire and devotion.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes as she leaned in to kiss him once more, their lips meeting in a fierce embrace that spoke volumes of the passion yet to unfold. Together, they embarked on a journey fueled by love's fire, where every touch, every whispered promise, and every stolen moment was a testament to the power they held over each other's hearts.
Thus, in the quiet intimacy of their shared world, they surrendered to the intoxicating dance of love, where words and desires intertwined in a symphony of passion that knew no bounds.
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