Lusting for Release
A Pansy/Charlie pairing, my submission for the HP Kink and Squick Fest. Fest is over and reveals are out, so I'm now posting it a bit everywhere!
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Title: Lusting for Release
Pairing: Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley and a bit of Draco/Rose
Rating: NC-17
Author: DramioneInLove
Beta: hp-beta
Prompter: ladysashi
Word count: ard. 2,600.
Summary: Pansy hates the Ministry Yule Ball, and the fact that her ex-husband is dansing with every beauty in the place. She decides to get a bit of release out of herself...but when one drunk, horny redhead dragon tamer comes along, she'll be getting more than she bargained for...
Warnings: Blackmail sex, drunk sex, graphic sex, oral sex, strong profanity, slightly underage sex
Author's note: This is my submission for the Kink and Squick Winter Fest. Hope you enjoy. The prompt was “blackmail, tipsy sex” at the Ministry Yule Ball, between Pansy/Charlie or Draco/Rose. Well, prompter dear, you're in for a little surprise at the end of the story...Thanks for all!
…
Pansy Parkinson's long, slender fingers curled around the stem of her Champagne glass, the tips whitening in her furious hold of the harmless item, as her light green glare focused upon the cause of her wrath. She did not leave Marcus out of her gaze as he waltzed a pretty, giggling, stupid witch around the floor.
Not that Pansy wanted to be here anyway. She rarely attended the Ministry Yule Ball, as she hated to see the infamous Golden Trio being thrown flowers at, still sixteen years after the war. One blasted Harry Potter, his poor as a church mouse blood-traitor of a sidekick, and the Mudblood extraordinaire, Weasley's wife, could barely step into the place without the crowd going wild in their awful faces. Other war heros attended too, and it just made her sick. Not that she was forced to attend the Ball either. She did not work for the thrice-cursed Ministry. In fact, Pansy did not work at all. Her parents died in the war, and she was the sole heir of quite a fortune.
She had simply got married three years after the war, barely twenty years old. Marcus Flint had seemed to her to be the love of her life. She had seen him again six months out of Hogwarts, and he had looked like a dark, daring man, and, if he did lack some talents as a wizard, was quite the hit in the bedroom, had money, and loved partying and night life as much as she did. She had fallen quickly in love.
However, after ten years of seemingly perfection, Pansy had started having doubts on her husband. He would come back late, without really good excuses. Then he started reeking of female perfume. Not only one, but several different scents. Blinded, Pansy drunk up his lies. But then she had spotted him in Diagon Alley, engaged in a heated snogging session with one beautiful witch, and her heart had been broken. She had divorced, of course, and her love had taken quite the shock. But that did not mean that Pansy felt very good about seeing her ex-husband smirking in his sexy way to every bloody woman in the place only six months out of their marriage.
Marcus had not only broken his wife's naïve little heart, he had also given her serious doubts about her own sex-appeal. Of course, everyone around her thought that she was drop-dead gorgeous, but Marcus cheated on her with several women for years, and she had not had a good shag in over twenty months, the last time beeing with the thrice-cursed bastard.
Plus, tonight, Pansy happened to be drunk. She might, or might not, have swallowed a few drops much of wine, but hey, who wouldn't in her shoes? She suddenly saw the pretty blond creature Marcus had been dancing with throw her slutty self upon the man, who seemed all too happy to snog her right back. Pansy had had enough. She dumped her glass on a table, muttered a few words to her friends, and fled the room.
She needed sex, that was the problem. She needed to be desired by men. She needed...tears started flowing and, in order to calm herself, she opened a random door and slammed it behind her, appearing in a tiny room with only a chair and a table, Merlin knew why.
Slowly, she sat on the chair, trussed her dress up around her waist, and, still crying, pushed her tiny red knickers to the side, started slithering her fingers over her slit, imagining she was the woman who Marcus was surely taking home tonight.
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Charlie Weasley sure loved the men with whom he worked. They knew how to throw a party, and even how to throw one in the middle of the Ministry's Yule Ball itself. He would never have thought that Minstry officials, sent to Romania to regulate his dragons, would be such teases.
The only problem was that Charlie was rather drunk.
He stumbled through the corridors. He had been to the toilet, and was having trouble finding his way back, so he simply decided that he would try opening every door, forgetting in his state that the Ball would not be found behind office doors.
That was how he came across a tiny room with a table and a chair, and on said chair, was a beautiful, blond young woman with haughty features scrunched up in pleasure. The woman's legs were spread wide, her silky knickers pushed to a side as her dress revealed everything up to her waist, and her eyes were closed as she moaned in pleasure, her fingers flitting over her pink, engorged clit, her slit slick in wetness.
Charlie recognised her as one Pansy Parkinson. He knew that she was Draco Malfoy's ex from school, and had married that tosser, Flint, and that she was a bitchy little thing, but his cock, firmly surrounded by his trousers, thought that she was quite the wonderful sight.
She mewled in pleasure, and he took a step forward, making a quick decision. It had been a long time since he had had a good fuck. He closed the door.
Pansy's eyes flickered open, and she gazed at him, still thumbing her clit, before reality slammed quickly in. She screamed and jumped up, hurriedly tugging her dress down, and Charlie licked his lips.
“Weasley,” she screeched. “Get out of here, you disgusting cockroach! And not a word to anyone, or I'll...”
“You'll what?” he sneered. “Hex me? I tame bloody dragons, Miss Masturbation. I can handle you. Now, if you really want me to keep silent and not sell my memories to the paparazzis so they can put them in a Pensieve, you'd better give me what I want.”
“And...what do you want, you wanker?”
He smirked in delight, and stroked his hard penis through his trousers. Her eyes widened.
“You mean...you utter BASTARD!”
“Aww, come on, hot pussy. It'll not be bad. From what I've seen, you're hot for it. If really you didn't want to be joined, you'd have put up a Locking Spell on the door. Now, I'm sure you're thinking of Flint while touching yourself, but dear, you're divorced, and last time I saw him, he was murmuring his eternal love to a woman in the loo.”
A couple of tears streamed down Pansy's face but he added, cruelly,
“Now, strip, or else the Wizarding World will know just what a slut you really are.”
“Please, Weasley...”
“Oh, don't worry, darling. I'll have you begging for something else in a minute. Now, strip, bitch!” he responded harshly while fumbling with his belt.
Pansy didn't hesitate. The bastard was serious. Besides, he was right: she wanted a hot go for it, and honestly, Weasley was not bad-looking, with his firm, muscular body.
Trembling, she lifted her hands to her straps under his hungry gaze, and pulled her dress down, sending it in a floating heap to the floor. He groaned softly and pulled his cock from his pants. Her eyes widened: he was HUGE. Even Marcus, though well done, wasn't this big, and she wondered for a second if he would hurt. His large hand started stroking his hard cock, and she swallowed.
“Like what you see?”
She could only nod, and he snarled,
“Good. Now, hands on the table, bend in two, and stretch your legs. Show me that cunt of yours.”
She eagerly obeyed, forgetting that she was not a willing partner in this and that he forced her into it. He moaned upon seeing her dripping entry from behind, wetness slickening her inner thighs, her puckered hole visible. He marched up and rose a hand, bringing it down to slap an arsecheek. She groaned and rolled her hips toward him. He snickered and took a buttock in each hand, massaging them, and thrust his cock into her crack, dryhumping her with a rage. He growled and she keened, feeling him hard against her arsehole.
“Fuck it, slut. Aren't you the hot one,” he muttered, before running two fingers through her damp inner lips. He then brought his fingers up, stretching himself so he was prodding them against her mouth.
“Lick them clean. Taste yourself, how you are hot and wet for me. A man who hates you. Go on, whore.”
She mewled, but obediently darted her tongue to wrap it around the fingers, before sliding her face forward to suck them, as if she was operating a blowjob. It was wrong, delicious, and devilish. While she did so, his other hand slipped up to a breast, fondling a nipple, before descending to pinch her clit.
“You like that, whore?”
She nodded and he slapped her slit. Hard.
“Sorry, slut? Didn't hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes? Is that all?”
“Yes, I loved it...”
“Sir.”
“I loved it, Sir,” she moaned as more wetness coated her body, excited by such proceedings. “Please, more, Sir.”
“I shall give it to you,” he growled, “but only if you are a good slut. Now, less talk.”
He seized her brutally by the hair, making her cry out in pain, and pulled her to her knees, before circling her and leaning against the table.
“Suck me off.”
She almost threw herself on him. She grabbed his cock, and lavered his balls, as his hands in her hair pulled and pushed in clear commands. Her tongue then licked its way up to his crown head, a glorious purple, and she moaned upon tasting his precum. She took him in her mouth, slowly, managing to arrive half-way. He was enormous. She felt his cock pushing, demanding, against the back of her mouth, and managed to pull it down her throat, not all of it but almost. She nearly gagged, but after a few tries, it slid down easily. He howled in triumph, and held her steadily by the hair before thrusting, hard and fast, into her mouth, facefucking her. It was no longer a blowjob, but he was using her as a mere hole. And, worse, she loved it.
Before he came, though, he pulled out and hauled her up, pushing her in the same position as before.
“Good little slut,” he cooed mockingly. “You liked that?”
“Oh, Sir,” she purred. “Please. Fuck me, please. Fuck me like you fucked my mouth.”
He roared in approval before taking his cock in one hand, moving her lips aside with the other, and slammed into her, buried balls deep and thrusting against her cervix. She was so excited at this point that she luckily felt no pain, only pleasure, and screamed out, revelling in it, nails scrabbling on the table as her body was deliciously torn apart by his size. He growled and started thrusting into her at an alarmingly quick rate, and she could only hold on for dear life and cry out in pleasure as he used her.
It was quick, and heated, and oh so good. However, when he muttered,
“Touch your clit, slut.”
She fell apart. One, two, three thrusts more of the combined actions of his cock and her fingers sent her screaming into oblivion. She tightened around him and he became more hurried, less precise, then she went limp from the sheer force of her orgasm, waves of pleasure and shock waving through her. He continued slamming into her cunt, growling deeply, and she was content to let him fuck her sated body as if she were a doll.
He came with a strangled shout, and she felt spurts of hot seed coursing through her, pumping as he thrusted on and on and she milked him in. He finally went silent, when the last drops of semen had been squeezed into her, and he waited for a minute to catch his ragged breath before pulling out, sending semen running down her legs and to the floor. He groaned, full of masculine pride upon seeing this wasted female displaying her slick cunt and bearing his precious seed dripping from it, then turned away in silence and got dressed. Before he left, he sweetly said,
“Good girl, Parkinson. Now, a deal is a deal, is it not, so I shall not prevent paparazzis. However, you are a good fuck, and I'll be around for a few more days before leaving again. I expect you tomorrow night in Room 22 of the Warlock's Way Hotel. Otherwise, I'm sure that if not paparazzis, well, a few friends of yours would be happy enough to know just what a naughty, hot little bitch you are.”
With that, he stepped out and left.
Pansy dressed in silence, thoughtful. She did not mind shagging the Weasley, of course. He had a magical cock, and yes, she used him as much as he used her. After all, he had achieved something.
He had given back her female pride, the one that made her feel sexy and wanted again.
.
Pansy was now searching for the toilets, and she opened a door, still tipsy, to find a large conference room.
In it, a handsome, blond-haired man was slowly pushing his way into a young woman's arsehole. They were both moaning in pleasure. Pansy stood, eyes wide, as Draco Malfoy's head reared back when he pushed himself all in, eyes closed. The young woman was only fifteen or sixteen, and had bright red hair, curly and unruly, in which Draco had wrapped a hand to keep her bending against the table. Pansy recognised Rose Weasley, daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley, who was born nine months after the war's end, making people joke on just how the Weasley couple had celebrated Voldemort's defeat.
Draco was married to one Astoria Greengrass, a raven-headed beauty, and had a son Rose's age. However, he seemed deeply in lust with the young woman of sixteen years old. Pansy watched, entranced, as his cock pulled in and out, in and out, balls slapping against her pale flesh...
“Draco,” moaned the girl.
“Yesss,” he hissed. “Hermione...”
The girl snarled.
“I'm Rose!”
“And you well know that I fuck you because I'm in love with your mother and I can't have her, right?” he snapped back. “Merlin, you look so much like her...”
“With Dad's hair,” she taunted.
“No. With your mum's hair, and your...and Weasley's awful color...”
“Just shut up,” she moaned, “and fuck me...yes, yes, YES!”
As things got rather wild between the two of them, Pansy left silently and murmured to herself, walking through the corridors,
“And I thought shagging a Weasley was bad...well, Pansy, looks like you don't have the dirtiest secret of them all!”
She Disapparated into the night to a certain adress. Seeing her ex doing things to a wanton redhead made her want a second round with one blackmailing wizard of her knowledge...
FIN
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Title: Lusting for Release
Pairing: Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley and a bit of Draco/Rose
Rating: NC-17
Author: DramioneInLove
Beta: hp-beta
Prompter: ladysashi
Word count: ard. 2,600.
Summary: Pansy hates the Ministry Yule Ball, and the fact that her ex-husband is dansing with every beauty in the place. She decides to get a bit of release out of herself...but when one drunk, horny redhead dragon tamer comes along, she'll be getting more than she bargained for...
Warnings: Blackmail sex, drunk sex, graphic sex, oral sex, strong profanity, slightly underage sex
Author's note: This is my submission for the Kink and Squick Winter Fest. Hope you enjoy. The prompt was “blackmail, tipsy sex” at the Ministry Yule Ball, between Pansy/Charlie or Draco/Rose. Well, prompter dear, you're in for a little surprise at the end of the story...Thanks for all!
…
Pansy Parkinson's long, slender fingers curled around the stem of her Champagne glass, the tips whitening in her furious hold of the harmless item, as her light green glare focused upon the cause of her wrath. She did not leave Marcus out of her gaze as he waltzed a pretty, giggling, stupid witch around the floor.
Not that Pansy wanted to be here anyway. She rarely attended the Ministry Yule Ball, as she hated to see the infamous Golden Trio being thrown flowers at, still sixteen years after the war. One blasted Harry Potter, his poor as a church mouse blood-traitor of a sidekick, and the Mudblood extraordinaire, Weasley's wife, could barely step into the place without the crowd going wild in their awful faces. Other war heros attended too, and it just made her sick. Not that she was forced to attend the Ball either. She did not work for the thrice-cursed Ministry. In fact, Pansy did not work at all. Her parents died in the war, and she was the sole heir of quite a fortune.
She had simply got married three years after the war, barely twenty years old. Marcus Flint had seemed to her to be the love of her life. She had seen him again six months out of Hogwarts, and he had looked like a dark, daring man, and, if he did lack some talents as a wizard, was quite the hit in the bedroom, had money, and loved partying and night life as much as she did. She had fallen quickly in love.
However, after ten years of seemingly perfection, Pansy had started having doubts on her husband. He would come back late, without really good excuses. Then he started reeking of female perfume. Not only one, but several different scents. Blinded, Pansy drunk up his lies. But then she had spotted him in Diagon Alley, engaged in a heated snogging session with one beautiful witch, and her heart had been broken. She had divorced, of course, and her love had taken quite the shock. But that did not mean that Pansy felt very good about seeing her ex-husband smirking in his sexy way to every bloody woman in the place only six months out of their marriage.
Marcus had not only broken his wife's naïve little heart, he had also given her serious doubts about her own sex-appeal. Of course, everyone around her thought that she was drop-dead gorgeous, but Marcus cheated on her with several women for years, and she had not had a good shag in over twenty months, the last time beeing with the thrice-cursed bastard.
Plus, tonight, Pansy happened to be drunk. She might, or might not, have swallowed a few drops much of wine, but hey, who wouldn't in her shoes? She suddenly saw the pretty blond creature Marcus had been dancing with throw her slutty self upon the man, who seemed all too happy to snog her right back. Pansy had had enough. She dumped her glass on a table, muttered a few words to her friends, and fled the room.
She needed sex, that was the problem. She needed to be desired by men. She needed...tears started flowing and, in order to calm herself, she opened a random door and slammed it behind her, appearing in a tiny room with only a chair and a table, Merlin knew why.
Slowly, she sat on the chair, trussed her dress up around her waist, and, still crying, pushed her tiny red knickers to the side, started slithering her fingers over her slit, imagining she was the woman who Marcus was surely taking home tonight.
.
Charlie Weasley sure loved the men with whom he worked. They knew how to throw a party, and even how to throw one in the middle of the Ministry's Yule Ball itself. He would never have thought that Minstry officials, sent to Romania to regulate his dragons, would be such teases.
The only problem was that Charlie was rather drunk.
He stumbled through the corridors. He had been to the toilet, and was having trouble finding his way back, so he simply decided that he would try opening every door, forgetting in his state that the Ball would not be found behind office doors.
That was how he came across a tiny room with a table and a chair, and on said chair, was a beautiful, blond young woman with haughty features scrunched up in pleasure. The woman's legs were spread wide, her silky knickers pushed to a side as her dress revealed everything up to her waist, and her eyes were closed as she moaned in pleasure, her fingers flitting over her pink, engorged clit, her slit slick in wetness.
Charlie recognised her as one Pansy Parkinson. He knew that she was Draco Malfoy's ex from school, and had married that tosser, Flint, and that she was a bitchy little thing, but his cock, firmly surrounded by his trousers, thought that she was quite the wonderful sight.
She mewled in pleasure, and he took a step forward, making a quick decision. It had been a long time since he had had a good fuck. He closed the door.
Pansy's eyes flickered open, and she gazed at him, still thumbing her clit, before reality slammed quickly in. She screamed and jumped up, hurriedly tugging her dress down, and Charlie licked his lips.
“Weasley,” she screeched. “Get out of here, you disgusting cockroach! And not a word to anyone, or I'll...”
“You'll what?” he sneered. “Hex me? I tame bloody dragons, Miss Masturbation. I can handle you. Now, if you really want me to keep silent and not sell my memories to the paparazzis so they can put them in a Pensieve, you'd better give me what I want.”
“And...what do you want, you wanker?”
He smirked in delight, and stroked his hard penis through his trousers. Her eyes widened.
“You mean...you utter BASTARD!”
“Aww, come on, hot pussy. It'll not be bad. From what I've seen, you're hot for it. If really you didn't want to be joined, you'd have put up a Locking Spell on the door. Now, I'm sure you're thinking of Flint while touching yourself, but dear, you're divorced, and last time I saw him, he was murmuring his eternal love to a woman in the loo.”
A couple of tears streamed down Pansy's face but he added, cruelly,
“Now, strip, or else the Wizarding World will know just what a slut you really are.”
“Please, Weasley...”
“Oh, don't worry, darling. I'll have you begging for something else in a minute. Now, strip, bitch!” he responded harshly while fumbling with his belt.
Pansy didn't hesitate. The bastard was serious. Besides, he was right: she wanted a hot go for it, and honestly, Weasley was not bad-looking, with his firm, muscular body.
Trembling, she lifted her hands to her straps under his hungry gaze, and pulled her dress down, sending it in a floating heap to the floor. He groaned softly and pulled his cock from his pants. Her eyes widened: he was HUGE. Even Marcus, though well done, wasn't this big, and she wondered for a second if he would hurt. His large hand started stroking his hard cock, and she swallowed.
“Like what you see?”
She could only nod, and he snarled,
“Good. Now, hands on the table, bend in two, and stretch your legs. Show me that cunt of yours.”
She eagerly obeyed, forgetting that she was not a willing partner in this and that he forced her into it. He moaned upon seeing her dripping entry from behind, wetness slickening her inner thighs, her puckered hole visible. He marched up and rose a hand, bringing it down to slap an arsecheek. She groaned and rolled her hips toward him. He snickered and took a buttock in each hand, massaging them, and thrust his cock into her crack, dryhumping her with a rage. He growled and she keened, feeling him hard against her arsehole.
“Fuck it, slut. Aren't you the hot one,” he muttered, before running two fingers through her damp inner lips. He then brought his fingers up, stretching himself so he was prodding them against her mouth.
“Lick them clean. Taste yourself, how you are hot and wet for me. A man who hates you. Go on, whore.”
She mewled, but obediently darted her tongue to wrap it around the fingers, before sliding her face forward to suck them, as if she was operating a blowjob. It was wrong, delicious, and devilish. While she did so, his other hand slipped up to a breast, fondling a nipple, before descending to pinch her clit.
“You like that, whore?”
She nodded and he slapped her slit. Hard.
“Sorry, slut? Didn't hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes? Is that all?”
“Yes, I loved it...”
“Sir.”
“I loved it, Sir,” she moaned as more wetness coated her body, excited by such proceedings. “Please, more, Sir.”
“I shall give it to you,” he growled, “but only if you are a good slut. Now, less talk.”
He seized her brutally by the hair, making her cry out in pain, and pulled her to her knees, before circling her and leaning against the table.
“Suck me off.”
She almost threw herself on him. She grabbed his cock, and lavered his balls, as his hands in her hair pulled and pushed in clear commands. Her tongue then licked its way up to his crown head, a glorious purple, and she moaned upon tasting his precum. She took him in her mouth, slowly, managing to arrive half-way. He was enormous. She felt his cock pushing, demanding, against the back of her mouth, and managed to pull it down her throat, not all of it but almost. She nearly gagged, but after a few tries, it slid down easily. He howled in triumph, and held her steadily by the hair before thrusting, hard and fast, into her mouth, facefucking her. It was no longer a blowjob, but he was using her as a mere hole. And, worse, she loved it.
Before he came, though, he pulled out and hauled her up, pushing her in the same position as before.
“Good little slut,” he cooed mockingly. “You liked that?”
“Oh, Sir,” she purred. “Please. Fuck me, please. Fuck me like you fucked my mouth.”
He roared in approval before taking his cock in one hand, moving her lips aside with the other, and slammed into her, buried balls deep and thrusting against her cervix. She was so excited at this point that she luckily felt no pain, only pleasure, and screamed out, revelling in it, nails scrabbling on the table as her body was deliciously torn apart by his size. He growled and started thrusting into her at an alarmingly quick rate, and she could only hold on for dear life and cry out in pleasure as he used her.
It was quick, and heated, and oh so good. However, when he muttered,
“Touch your clit, slut.”
She fell apart. One, two, three thrusts more of the combined actions of his cock and her fingers sent her screaming into oblivion. She tightened around him and he became more hurried, less precise, then she went limp from the sheer force of her orgasm, waves of pleasure and shock waving through her. He continued slamming into her cunt, growling deeply, and she was content to let him fuck her sated body as if she were a doll.
He came with a strangled shout, and she felt spurts of hot seed coursing through her, pumping as he thrusted on and on and she milked him in. He finally went silent, when the last drops of semen had been squeezed into her, and he waited for a minute to catch his ragged breath before pulling out, sending semen running down her legs and to the floor. He groaned, full of masculine pride upon seeing this wasted female displaying her slick cunt and bearing his precious seed dripping from it, then turned away in silence and got dressed. Before he left, he sweetly said,
“Good girl, Parkinson. Now, a deal is a deal, is it not, so I shall not prevent paparazzis. However, you are a good fuck, and I'll be around for a few more days before leaving again. I expect you tomorrow night in Room 22 of the Warlock's Way Hotel. Otherwise, I'm sure that if not paparazzis, well, a few friends of yours would be happy enough to know just what a naughty, hot little bitch you are.”
With that, he stepped out and left.
Pansy dressed in silence, thoughtful. She did not mind shagging the Weasley, of course. He had a magical cock, and yes, she used him as much as he used her. After all, he had achieved something.
He had given back her female pride, the one that made her feel sexy and wanted again.
.
Pansy was now searching for the toilets, and she opened a door, still tipsy, to find a large conference room.
In it, a handsome, blond-haired man was slowly pushing his way into a young woman's arsehole. They were both moaning in pleasure. Pansy stood, eyes wide, as Draco Malfoy's head reared back when he pushed himself all in, eyes closed. The young woman was only fifteen or sixteen, and had bright red hair, curly and unruly, in which Draco had wrapped a hand to keep her bending against the table. Pansy recognised Rose Weasley, daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley, who was born nine months after the war's end, making people joke on just how the Weasley couple had celebrated Voldemort's defeat.
Draco was married to one Astoria Greengrass, a raven-headed beauty, and had a son Rose's age. However, he seemed deeply in lust with the young woman of sixteen years old. Pansy watched, entranced, as his cock pulled in and out, in and out, balls slapping against her pale flesh...
“Draco,” moaned the girl.
“Yesss,” he hissed. “Hermione...”
The girl snarled.
“I'm Rose!”
“And you well know that I fuck you because I'm in love with your mother and I can't have her, right?” he snapped back. “Merlin, you look so much like her...”
“With Dad's hair,” she taunted.
“No. With your mum's hair, and your...and Weasley's awful color...”
“Just shut up,” she moaned, “and fuck me...yes, yes, YES!”
As things got rather wild between the two of them, Pansy left silently and murmured to herself, walking through the corridors,
“And I thought shagging a Weasley was bad...well, Pansy, looks like you don't have the dirtiest secret of them all!”
She Disapparated into the night to a certain adress. Seeing her ex doing things to a wanton redhead made her want a second round with one blackmailing wizard of her knowledge...
FIN