FIC: And the Water Turned Her Gold, Hydrosmut Challenge Fic, Olympe/Tonks, NC-17
Title: And the Water Turned Her Gold
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Olympe/Tonks
Summary: Punishment, play, and bathtime fun…
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Femmeslash, caning, anal sex, D/s, age-play, fisting, post-war AU, PWP
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Word Count: 1,141
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K Rowling. The femmeslash smut is my doing.
A/N: Written for venivincere’s Hydrosmut Challenge. Many apologies for its lateness.
“The girl of tears
was bathing in flames
and the nightingale wept
with burned wings.
The golden girl
was a white heron
and the water turned her gold.”
- from “Quasida of the Golden Girl” by Federico Garcia Lorca,
1898-1936
She stood with her head bowed, a childlike blush spreading hot over her face, dusky braids cascading down her back and patent leather Mary Jane shoes gleaming on slender feet that turned slightly inward with an infantile gesture of docility, of shame.
A pleated skirt that flared above the knee and white ankle socks with frills completed the illusion of girlishness; but for the womanly swell of her bare breasts the young beauty, her black lashes wet with tears, would seem no more than fourteen. Her skin glowed warmly in the summer heat, changed to mirror the olive-tinted flesh of the lady in black satin who towered over her, a tender yet severe look in her dark eyes. It was as if the girl were indeed the older woman’s little daughter, quavering beneath that strict, maternal gaze.
The regal goddess in black stared imperiously at the feather duster that dangled unattended from the penitent’s small hand, and the blue and white fragments of porcelain that lay at her feet. She spoke, not in the beloved mother tongue she had herself taught her younger lover, but in the stern, austere English that she only used to make her disapproval and dominance known.
“Nymphadora,” she intoned majestically, “Zis will nevair do.”
The girl trembled at the authority in her mistress’ voice, and bit her lip at the sound of the hated name that she loved to hear only when Madame pronounced it. She surrendered as the duster was removed from her grasp, and shivered slightly as a flick of Madame’s wand cleared the mess of shattered china from the floor.
Bent over the dining-room table at Madame’s command, the girl Nymphadora almost wept aloud as her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and the smooth curves of her naked buttocks were exposed to the sultry air. She knew what was coming, and dreaded the pain Madame was telling her in purring tones that she deserved. Her limbs tensed, and her eyes clenched shut; only the silk of moisture between her taut thighs betrayed her desire and her need.
The first crack of the cane across her bare arse tore a scream from deep within her; the second burned like a brand yet made her whimper and lift her hips for the next stroke. She shuddered and her fingernails scraped the table’s surface as each blow reddened her delicate skin. Above the cane’s brutal swish and its bruising thuds against her flesh, she heard Madame’s deep voice bidding her count the strokes; she could barely do so as her breath came harsh and shallow, choked with childish sobs.
She only knew the blows had ceased when she felt herself being carried, then lifted onto her lover’s lap as Madame seated herself on an ornate, brocade-upholstered chaise longue in the next room. She moaned aloud and shivered, feeling Madame’s smooth hands caressing the flushed, contused mounds of her arse. Slick, cooling lotion anointed her; sighing with relief and pleasure, she relaxed into her beloved’s touch, only to stiffen with a cry as she felt one moistened fingertip probe between her swollen cheeks and lovingly stroke the tiny opening between them. She whimpered as Madame’s other hand spread her dampened slit, brushing over her sensitive little nub, that part of her that ached and throbbed when Madame bent low and murmured that her little Nymphadora’s punishment was far from over.
Making soothing noises deep in her throat, Madame poured more of the silky lotion over one thick forefinger, pushing it slowly against the tight pucker of Nymphadora’s anus, gradually stretching her and thrusting hard inside. The girl cried out as she was taken deeper and opened wider than she had ever been, giving herself completely to this darkest of caresses. This was the ultimate submission; never before had she allowed a loved one to enter her this way, to push past all the barriers of inhibition and fuck her arse, but she could not resist the deliciously wide, strong finger that moved in and out of her. Sweat dripped from her desire-wracked form, and she felt as if she was swooning, melting, enslaved by the beautiful half-giantess, utterly yielding to Madame’s strength and tenderness. Those hands that held and possessed her, so firm and muscled yet so butter-soft… her climax made her cling tight to her goddess and shed salt tears pure as diamonds upon her lover’s satin gown. Whispering words of rapture, praise and comfort, Olympe Maxime rocked the woman she adored close against her, bringing Nymphadora Tonks back to reality with her gentle presence, all her previous severity dissipated as if by a spell.
Tonks slid off Olympe’s lap and stripped herself of her child-slave costume; slipping through the nearest doorway to their sumptuous bathroom, she began to prepare the massive bathtub for them both. Lavender-scented foam to cleanse and relax them; shimmering candles in the crystal chandelier to cast a golden light over the blue and silver tiles. Sighing softly, Tonks entered the water, flecks of gold dancing across her skin as heavenly warm droplets splashed her naked body. She shook herself, transforming back to her natural appearance, but with her spiked hair a vivid, playful shade of magenta.
It had been far too long since she and Olympe had had a whole day to themselves for erotic pleasures; only when the school year at Beauxbatons was over and the summer holidays had commenced did the two women have the luxury of such time together. Time for Olympe to cease being the Headmistress for a little while, and Tonks to shed her role as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, time for them both to simply play and be together as lovers.
A soft, graceful footfall startled Tonks out of her reverie; her breath caught and she began to feel aroused again at the sight of Olympe descending into the water, lit by the glimmering aura of the candles, her breasts gloriously full and her pubic delta dark and inviting. As she settled upon a ledge in the bathtub, Tonks swam up onto her beloved’s lap, this time to claim the other woman’s lips in a deep, sensuous kiss.
Her tongue caressed Olympe’s as her slender fingers sought the broad peaks of the half-giantess’s nipples, pressing them hard and making Olympe gasp and moan into her mouth.
Under Tonks’ lascivious gaze, Olympe allowed herself to lay back on the ledge, legs drawn up and spread so Tonks could fill and take her. She purred and arched as Tonks slowly entered her, her whole hand claiming the warm, wet folds of Olympe’s channel as clouds of fragrant foam drifted around them.
A heady scent of lust and perfume filled the air, and cries of “Je t’aime” echoed from the marble walls as the water flowed and glittered with a brilliant sheen of gold.
~ Fin.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Olympe/Tonks
Summary: Punishment, play, and bathtime fun…
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Femmeslash, caning, anal sex, D/s, age-play, fisting, post-war AU, PWP
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Word Count: 1,141
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K Rowling. The femmeslash smut is my doing.
A/N: Written for venivincere’s Hydrosmut Challenge. Many apologies for its lateness.
“The girl of tears
was bathing in flames
and the nightingale wept
with burned wings.
The golden girl
was a white heron
and the water turned her gold.”
- from “Quasida of the Golden Girl” by Federico Garcia Lorca,
1898-1936
She stood with her head bowed, a childlike blush spreading hot over her face, dusky braids cascading down her back and patent leather Mary Jane shoes gleaming on slender feet that turned slightly inward with an infantile gesture of docility, of shame.
A pleated skirt that flared above the knee and white ankle socks with frills completed the illusion of girlishness; but for the womanly swell of her bare breasts the young beauty, her black lashes wet with tears, would seem no more than fourteen. Her skin glowed warmly in the summer heat, changed to mirror the olive-tinted flesh of the lady in black satin who towered over her, a tender yet severe look in her dark eyes. It was as if the girl were indeed the older woman’s little daughter, quavering beneath that strict, maternal gaze.
The regal goddess in black stared imperiously at the feather duster that dangled unattended from the penitent’s small hand, and the blue and white fragments of porcelain that lay at her feet. She spoke, not in the beloved mother tongue she had herself taught her younger lover, but in the stern, austere English that she only used to make her disapproval and dominance known.
“Nymphadora,” she intoned majestically, “Zis will nevair do.”
The girl trembled at the authority in her mistress’ voice, and bit her lip at the sound of the hated name that she loved to hear only when Madame pronounced it. She surrendered as the duster was removed from her grasp, and shivered slightly as a flick of Madame’s wand cleared the mess of shattered china from the floor.
Bent over the dining-room table at Madame’s command, the girl Nymphadora almost wept aloud as her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and the smooth curves of her naked buttocks were exposed to the sultry air. She knew what was coming, and dreaded the pain Madame was telling her in purring tones that she deserved. Her limbs tensed, and her eyes clenched shut; only the silk of moisture between her taut thighs betrayed her desire and her need.
The first crack of the cane across her bare arse tore a scream from deep within her; the second burned like a brand yet made her whimper and lift her hips for the next stroke. She shuddered and her fingernails scraped the table’s surface as each blow reddened her delicate skin. Above the cane’s brutal swish and its bruising thuds against her flesh, she heard Madame’s deep voice bidding her count the strokes; she could barely do so as her breath came harsh and shallow, choked with childish sobs.
She only knew the blows had ceased when she felt herself being carried, then lifted onto her lover’s lap as Madame seated herself on an ornate, brocade-upholstered chaise longue in the next room. She moaned aloud and shivered, feeling Madame’s smooth hands caressing the flushed, contused mounds of her arse. Slick, cooling lotion anointed her; sighing with relief and pleasure, she relaxed into her beloved’s touch, only to stiffen with a cry as she felt one moistened fingertip probe between her swollen cheeks and lovingly stroke the tiny opening between them. She whimpered as Madame’s other hand spread her dampened slit, brushing over her sensitive little nub, that part of her that ached and throbbed when Madame bent low and murmured that her little Nymphadora’s punishment was far from over.
Making soothing noises deep in her throat, Madame poured more of the silky lotion over one thick forefinger, pushing it slowly against the tight pucker of Nymphadora’s anus, gradually stretching her and thrusting hard inside. The girl cried out as she was taken deeper and opened wider than she had ever been, giving herself completely to this darkest of caresses. This was the ultimate submission; never before had she allowed a loved one to enter her this way, to push past all the barriers of inhibition and fuck her arse, but she could not resist the deliciously wide, strong finger that moved in and out of her. Sweat dripped from her desire-wracked form, and she felt as if she was swooning, melting, enslaved by the beautiful half-giantess, utterly yielding to Madame’s strength and tenderness. Those hands that held and possessed her, so firm and muscled yet so butter-soft… her climax made her cling tight to her goddess and shed salt tears pure as diamonds upon her lover’s satin gown. Whispering words of rapture, praise and comfort, Olympe Maxime rocked the woman she adored close against her, bringing Nymphadora Tonks back to reality with her gentle presence, all her previous severity dissipated as if by a spell.
Tonks slid off Olympe’s lap and stripped herself of her child-slave costume; slipping through the nearest doorway to their sumptuous bathroom, she began to prepare the massive bathtub for them both. Lavender-scented foam to cleanse and relax them; shimmering candles in the crystal chandelier to cast a golden light over the blue and silver tiles. Sighing softly, Tonks entered the water, flecks of gold dancing across her skin as heavenly warm droplets splashed her naked body. She shook herself, transforming back to her natural appearance, but with her spiked hair a vivid, playful shade of magenta.
It had been far too long since she and Olympe had had a whole day to themselves for erotic pleasures; only when the school year at Beauxbatons was over and the summer holidays had commenced did the two women have the luxury of such time together. Time for Olympe to cease being the Headmistress for a little while, and Tonks to shed her role as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, time for them both to simply play and be together as lovers.
A soft, graceful footfall startled Tonks out of her reverie; her breath caught and she began to feel aroused again at the sight of Olympe descending into the water, lit by the glimmering aura of the candles, her breasts gloriously full and her pubic delta dark and inviting. As she settled upon a ledge in the bathtub, Tonks swam up onto her beloved’s lap, this time to claim the other woman’s lips in a deep, sensuous kiss.
Her tongue caressed Olympe’s as her slender fingers sought the broad peaks of the half-giantess’s nipples, pressing them hard and making Olympe gasp and moan into her mouth.
Under Tonks’ lascivious gaze, Olympe allowed herself to lay back on the ledge, legs drawn up and spread so Tonks could fill and take her. She purred and arched as Tonks slowly entered her, her whole hand claiming the warm, wet folds of Olympe’s channel as clouds of fragrant foam drifted around them.
A heady scent of lust and perfume filled the air, and cries of “Je t’aime” echoed from the marble walls as the water flowed and glittered with a brilliant sheen of gold.
~ Fin.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.