Inell's Fanfiction Archive

How did I end up here: standing naked in the shower, a charm concealing my eyes as easily as a scrap of material, my hands bound behind my head, my fingers nervously pulling at the shaggy red hair that is slick with water, and her eyes watching me?


The last thing I can remember that makes any sense was the Quidditch match. I’d started working for the Magpies about eighteen months ago. Assistant Coach is my official title but all that means is that I’m the one who has to do all the grunt work. After my injuries during the War ruled out playing professional Quidditch, this coaching position was an answer to my prayers. I’d not wanted to get stuck working in an office like Dad or having to work for the twins, which was my other offer at the time. I keep up with the team, clean, organize equipment, and practice with them. The worst part of the job is picking out slivers of wood from my fingers when I get a splinter, which rarely happens, so, yeah, I love my job and hope one day to coach my own team.


After today’s match, which we won, I fulfilled my routine duties of gathering equipment and cleaning up our team’s area. After finishing, I always indulge myself by taking a trip around the stadium. I can still fly and play the game even if my leg was injured badly enough to prevent me from being a professional. It’s during those moments, when I’m on my broom and everyone is gone, that I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of the wind in my hair. I’m fifteen again, flying around with Harry, teasing Hermione for refusing to get on a broom. I’m not twenty-two with a bum leg and no real goals beyond what I’m going to have for dinner when I get back to my empty flat.


I flew until I had to stop when my leg started throbbing, reminding me I’d been on the broom too long. I’d locked up the equipment and headed to the changing rooms, tossing my keys back and forth to occupy the boring walk to the back of the stadium. When I’d reached the showers, it wasn’t a surprise to find the team long gone. What had been a surprise was finding the new owner of the Magpies standing behind me after I’d removed my boots and jumper. Narcissa Malfoy: wife of a convicted Death Eater, mother of Ferret, and my new boss as of five weeks ago. She was wearing formal robes in a lovely shade of blue that caused her honey blonde hair to shine and was nearly the same shade as her eyes.


Ever since the first team meeting when we met our new owner, I’d been confused by my reaction to her. Without a doubt, Mrs. Malfoy is a beautiful woman. In her mid-forties, she looks at least a decade younger. Tall and willowy, she has gorgeous hair and great tits. Her face is long, her nose sharp, her lips full and usually twisted into a slight smirk, as if she has a secret that amuses her greatly. She is also extremely forbidden even when it came to wanking fantasies. She is old enough to be my mum, was suspected to have been working with You-Know-Who along with her prat of a husband, and had mothered the annoying git who I was still convinced had somehow bewitched our Hermione into falling for him.


Knowing I shouldn’t even be looking at her just made it all the more impossible not to look. Subtly has never been my strength so it was little surprise that she caught me staring several times during that first meeting. Afterwards, she had introduced herself, her fingers lingering on the back of my hand and that knowing smirk on her lips. I stammered out my name, blushing as red as my hair, and hastily left before she confronted me about the definitely impure thoughts I’d be having about someone extremely off limits.


In the weeks that followed, she seemed to take a personal interest in her investment. I’ve lost count of how many times she’d smirk at me as I was trying not to steal glances at her, and I knew that I’d been a complete fool each time she politely inquired about the team‘s performance. I was lucky if I could gather my wits and converse naturally when she was leaning over my shoulder to read various parchments, and she had the most annoying habit of licking her lips as she concentrated.


She had been at the game today, just as she had been to the previous three matches since she’d taken over as owner. I’d seen her in the crowd, but did my best to ignore her as I focused on my job. I’d caught her looking at me a few times, always with that slight curl of her lips, and knew she probably found it terribly amusing that I reacted to her. Malfoys had hated Weasleys for several generations, her husband continuing the feud with Dad that had started decades ago. I could just imagine her gossiping with all her snotty Pureblood friends, laughing over the fact that a poor git like me who couldn’t even walk without a slight limp got flustered every time she looked my way.


When I’d heard a door closing behind me as I was undressing, I expected to find one of the team. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be riding high after a win and forget something in the changing room. Narcissa Malfoy was one of the last people I expected to find. I’d been half dressed, my jumper on the bench and my trousers unfastened. My whole body had turned red as I asked her if there was something she needed, knowing that she was the owner of the team and currently in the wizards changing room so there must be some reason she was there. I’d known something was different from the way she looked at me. Those cool blue eyes had swept over me in a way that was definitely not professional. Next thing I knew, she was walking past me to the shower, looking over her shoulder and coyly asking if I planned to give her what she needed or stand there looking like a dazed Hippogriff.


And that’s how I, Ron Weasley, ended up naked in the shower, the water spraying down my bare body, my vision blocked by some spell I’d never even heard of, my hands bound at the wrist behind my head, with Narcissa Malfoy looking at me. At least, I assume she’s looking at me. I’ve been standing here for hours, it seems, though I know it’s only been a few minutes. Maybe it’s all a big joke? I could just see those Malfoys enjoying this, getting someone naked and then laughing at them for being so bloody stupid and trusting. How Hermione can actually shag Ferret and sincerely tell me he’s a ‘good man’ is beyond me.


“Well, Mister Weasley, what do you have to say for yourself?”


Her voice is amused, interrupting my not nice thoughts about her prat of a son, and causing me to remember that I’m standing in front of a beautiful older woman completely naked and helpless. Looking in the direction her voice was coming from, I straighten my shoulders, raise my head, and say with only a slight stammer, “Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t know what game you’re playing but I’ll not be made a fool, damn it.”


“Dear boy, I think you enjoy my games.” She is definitely amused and far closer than I realize. The scent of lilac and vanilla surrounds me as soft fingers drift down my lower abdomen to grip the erection that has been growing harder from the moment her eyes had hungrily swept over him. “My, you are a big boy.”


Bloody fucking hell. She’s stroking my cock. She’s stroking my cock and whispering really corny things in my ear. But who cares what she’s saying because her fingers are long and elegant and they’re currently wrapped around my length lazily moving up and down. When her thumb brushes over the head, wiping the pre-come along my slit, I can’t keep from moaning.


“I’ve seen you watching me, Ronald. Is this what you wanted?”


“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it, not when I’m hard and slowly fucking her hand and know I’m about to come if she keeps doing that. “Oh God.”


“I must admit that I’m quite surprised a handsome boy like you would think such impure thoughts about someone my age.”


She thinks I’m handsome? I can feel my lips twist into a grin at this news. Doesn’t she see the faint scars on my chest or the pink skin on my leg where I was burned during the final battle of the War? I’m tall and gangly, my skin covered in freckles, my hair shaggy and falling past my collar, and no one has ever called me handsome before, specially not a beautiful experienced woman with cold blue eyes and an icy sneer that has me hotter than anyone in years. The fact that I can’t see gives me more confidence than I would normally have under the circumstances. “I think you’re sexy regardless of how old you are.”


“Such a sweet boy.” Her fingers scratch my chest, playing with my hard nipples. “I think I shall keep you.”


Before I can reply, she says a word and suddenly I can see again. My eyes widen when I focus on her. She’s naked, her tits even better than I’d imagined, and she’s looking at me as if she finds me attractive. The water from the shower has wet her hair, causing it to look darker, droplets moving down the curves of her slender body. She has a birthmark on her right hip, her body pale and unblemished, the blonde curls between her legs wet from either the shower or arousal. The smirk is on her lips again, confidence evident in every move she makes. Before I can ask her to release my hands, she is kissing me.


It’s wet and sloppy. I use too much tongue, my lips are chapped and hers are soft. Our noses hit several times before we find the right angle. I’m unable to bend down to reach her, can’t hold her and adjust positions, but she doesn’t seem to mind the fumbling. She’s kissing me back eagerly, though she is far better at it than I. I wonder if she does this often, finding young men who think she is attractive and snogging them wildly. Her husband has been dead a couple years now and she’s definitely a sensual woman so I expect she must have lovers.


When she pulls back, I see that her cheeks are flushed and her blue eyes are shining with lust. She’s moving closer, her tits pressing against my chest and her hand firmly gripping my cock. Giving her my best sexy smile, the one that usually caused Seamus and Dean to guffaw and crack jokes at my expense but that Hermione said she found quite charming, I ask, “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Malfoy?”


“Perhaps,” she replies with an arch of her brow, her eyes lingering on my lips. Take that, you gits! She finds it sexy.


“I think it’s working,” I tell her with as much seriousness as I can considering she’s wanking me in the showers.


“Silly boy,” she laughs softly, shaking her head before releasing my cock and stepping back. Her hands drift over her body as she watches me. “Tell me what you want, Ronald. Do you want to squeeze my breasts?” I watch as she caresses her tits, her body glistening with water.


“Yes,” I admit with a low moan. I never really thought it would be erotic to watch someone touching themselves but my cock is throbbing and missing the feel of her hand.


“I bet you’ve stayed awake at night thinking about me, haven’t you? Touching yourself, dreaming of me. Tell me what you’ve dreamed, Ronald. I want to hear the wicked thoughts you’ve had about me, you naughty little boy.”


“Fuck.” I cringe as the word slips past, ready to be boxed in the ear for cursing. Instead, she narrows her eyes and bites her lip, a flush crossing her cheeks as she gives me that same aloof gaze she must have perfected when she was five. Why does hearing her call me a naughty boy make my cock throb? Bloody hell, I’m an even bigger perv than I realized. My voice is husky as I say, “I think about playing with your tits. The robes you wear show them off so well. Is that why you wear them? To have people look at them, want to touch them, to feel powerful because they want you but you don’t want them?”


“How would you touch them?” She ignores my query, her eyes focused on mine, a cool expression on her face even as she tries to conceal her curiosity.


“Let me free and I’ll show you.” I see her debating, blue eyes looking from my arms to my cock to my eyes. Finally, she nods slightly, speaking the word to release my arms. Stretching, I rub my wrists before taking a step closer to her. Hesitantly, I reach out, waiting for her to stop me or suddenly laugh and say it was nothing more than an elaborate joke because she was bored. When my palm touches her nipple, she gasps softly. I look up and see her watching my hand. I squeeze her gently, feeling her pressing closer as her head falls back so she’s looking at the ceiling.


“Your hands are so rough.” She says this in a surprised voice, and I wonder if she’s never felt work-roughened hands on her before. Squeezing harder, I lower my head, my tongue running along the curve of creamy flesh before licking her nipple. She pushes me back suddenly, her eyes flashing as her lips curve into a scowl. “I didn’t say you could taste, boy.”


“Fine.” My voice is sharp, annoyance evident as I reach down to find my erection. “I’ve had a long day, Mrs. Malfoy. It was bloody hot out there today, my leg is killing me after standing this long, and I’m too old to play these warped games. Next time you’re bored, find someone else to tease.”


Turning away from her, I move to the wall, standing beneath the still warm shower spray. I lean my forehead against the tile, my hand rubbing my cock rapidly. I’m close, so close. I may be some poor, pathetic kid to her, but I’m not going to be her damn pet no matter how desperately I want to fuck her.


“Fuck me.”


My hand stops moving. Looking over my shoulder, I see her standing where I left her. She’s got her chin held high and there’s a look of determination I’ve often seen on Hermione’s face. Not wanting to be too easy, I ask, “Why? Why me?”


“Bloody hell. You’ve got a naked woman asking you to fuck her and you want to talk? What sort of oversexed young man are you?” She is obviously cross, annoyed that I stopped playing her game, and I have to say that I find her rather adorable as she’s glaring at me. There’s no hint of the cold ice queen I met weeks ago. Oh no, this woman is frustrated, aroused, and angry.


“The kind that has no interest in being used as a sex toy by a wealthy widow who is bored and decides to slum it for an hour or two.”


“Slum it?” she repeats with a confused look before glaring once again. “You may be an attractive boy but you’re not very bright are you?”


“Actually, I’m smarter than you’d think,” I say confidently, rather proud of the fact that I’m not as stupid as people seem to believe. I may not be as intelligent as Hermione but I can hold my own.


“I am not bored, as you so rudely suggest. Nor do I make it a habit of seducing men young enough to be my son! This was a horrible idea. I thought we’d have a nice shag, and I’d be able to leave with at least a small amount of my dignity intact. It seems I was wrong. I should never have indulged myself this fantasy. A Weasley, no less. It was that damn hair and the way you looked at me, as if I was attractive and desirable. No one has looked at me like that in a long time.” She suddenly closed her mouth tightly, seeming to realize what she had admitted. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she gave me a condescending look. “I trust that you will speak of this to no one. Good day, Mister Weasley.”


I react instantly. Moving forward, I grab her arm as she walks away, pulling her around and shoving her against the shower wall. My lips are on hers before she can protest, this kiss far better than the sloppy one before. As we kiss, my hand moves between her legs, finding her hot and wet. Sliding two fingers into her, I began to fuck her, releasing her mouth to bite her neck. Repeating what she said earlier, I demand, “Tell me what you want, Mrs. Malfoy.”


“I want you inside me,” she groans in my ear, her fingernails digging into my back as she moves against my hand.


Gripping my cock with my slick fingers, I run the head along her lips before finally entering her. She’s tighter than I’d imagined, her breath warm on my neck as I thrust inside. My hands grip her arse, trying to lift her to get a better angle. Her long legs wrap around my waist and I put all our weight on my good leg, using the wall to help balance us as I began to move. “So fucking wet.” I growl in her ear as she holds on to my shoulders.


The events of the afternoon have left me aroused and ready. It doesn’t take long before I feel a familiar tension. Bloody hell. I’ve not even lasted five minutes. She’s so tight and wet, her muscles squeezing my cock, her tits pressed against my chest. I love the sounds she’s making, soft moans she’s trying to conceal and whimpers every time I bring her down hard and rotate my hips a certain way.


I sink deep into her when I come, grunting as I find release. A few shallow thrusts, her muscles milking my cock, and I’m completely spent. She didn’t come, which isn’t surprising since I barely lasted as long as some gawky fifteen year-old. Removing her legs from my waist, I slide to my knees, careful not to hit my bad leg on the tile, though kneeling causes me to cringe as I adjust positions. Using two fingers, I spread her cunt open, feeling her eyes watching me. My gaze catches hers as I lean forward, my tongue lapping at the mixture of her juices and my come. She licks her lips as I fuck her with my face, her hands squeezing her tits, her body sprawled against the wall, blonde hair surrounding her lovely face. She looks wanton, wicked, not at all like the icy bitch I remember seeing at various events in the past.


I lick the juices flowing from her, my tongue entering her, stroking the walls of her cunt, my nose rubbing against her clit. She’s making the cutest noise, soft gasps of breath, her body smelling of sweat and sex. I push a finger into her, thrusting it inside in time with the licks of my tongue, adding a second when she begins to rub against my face. I lick her clit, sucking it into my mouth, and that’s all it takes. She comes with a low cry, her body sliding down the wall. I lap up her release until I feel her hand in my hair, pulling back.


“Enough,” she says breathlessly. Sitting back, I look at her. That sexy smirk is back, and she looks entirely sated.


What now? I don’t ask but it’s the thought running through my mind as I wipe my wet mouth with the back of my hand. Standing carefully, I move beneath the full spray of the water, letting it clean the come and sweat from my body. She joins me, her hands tentatively moving over my chest and broad shoulders, tracing the curve of my back and arse. I return the favor, playing with the gorgeous tits that had caught my attention weeks ago. Soon, the shower is forgotten as we explore one another.


Lying in her bed hours later, flannel sheets rubbing against me and her body pressed against mine, I can’t stop smiling. I have no idea what’s happening between us nor do I particularly care. She’s sexy, experienced, and finds me attractive. Plus the sex is fucking amazing. What more could I want? Wait. There is something that causes my smile to widen even more. I can’t wait to see the look on Ferret’s face when I tell him that I’m his Mum’s new boy toy.


The End