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Get the Hell Out of This Fairytale	By : sashaphillips Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 7685 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Get the Hell Out of This Fairytale
- 1
Title: Get the Hell Out of This Fairytale

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Dudley/Sarah (she belongs to me)

POV: Dudley Dursley, OotP summertime, pre-Dementor.

Summary: Fuck now. Ask later. It's the Privet Drive mentality. Or at least, Dudley likes to think that way... or... he likes to think he thinks that way.

AN: Rated for hard sexual content, language and anti-feminist attitudes :) ... also, thank you to miss_gordon for helping to inspire this wth your fic for me (see my memories, people, she's amazing). You put me in the mood to write smut-- be.. proud?!! uh, heh.

GET the HELL out of

THIS FAIRYTALE

Fuck now. Ask later. The Privet Drive mentality.

At least, that was how Dudley liked to think, or� it was how he�d like to think he thought, but that was much to confusing to even go into�so he�d stick with acting like that was how he was. It was much easier than explaining, and besides, no one questioned his motives anyway. After all, he was Big D.
�Cold out here,� pipes up Sarah, hungry for small talk as usual, propped up on the bench inside the gazebo at Privet Park. There�s a breeze in the air, strange for summer. Foreboding, sultry, just the right kind of night to �get it onnn!�, as Dennis liked to say, while moving his hips back and forth.

Dudley snorts at the thought and puts out his cigarette.

�What?� she demands, a half-grin on her face. �What�s funny?� She tightens her spindly legs and massages them, leaning against the wooden wall, her black hair spilling over her shoulders.

�Huh? Oh, nothing,� he grunts lamely. She always thinks he�s one with her comments but the truth is, he hardly has any idea about what she�s talking about. Sometimes he just sees her lips moving. Sometimes her only her tits. Sometimes music�he doesn�t fancy that electric guitar shit all too much but if Sarah were a song there�d be tons of that. But she�s a rap video, too, all skank and swagger.

She sighs and leans back further, arching her little frame. �You�re being quiet.�

�Yeah,� Dudley shrugs. �So what?� Yes, there�s a coolness in the air but it�s still sticky-hot, and he can feel the flames from Sarah even where he�s standing.

She narrows her eyes. �Tell me what�s up.�

�Nothing,� he replies. He knows he�s being difficult, but she�s been talking for nearly twenty minutes, and honestly, doesn�t she understand he can�t wait forever?

�I don�t want you mad at me,� she says sweetly, and makes an unbelievably sexy pout, spreading her bare legs just enough so that he can see her pink lace panties, and then closing them back up again.

As though he�s a moth drawn to a white lamp, Dudley ambles across the gazebo to where she�s perched with a rather stupid, lax grin on his face. She�s lucky. Not many people see his smile these days. It�s too hot to smile. Usually, it�s a sweaty, brow-furrowed frown, even when he�s being ridiculous. It�s too much effort to smile. But for lace panties, hell yeah, smiles all around.

He engulfs her by standing in front of her, even more mammoth because she�s sitting down. She stares up and him and giggles approvingly, lifting up her smooth legs and wrapping them around his legs. �I�ve got you now,� she says quietly, her black eyeshadow glittering maliciously.

�Not �less I get you first,� he mutters, running his hands up and down her legs for a moment and then ducking down to plant a hard kiss on her lips. They�re cherry. �Tastes good tonight,� he says approvingly, and snogs her again, running his left hand through her bangs. Sarah smiles through the kiss and gnaws on his bottom lip in that way he likes. She pulls away and hops onto the ground, the top of her head meeting his chest area. She places her hands on either side of his pectorals and looks up at him wide-eyed.

He pushes his lips strongly against hers and slides his tongue in between her teeth, gets greeted by hers, feels the tickle of her tongue ring. His large hands find her backside and he squeezes her ass approvingly.

She breaks the kiss. �Hey!� she giggles.

�You know you like that,� he tells her, but he doesn�t really know. He wonders what he�d do if she said she didn�t. But she doesn�t seem to mind because she snuggles closer to him.

�Mm, my Big D,� she says, rubbing her face softly against his jersey; she loops her skinny arms around his neck and they stay like that for awhile, him balancing her on his black and red trainers, shifting back and forth gently so that they sway.

He wants to believe in all of it, but it seems very far away, like children�s stories or nursery school. He makes an imprint on her neck with his teeth.

She raises up her head slightly, her eyes closed, her smile serene. It�s the calmest she�s been all week, and she tugs him tighter to her as soon as he�s done sizable damage to her neck. Her small hands find their way underneath his jersey and she dots her nails over his chest like spiders, or little pins. He hates the feeling but it�s almost addictive, so he puts up with it and bites hard into his own lip. He honestly feels like she�s tearing him apart. �Killing me softly.� Her hands trickle down to the soft part of his stomach, where she strokes his skin and sends a shiver through his spine.

�Fuck, your hands are cold,� he declares, lifting his jersey over his head and lying it down on the ground.

�Are they?� she smiles, and as soon as he stands up straight again, she runs the points of her nails hard down his middle.

He jerks back and stares down at her. �What the fuck?�

She shrugs and smiles innocently. �Motherfucking psycho bitch,� he thinks, but he can�t back out now. Her brown eyes are wide, and she�s put on that half-smile.

He kisses her again, a hand behind her head, and she inches her fingers down, down, down, until somehow, her right hand ends up just above his belt. Dudley sucks in a breath, she�s so close�and then she pauses, keeping her fingers poised just inches from his jeans. He stops kissing her and waits. She seems to have the same idea and waits, too.

There�s a point where he gives her a rather desperate look and she throws back her head and laughs�he should have known she was nuts right then, but he�s a little bit biased, and besides, a little craziness never hurt anything, though he�d be shunned in his family for even thinking that. Sarah caresses the patch of course hair just around Dudley�s middle and then leans forward and unhooks his belt. She smiles adoringly, and undoes his zipper, so that his black shorts fall open, and his boxers are revealed. She snakes her hand downward as he braces himself and feels her cool little fingers feeling around his boxer shorts. She acts like she hasn�t handled a cock yet and takes much too long securing her grasp around it. She pulls on it softly, as Dudley unwillingly gives a little moan; she�s good at what she does. He can feel all the blood he has flowing downward, all of it, one swoop. He buckles his knees as he feels his dick harden in Sarah�s palm�he�s not one to share the power, but right now, it feels too good to argue. Before he can request it or protest it, she�s kneeling at his feet and raising up her mouth, sticking out her tongue, her silver ring glittering in the dimness. She runs her tongue down the shaft of his penis in such a light way that it almost seems like she isn�t licking it at all. Crafty. He grunts, reaching out to take fistfuls of soft, black hair. But she�s not blowing him. She�s just baiting him. She strokes his dick again with her tongue, and he waits again. For anything.

She smiles, rubbing her cheek against his waist and purring,� You want to do me?�

�You� stupid? Yeah,� he sputters, and Sarah laughs again. She tugs her shirt up and over her tits and lays it on the cement. She and Dudley kiss again, a little slip of a girl and a gigantic bloke, one in a green miniskirt and the other in sagging trousers and chains. He feels her boobs roughly, running his tongue down the middle of her chest and unhooks her bra in a fumble of clasps, throwing it on the ground and licking her nipples, breathing hard, in and out, his thick chest and stomach rising and falling. Sarah moans now, a sharp, pitiful sound, and Dudley�s dick grows to its full potential at the utterance and he holds it in his hand as though to comfort it.

Sarah sits down abruptly and lies back, leaning up on her elbows and opening her legs, giving him a saucy smile. He lowers himself to his knees and pulls his trousers down further, then sidles forward and lifts up her skirt, pulling off her panties in a tug. Dudley props himself up and looms over her, a square shadow, as she looks demurely up at him and settles herself.

He�d ask if she was ready, the words are in his head, but it�s too hot to give options. He places his hands on either side of her small shoulders to get his bearings and then drops his knees between her spread-out legs. Sarah braces herself, sets her jaw, last time there was pain for her and now she seems wary to try it again, too bad, so sad. He raises himself up on his left hand and takes his cock in the right and bends down further into her, directs it down into her in a quick insertion.

She breathes out. �Yeah,� she whispers.

He says nothing and grinds into her, releasing his hand and steadying himself on the ground again. He drives his hips forward and she moans, her hands weaving into his hair. He can feel his stiff shaft rubbing the sides of her pussy, as far as he�s concerned this is where it�s at, and he gives her another forceful drive. She exhales with a loud wail.

�All right?� he grunts and she nods, her lipgloss shining. Dudley gives her another pound. If she�s the electric guitar, all screechy and a zigzag, then he must be the guttural bass, steadily making the beat what it is as she riffs. He is momentarily distracted by a car that goes by�he can hear the motor and see the lights, and he is still. There�s always the fear of being spotted, but that�s ridiculous, Dudley keeps thrusting into her harder and harder as she pants but his mind wanders�Mum and Dad are home, Mum made a roast for dinner, made carrots and potatoes, light on the gravy, what would Mum say if she could see this, she�d�he has a brief moment of fear. �Am I thinking of my mum while I�m fucking Sarah?� he wonders, and decides he�s never going to ask anyone else if that�s happened to them. His mates would just laugh at him; they�re so stupid they can�t differentiate between a proper time to have a laugh and an inopportune moment. He�s beginning to think he hasn�t trained them so well. He tries to snap out of it��Now I�m thinking of my mates.� Maybe he�s tired. Maybe this isn�t working out so well. Maybe, maybe.

Meanwhile, back in reality, Sarah�s got her back arched, contorted above the concrete, her face is in a blissful panic as she moans steadily. Dudley sticks her hard in the centre, thrusts her, gives a tremendous effort with one more jolt, and he comes with a release of breath, the fluid spraying out into her, his knees buckling again, everything is warm and wet like there�s been a hot rain. She makes a sound like a sigh and grips his sticky back, grasping him with those kitty claws again and then releasing him and collapsing on the cement. There�s always a different type of feeling when it�s over. Dudley pulls out, getting a rush of something, but what? Annoyance? Relief? The tension was built, as always, but as usual, he�s left with something else.

Maybe it�s just too hot.

He staggers to his feet and pulls his boxers over his waist, pulls his trousers up, too. As soon as he reaches for his jersey, Sarah opens her eyes.

�Come snuggle with me,� she requests.

He doesn�t want to, but he figures it couldn�t hurt anything, so he crawls back down beside her, making a thump on the concrete and looking up at the dingy wooden ceiling. She nestles into his arm and makes swooping spirals across his naked chest. He can�t help but be awed by her, but to him, this is silly. His work�s been done. He cradles her slowly but peers over at her naked tits and shaved pussy. She has a great body, he knows that for sure. A guy like him could crush a girl like her if he wanted to. But truth be told, it�s good to keep her around.

After all, she�s something so different from Number Four. She regards him as a separate entity than Mum and Dad do, her protector, but she�s different than other girls. �Cause on television, the guys are always dark and skinny. But, then again, he supposes, the women are pure and blonde and dress in white one-piece swimsuits, and they like puppies and kitties and ice cream. These guys and girls look so happy together, and sometimes Dudley, who watches while eating ice cream, just wants to say �Fuck you�, but he has Sarah. And if she wanted some sort of fit knight on a white horse, he�d just tell her to get the hell out of this fairytale. Sarah is something that he can keep separate and secret.

And then, just as he�s liking smoothing out her black hair and having her cuddle up to him, she says the unthinkable:

�My Duddy.�

�Huh?� Dudley asks her, lifting his eyebrows, shifting over to look at her face.

She lifts her head off of his shoulder, her damp bangs sticking to him for a moment. She beams up at him. �You�re my Duddy,� she says, kissing his shoulder, sucking it gently.

�I�� his stomach feels sick. It�s too hot. This isn�t working. His mates would laugh, and Harry�s probably out in the dark making trouble, Dad came home with news about his promotion, and Mum made pot roast with carrots. This is just not working out. �I should leave,� he mutters, and pushes himself up to his feet.

Sarah sits up, reaching down for her panties. �What, did I say something? You don�t like that nicky-name?� She flashes another cherry-smile. She�s cute as a bug. He could squish her.

�It�s something my�� He breaks off and shakes his head. No use getting into that, he�d rather not explain. He shouldn�t have to explain. Sharing-time was so nursery school. If he weren�t on that diet, he�d go home and clean out the cupboards but he knows there�ll be punishment. And for Dudley, punishment is when Mum has tears pouring down her thin face and stands waving around the flyers from the Smeltings nurse�

�Duddy,� Mum would say,� Duddy, she says it�s not good for you��

�I�m going,� Dudley barks, tugging his jersey back over his head and pounding out into the park, hooking his belt as he walks.

�Hey!� she calls. �Hey, wait��

It starts to rain warm tropical tears and Dudley feels stifled. He keeps trudging along, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that always seems to greet him when he remembers who he isn�t.

finished
AN: You made it this far. Tell me what you think. Review. Come on. The power of Big D compels you.
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Get the Hell Out of This Fairytale