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A Wealthy Wizard\'s Dilemma	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12829 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This fanfiction is a work for fun. No money is made from the sharing of this fic. All things recognizable belong to JKR and WB. I own nothing relate to HP and the HP Universe.

Chapter List
- 1-A Wealthy Wizard's Dilemma
- 1
The Dilemma of a Wealthy Wizard

                                                   By: Snapes_Goddess

            I am a cliché. I am one of the most influential and wealthy men in the wizarding world. My vaults are damn near bursting with monies and more is added to their burden with every passing day. Nothing that I desire is out of reach. Even forgiveness can be bought at the right price. Not only am I possessed of a keen intellect and business acumen—let us not beat around the bush about it—I am damned attractive as well. I am not boasting, nor am I exaggerating. I speak simple truths. I know that I am an attractive man. I have been told so often enough. I will say that I am a blessed man to be in possession of beauty, brains and wealth, and as of a year ago, my freedom.

            What I lack—though I am loathed to admit it—is humility. According to a certain someone I also lack tolerance, shame, a conscience; I am a bad sport, arrogant and spoiled beyond anything reasonable. I am also—apparently-- greedy. In my opinion these are not necessarily bad attributes in a wizard. However, in the eyes of one particular witch these add up to me being the devil himself. She is the reason that I reference myself as a cliché.

            There are countless stories of powerful men lusting after those who are beneath them; their servants, employees, lower class individuals, etc.   I always scoffed at such behavior. Why would a man demean himself to lie with a common whore? After all, there are a number of establishments that offer high quality, high class entertainment of an adult sort for any man with pockets deep enough to pay for the services. But then I met her.

            I should probably rephrase that. I became re-acquainted with her is a better way of saying it. She and I have a history, albeit not a very good one. It is a part of my life that I prefer to pretend never happened. Especially in regards to her, I don’t want to think about how I knew her previously. She was a child then and I don’t care to draw forth that imagery when I think of her. I like how she is now; older, wiser…lush. Yes, I know, the smirking is unbecoming. She agrees with you, of course. Though I think secretly my smug smirks turn her on.

            She works in the department for the Care of Magical Creatures. I am her favorite target. Hermione Granger, former war heroine and current pain in my arse, is my obsession. I am not proud of this fact, but fact it is. From the moment she showed up on my doorstep to fine me for the destruction of a fairy mound on my property I have been determined to have her. And I have had her, in many various and glorious ways. But what I truly want is…well, I want it all. I want ALL of her. I have her body anytime and any way that I desire, but not her heart. THAT is what I desire most of all, her heart, her love, her devotion…her soul. Sadly this is the first time in my life that I have come across something that I crave that has no price.

            I am currently following her through the woods on my property. She seems to suspect that there is a nest of rare vultures near the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Personally, I could not care less about vultures but if it gets her onto my property then I will pretend to give a damn. It’s hot out here, the summer months are ridiculously humid in this plane where my property lies. I am sweating like a common laborer and ruining my shoes as we trek through the leaves and the muck that carpet the ground. At least the canopy formed by the trees offers some relief from the setting sun. Perhaps it will cool off before I melt into a puddle in the dirt?

            I am complaining a lot but I really am enjoying certain aspects of this little hike. For instance, my formal and ‘stuffy’ attire is the perfect excuse for trailing behind her which means that I get the privilege of staring at her very curvaceous arse in a pair of snug khaki shorts. She, of course, is better dressed for such an activity. Shorts, thin cotton shirt and hiking shoes compared to my trousers, waistcoat, oxford and dragon-hide loafers. In the beginning there had also been a lightweight robe and my shirtsleeves had been down and properly cuffed instead of rolled up to my elbows, but the further we walk the less proper my dress becomes.

            I want to say that she is twitching that delightful bottom on purpose but I know that she is not. She might be a muggleborn, she might be middle class, but the witch was anything but common. She would not do anything as base as shaking her arse in a man’s face. Not that I would object should she decide to shake it in my direction. I am inordinately fond of her backside. It was round, soft and perfect for bouncing off of during a hard ride. Her narrow waist makes my hands itch to caress the perfection of its curve. I wonder if she can feel me staring at her. Bloody hell, she doesn’t need to feel it, the witch knows what she does to me!

“There!” she exclaims as she points upwards towards a nest. “It appears to be empty.” She is disappointed it seems by the lack of ugly birds on my property. “Did you do something to them?”

“I have not,” I say. She automatically assumes I am to blame for the lack of her blasted birds. I have been her lover for over a year yet she still thinks the worst of me at every turn! I’m lying, of course. I did in fact have the gamekeeper remove the unsightly creatures from my property two days prior. I had them relocated, not killed, but she will still hold it against me so I find flat out denial to be my best route. After all, I didn’t do anything to them myself.

“Oh, poo!” she huffs, her lips forming the most delightful pout. “I guess we wasted a trip.” She puts her hands on her hips and blows a stray curl out of her face. My vision is drawn to the heavy, round globes of her breasts and my cock twitches. Her breasts are glorious things.

They really are a thing of beauty. Full, round and heavy they are the breasts of a woman. I imagine that when she was younger they were probably firm and perky, but age and gravity have altered her. Personally I find—that like a fine wine—women are best with a bit of age on them. Young women, while firm and energetic, come with far too many strings. They attach quickly and require a man to nearly stupefy them in order to get free of them! Besides, I find bedding young witches to be a bore…not to mention painful. Yes, I said it, painful.

Once upon a time I was a shallow prick. Alright, so in many ways I remain a shallow prick, but in this case I was going through a period in my life where I wanted them young. I’m not referring to criminally young; I wanted them legal, but not much older than that. While these women were aesthetically pleasing with their smooth skin and tight, supple bodies, they left a lot to be desired. I can’t help but wince when I think about the last nubile young pureblood nymph to grace my bed. She bounced on my cock like it was a pogo stick! I thought she was going to break it in half! And the loud vocalization was clearly a very bad performance that I assume was meant to stir my passions. I faked it, I actually faked an orgasm and the girl was too dense to realize it.

But Hermione—oh, Hermione—she is something altogether different. A muggleborn witch in her early forties, divorced with two grown children, she doesn’t bother with the theatrics or the games. She doesn’t bounce on my cock as if she’s going to snap it off. She slides down slowly and takes a long, slow, smooth ride. She doesn’t screech and howl and tear at her hair like a banshee. She closes her eyes tight, bites her lip and moans, deep throaty moans peppered with soft whimpers of pleasure. She cups her breasts and tweaks her nipples, increasing her pleasure while I watch in utter awe. Sometimes she will lean over me, kiss me, press those fantastic nipples against my lips and plead with me to suck them.

I am, without a doubt, a breast man and as I said—it warrants repeating—hers are glorious. Especially her nipples. She has, in my opinion, perfect nipples. They are dark, with wide, perfectly round areolas centered with a lush, ripe berry of a peak. These are the nipples of a true, fertility goddess. These nipples have nourished life. I love to suck, lick and nibble on them. She is so sensitive to it, especially if I am inside her while I draw hard upon them. I love to feel her clutch my head tightly to her chest, to hear the desperate pleas for more. She is addictive, this witch!

“I suppose we should head back to the house,” she is clearly frustrated. I find, and I realize that I am a sick and depraved man, that she is particularly insatiable when she is miffed. So it should come as no surprise that my cock dances eagerly at the sight of her grinding her teeth in irritation at having discovered the nest unoccupied.

“Not so fast,” I argue as I move closer. “I stomped through the woods in the sweltering heat, ruined my shoes and probably this very expensive shirt thanks to all the sweating from my exertions because you said apparating would disturb the infernal birds! Now that I am here you tell me it was for naught?”

“I had no idea the nest would be abandoned! They aren’t very nomadic,” she said, her brow pulling into a perplexed furrow. I wasn’t about to confess that the nests occupants had NOT abandoned their home but had been ordered evicted by yours truly. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. “You could have changed into something more appropriate, so your ruined clothing is your own fault!”

“I’m not blaming you, Hermione,” I say, coming close enough that I can see the sweat beading on her forehead. “I’m merely pointing out that you dragged me across my property for nothing…I should be given some sort of compensation for my wasted time.” I’m a bastard, I admit that readily. I want this woman, all of her, but she won’t give me that so I have to settle for what she will give me. Fortunately that is hours upon hours of incredible, mind-blowing, earth shattering sex.

“Compensation?” One of those rather unkempt brows arches high above her tawny eyes and that luscious mouth of hers twitches. She knows what I want. She wants it too, I can tell by the way her eyes go a little bit glassy. She is an easy one to arouse, the right tone of voice and litany of vulgar suggestions will have her knickers wringing wet in no time. “What exactly do you have in mind?” she asks me, her voice already going raspy with the onset of her arousal.

“First, I think that you should suck my cock.” I know, a man of breeding should never speak in such a way to a witch, but in this instance I know she is not at all offended. Right now her pussy is clenching, her cream is beginning to soak the hot walls of her vagina and flow down to dampen her panties. She licks her lips and I know that her mouth is watering. Another interesting thing about my muggle-born lover; she loves oral sex. Women of breeding, pure-blood women, frown upon such vulgar activities. Not, Hermione, however. She comes hardest when I have my mouth on her. She wiggles and writhes against my tongue, begging for more, her tight channel squeezes my fingers, soaks my hand and floods my tongue. When she sucks my cock it’s as if she can’t get enough, as if the taste of me, the feel of me is what sustains her.

I don’t complain, mind you. She has the sweetest pussy I have ever eaten and the hottest little mouth I have ever had the privilege to fuck. She licks her lips and falls to her knees in front of me. Her hands come up to grasp my hips and she leans forward, opens her mouth over the fall of my thin trousers and blows hot air onto my crotch. I feel it burn through the fabric and wash over my balls. The naughty little smile tilting her lips is slightly smug but I don’t care, she knows that she owns me body and soul even if she isn’t willing to reciprocate on the emotional end.

I try not to focus on her inability to share emotionally. The only reciprocation I am interested in at the moment is of the physical sort. After I have had the opportunity to lodge my cock deep in her throat for a few minutes I will gladly reciprocate by spreading her out and devouring the sweet delta between her thighs.

"Are you certain that you want to do this here?” she asks even as she unbuckles my belt and sets to work on the fastenings of my trousers. “I know how much you detest getting dirty.” It’s true what she says. I am not a man who normally explores in the outdoors, I prefer the comfort and privacy of my home for that, but in this instance I feel…adventurous.

“There are better things to occupy your mouth than speech.” Of course I use my ‘haughty pureblood’ voice. She never says it, but I know that it excites her. It has the desired effect currently as the warmth of her hand wraps around my shaft and carefully withdraws it from the dark confines of my clothes.

One thing that I adore about this woman is her eagerness. She genuinely loves sex. She isn’t the sort of woman who tries to act as if she isn’t as voraciously hungry for it as I am, as if somehow she is above such base urges. She has no patience for games and I must admit that I thoroughly enjoy this aspect of her personality. Now, when I say ‘games’ I am not referring to the occasional bedroom antics that we get up to; the witch has quite kinky fantasies on occasion. By games I mean the ridiculous things women do in the guise of foreplay.

I am a man. I am a very virile, very sexual man. I don’t like to be teased and I don’t like to be handled by amateurs. There is nothing worse than a dry hand jerking my cock as if she is trying to catch a spark for kindling! Or, probably worse than that, making those terrible slurping sounds while sucking on it, that’s just distracting! Perhaps I am odd, perhaps it is my maturity, I am not sure, but I prefer a more straightforward approach to receiving a blowjob. Luckily for me Hermione is a fellatio genius.

She takes me firmly in her hand, taking a moment to lick her palm before she begins the slow, steady stroke that makes my balls twitch with anticipation. Said balls are currently being treated to a gentle rolling within their sac by her other hand. My gods, I love this witch! I will never say it of course, at least not until she says it first. I cup her cheeks in my hands and tilt her face up slightly so that our eyes meet. Her hand draws back my foreskin exposing the ruddy tip and I watch, cock throbbing, as she licks her lips and opens her mouth over the head, slowly sucking me deep into her mouth.

The heat of her mouth is incredible! This is what it’s supposed to feel like! She slides her lips slowly up and down my shaft, the rough pad of her tongue pressing up along the underside and swirling over the head on the withdrawal before sucking deep once more. On occasion I might feel the tip of her tongue tease the slit at the end but other than that she sucks me with a slow and steady pace, thoroughly exploring my aching cock with her mouth and hand. Too soon I feel the telltale throb in my balls, that aching, building tension that says I will spill soon.

“Stop.” I say softly yet there is no refuting that it is a command, not a request. She pulls back with a last swirl of her tongue over the tip.

“I was enjoying that,” she pouts up at me. She is a gem of a lover who enjoys giving as much as receiving.

“As was I but I want to be nestled snug within your quim when I spill.” I enjoy the little shiver that rolls over her at my words. Behind her is a large stump from a felled tree that looks promising. “Climb up on that stump over there.” She stands and looks behind her, her brow furrowing.

“I don’t want splinters in my backside,” she says frowning. I reach into my pocket and withdraw my handkerchief. With a quick spell the square of linen expands and thickens, transforming into a large blanket to cover the rough surface of the stump. “That’ll do.” She hops onto the stump and toes off her boots and socks, flexing her toes and rotating her ankles. “Now what?”

“Remove your shorts and underwear then lay back and open your legs.” Again I get the delightful little gasp my words invoke. She doesn’t hesitate or try to argue, I like this about her. She wants it as much as I do and isn’t afraid to admit it. The khaki shorts and the tiny pink panties beneath them are discarded quickly. She lies back on the covered stump, now wearing only the thin tank top, and opens her legs.

I stand in front of her, staring down at her skin dappled in the sunlight coming through the canopy of trees above us. She is all that a woman should be. Soft, curvy and mine. I can see the faint silvery lines that mar the skin of her belly, the lines that mark her as a mother. Is it strange that I find these attractive? I don’t feel as if they take away from her beauty at all, they add to it, another interesting facet of the woman I adore. Unlike younger women she chooses not to denude her sex. She is lightly furred between her thighs, the curls kept short and neat. Her labia is plump, the lips parted slightly so that the inner pink skin shows, flushed and dewy with want. Her clit is a firm little nub rising up from her folds to beg for attention.

My eyes catch the delicate pink satin underpants lying on the ground at my feet and with a slight flick of the wrist they form into a small pad for me to kneel upon--after all, i wouldn’t want to ruin my trousers, they cost a small fortune! She is trembling, she knows what is coming and she wants it desperately. I blow gently, ruffling the curls atop her mound. She wriggles in anticipation, her knees falling out to the sides and opening her wider. Gently I run my fingers over her sex, lightly tickling along the seam before sliding my fingers in between and parting her, spreading her folds and revealing the creamy pink flesh to my gaze.

She whimpers, her hand coming forward and her fingers wrapping around my wrist. It is a plea for satisfaction. I use the index finger of my free hand to circle the erect nubbin of her clitoris and she cries out, a low, deep moan of pleasure that echoes off the trees.

"Please!" she begs, slowly rolling her hips towards me.

"Please, what?" I love to hear her say the words. There is something very exciting about hearing the dirty words come from her sweet mouth.

"Lick me! Suck me! Make me come...please!" That's what I wanted! I am happy to oblige her. I lean forward and drag my tongue slowly up her weeping slit, catching the tip of it on her clit as I do. Her gasp of pleasure is like sweet music to my ears! Her hands grasp the backs of her thighs and she draws her knees towards her chest, lifting her hips slightly and giving me full access to her sweetness.

I take my time, just the way she likes it, running my tongue up one side and down the other, tickling her opening and tasting the tangy-saline flavor of her honey. I love how she wriggles and moans, thoroughly enjoying the way I way I feast on her quim. She is getting tense, I know that her arousal has her on edge, she wants to come. I open my mouth directly over her clit and suck gently, lashing the bud with the tip of my tongue. I penetrate her with two fingers, pressing up and stroking lightly along the top of her channel until I feel it.

It always amazes me, the rush of power I feel coming off of her when she comes. It's like an elastic band being pulled taught and then breaking. Her body arches tight like a bow and I can feel the hot wash of cream flow over my fingers as her vaginal walls pulse. I continue to lick gently, I know better than to leave her before I feel the backs of her fingers gently nudge my head back so that she can ride the wave of release completely.

When the signal comes that she has had enough I rise from my knees and smile. She used to tell me that I look like the cat that ate the cream when I smile at her after going down on her, but i insisted that I was instead the dragon that ate the kitty, now she simply smiles back at me.

"Delicious!" She blushes when I say that, but it's true, she is delicious. I climb onto the wide stump and lie down beside her on the transfigured blanket. I am impatient to be inside her as I shove my trousers down and open my shirt. It feels strange to be exposed thusly in the open, to feel the warmth of the wind on my erection and to look up and see the canopy of trees above us. I feel...naughty.

My witch does not need to be asked. She rolls onto her knees and to my surprise gets on her feet atop the stump. My expression must have clued her into my puzzlement as she moved to stand over me, one foot on either side.

"Give me your hand," she says, reaching down to me. She takes my hand and threads her fingers with mine, palm to palm. She bends her knees and slowly begins to lower body, her feet braced on the stump. I can see her intent so I grasp my erection with my free hand and hold it upright and steady for her as she centers her opening over the tip. She gasps as I breach her channel with the head of my cock and holds up her other hand for me to take. She uses her grip on my hands to brace herself and the strong muscles in her legs to raise and lower her body, riding my cock from her squatting position.

From this position I can see everything. I can see every detail of her pussy on display for me; watch every inch of my cock disappear inside her. Fucking Hermione is like sliding your cock into a snug, hot, wet, silken fist. It's glorious and somehow being able to watch my cock penetrate her over and over is even better. She is panting, her skin glistening with sweat as she rides me harder and faster. With every lift of her hips I feel the air cooling my cock where it is soaked with her cream. My balls ache and begin to draw tight against my body. I can feel the tingle at the base of my spine and the slight twitching sensation at my perineum as my body prepares for ejaculation.

I need her to come again so I release one of her hands. She presses her fingertips into my chest for support as she continues her fast paced ride. I reach out and brush her clit with my finger tip, flicking and circling it until she throws her head back and I feel the tight, brutal grip of her pussy constricting around my cock. I thrust upwards, roughly--maybe too rough--but I can’t think about that now. My entire world, my entire being is centered on the streams of cum shooting from my cock and into the witch shaking above me.

Her strength fails her and she shifts onto her knees, still pulsing and milking my shaft. Her weight settles onto my chest and despite the uncomfortable heat I don’t mind at all. I love the moments after sex when she lets me hold her close to me. She is vulnerable, her emotions raw. In these moments i can feel her love, but she never speaks the words.

"That was amazing, Lucius," she mumbles against my chest as she gives a contented sigh and a little shiver.

"With you it is always amazing," I reply. It is true. Every time with her is a wonderful experience, something I have never known previously.

"We should get dressed," she says softly.

"In a while, this is my land, we are safe here." Of course I can’t know that for certain. Any number of magical beings could come upon us, or even my son or grandson; but I am not quite ready to let her go.

You see, she is my obsession, this woman sprawled contentedly over my body. She is what I want, what i need most in my life. She is my savior, my redemption...my forgiveness.

She gives me everything...almost. Can I continue this, wanting it all but accepting only part? Should I remain with her, content with what she offers or do I demand all or nothing?

This is my dilemma....

Another boring day at work....
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A Wealthy Wizard\'s Dilemma