Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

You Won't Know	By : valkyrie136 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16449 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the fandom. J.K. Rowling does. I do not make any profit from Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.

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Draco knew she was frightened, but he no longer felt anything besides a mild sense of regret when it came down to the basics: his wanting, her refusing, and his taking.

Why would he feel anything else, or rather, why would anyone feel any less or act any different if all the barriers between what they had wanted had suddenly disappeared?

Anyone who didn’t take whatever happiness life threw in their way, no matter how small, was one dumb fuck.

He didn’t need magic to get what he wanted, not here. Here there was no real contest—he was stronger, and she would lose, no matter how much she fought. Simple as that: in the grand scheme of things, female witches were most of the time physically weaker than their male counterparts. There were of course exceptions, but men built muscle more easily. Call it nature, call it a great unfairness of life, but it made it a hell of a lot easier to do what he liked and get what he wanted.

She always lost.

Draco sunk to the floor, his dick hard as steel, and her struggles made his condition all the more painful. Like the most depraved foreplay, he rubbed himself against her, and baited her struggles; urging her on, “That’s it, that’s it—“

She abruptly stopped, which was oh-so predictable. It made his conquest so much easier, at least momentarily, before the reality sunk in. She always fought him intermittently. History—and experience—proved especially handy yet again.

He pinned her arms above her head and grinned wolfishly, taking great pleasure in the friction created by rubbing his cock against her belly.

Her face was red and her lip was trembling and she was frozen. He saw the tears, almost unbidden, and leaned down to kiss her.

She bit his lip, drawing blood, and his cock jerked.

“Get OFF!” She screamed, but he didn’t hear her. Or rather, he heard, but it didn’t register. This moment was just about pleasure. Everything else was useless excess—like her protests. Unnecessary and useless in his pursuit of gratification; at least right now.

He slid down to sit on her legs and pulled at her pants, managing to tug the pajama bottoms off in just a second—it was easy, and she managed to scurry back a foot but he jerked her back under him.

His hands slid under her shirt, exploring the small outward curve of her belly, her hips, and those lovely, lovely breasts. Round, firm, and quite the handful.

Briefly, he recalled how he had once dreamt of them, had imagined what it had been like to hold them, and had thought he would never be able to because someone would kill her before he ever had the opportunity to get close enough to her.

What a silly, silly boy he had once been.

She was sobbing now, and his hands were squeezing her tits, rubbing her nipples roughly.
So fucking soft.

“Malfoy, stop, please!” Like a little girl, her voice had changed in pitch, “Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, Malfoy, Malf—Oh God!”

He popped open his trousers, and opened his boxers, and there from a nest of hair sprung his cock.

It was enormous—long, thick—any man would have envied him.

It was only a moment between her last plea, his shift between her thighs; and a quick thrust upwards.

She grunted in pain, there was nothing pretty in that sound. The lower half of her body had lifted off the floor from the force of his thrust and he stared down at her.

He pulled out and thrust in again.
And again.
And again.

It was mindless fucking, and he took gratification in what he associated as atypical of their couplings—her sobs, his grunts, and the sound of flesh slapping against each other.

Later he might try another tactic, but now he was simply drowning in mindless pleasure.

His cock jerked inside of her, and he arched away from her, letting go of her arms as he shot jet after jet of cum inside of her. In the first ‘time’ he always had to make sure he came in her. It was symbolic, like staking claim on one’s territory.

She was his.

He pulled out and stared at her brutalized opening, red from misuse, and at the white cum dribbling out.

Without a thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wizard’s cigarette and lit it with a bit of wandless magic, then sat on the floor, staring at her pussy.

He had one hand on his head, as if in deep thought, and his legs were open while his cock, now limp, still hung out of his trousers and he studied what he had done, taking a drag occasionally but never tearing his eyes away.

She tried to cover herself, as if believing him finished, and he quickly leaned foreword to shove her hands away from that vision of conquest—her pussy—and pushed her legs open with his feet, still clad in shoes.

She whimpered, but he ignored it.

Was she fucking crazy? He wasn't close to being done. Not by a long shot.

As if to confirm this, he felt his cock twitch in response.

He extinguished the cigarette on the floor, rubbing it in slowly, and watched the smoke rise.
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