Bespoke

Bespoke Ch 1

It was half past seven on a late June evening and Pansy Parkinson sat at her espresso wood desk finishing up the final sketches for a Muggle gown. Leaning back in her white leather armchair, she admired the lines of the draping, silken fabric that hugged the curves of the faceless body on the page. She picked up her wand and waved it over the heavy sketchbook, erasing all imperfections of her initial pencil strokes.

“Freya!” Pansy called out from her spacious office into the fitting area where her shop assistant’s desk was situated.

She lifted her wand again, levitating the drawing and floating it across the room into one of the leather folios that were stacked neatly on a high shelf where other sketchbooks, cups of charcoal pencils, quills, tubes of watercolors, and paintbrushes were neatly organized.

Once the drawing was tucked securely, Pansy flicked her wand for the leather bound folio to float gently towards her open door and pause on the threshold where it would await her shop assistant. As Pansy waited, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her right leg over her left, and fiddled with the raw hem of the tight black jeans she wore. She jiggled her platform combat boot clad foot with impatience.

“Freya!” Then under her breath, “The fuck is taking so long?”

Pansy hated raising her voice, but damn if patience was not her strong suit. She’d had a long day with back to back consultations and fittings, a “lunch” which consisted of the remains of her favorite Chinese takeaway last night while she completed the final touches on a set of wizarding robes for the undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Thankfully that task was completely wand-only, so she was able to scarf down a greasy and cold half-serving of beef and broccoli while flitting her wand to and fro, cinching up the luxurious powder blue silk robes to the witch’s specifications.

Pansy, as always, was able to complete her designs on time, despite being under the gun. When the middle aged witch arrived for pick up at 3 o’ clock on the dot, Pansy exuded a lazy confidence as though she hadn’t just applied the final stitches.

Pansy Customs had only been open in Diagon Alley for 8 months, but already had a wait list ten months long. Pansy knew that soon she would need to hire a second assistant or an apprentice that would be able to take over the more time-consuming bits of business that drained her energy and reduced the time she could be devoting to designing her wearable art.

Pansy had fallen in love with clothes from a young age, as she would watch her mother ready herself for the many high society balls and galas that a pure blood, wealthy witch was expected to attend. She would gaze at the textures, colors, and lines of each set of robes, marveling at the way simple tucks and stitches could transform fabric into a beautiful and form flattering ensemble. When it was her turn to attend her first ball at the age of eleven, Pansy begged her mother to let her pick out the color, fabric, and cut of the dress robes at Madame Malkin’s. Her mother, despite being quite withholding of affection most of the time, would shower Pansy with the finest clothing, jewelry and gifts, and these dress robe fittings were Pansy’s fondest childhood memories.

And so after the Battle of Hogwarts, instead of returning to complete her education for her eighth year as most of the remaining classmates of her year did, Pansy decided to move to Milan and take whatever unpaid and essentially slave labor internship she could get at the high magical fashion houses in the city.

She spent four (mostly) happy years there, learning all aspects of the fashion business, from supply to tailoring, and designing to bookkeeping. Pansy loved the fact that she could bury herself in work that was so gratifying but also intensive and mind-quieting, all while shedding the “girlfriend of a Death Eater” label she had affixed to herself as a foolish and infatuated teenage girl. She spent her mornings working, her evenings lazing about her small but posh flat in the city center (there were certainly perks to pureblood wealth), and her nights migrating from club to club, alternating between flirting and grinding on the handsome men that would seek her out and buy her drinks. Sometimes those nights would turn into mornings where she would slink around strange and dim bedrooms, collecting her various items of scattered clothing and underthings before her passed-out conquest could wake and ask for her number.

After Milan, she was able to find a position at a small Muggle fashion house in New York City. She was in her twenties now, a little bit wiser… but mainly still wild. Never shirking her responsibilities as a junior designer, yet still managing to have the time of her life and fucking infinite beautiful boys. The boys were… fun. No one was ever around long enough to get to know deeper than how large (or small) their cock was or who was a decent enough kisser, and that was exactly how she wanted it. Her true love, she had decided years ago, was fashion. She had been infatuated with Draco Malfoy for a time, yes. But essentially, their relationship could be boiled down to two things: how they could each benefit from the others’ high status in pureblood society, and how many times they could make the other cum.

Draco would always hold a special place in her heart, and she supposed she would always love him in a way. He was quite well endowed and did like to make her cum (a lot), but ultimately during their sixth year, he threw her to the wayside in favor of focusing on completing the impossible task of killing Dumbledore and nearly killing himself in the process.

As a silly sixteen year old, Pansy was quite self centered. So enraged was she at Malfoy for ignoring her, she spent the latter half of her sixth year with Draco’s childhood friend Theo Nott, often snogging and heavy petting in (not so) dark and discreet corners of the Slytherin common room. This endeavor began as a way to make the Malfoy boy jealous, but when Pansy realized this would be fruitless, she decided to continue on with Theo since he was an excellent kisser and had incredibly long, skilled fingers.

Her time in New York was a whirlwind two years, after which she packed her trunks with a portfolio of some of her own drawings and designs, and shipped off to Paris to apprentice under none other than Hugo Allard, who was perhaps the hottest designer in the Wizarding World. Pansy had Promise as a skilled designer with an original eye. In her six years after post-Hogwarts, she worked her tight arse off to be the best. Did she party a lot? Yes. More than most? Yes. It was a testament to her skill and raw talent that she could show up to work more than slightly hungover fifty percent of the time and still smash.

Hugo was a quiet eccentric. He gave out praise quite sparingly, but appreciated Pansy’s no bullshit approach to the work that was required of her. Pansy did spend less time in the clubs during her time working under him, and indeed was rewarded for the higher level of discipline she exercised. Hugo entrusted much of the business to her after her first six months, so Pansy was helping with drawings, sourcing and buying of materials, delegating to the assistants, and being Hugo’s mouthpiece in general. While in Paris, Pansy met a couple of beautiful men who she would keep in rotation for her late nights since she was spending more evenings at home rather than in the Parisian clubs.

Jules she met at a fashion shoot. He was the photographer, which usually she stayed away from since they typically were more interested in the models than in the designers. Jules was tall and lanky with bronze skin and hairy nipples. He had a long, thin cock and he loved eating Pansy’s pussy. He was quite the bottom though, and Pansy found that she became bored of his ministrations, which, while lovely, were quite repetitive in structure. Tongue fuck, lap at clit, finger g spot, suck clit, add finger, suck clit, two finger fuck, suck clit, finger fucking fuck fuck, suck clittttttttt. She could count on an orgasm from Jules, but she was quite bored after a few months of no deviation from his tried and true pattern and general passivity.

Pierre, a handsome forty ish muggle man she met while on a cigarette run one lunch, was lovely as well. He invited her back to his place which was just around the corner from the office. Pierre was obsessed with her long legs. They would spend her half hour lunch breaks with her legs dangled over his shoulders as he would pump in and out of her, stroking and licking and kissing her calves, ankles, and the sensitive underside of her knees. She would cum around his cock while fingering her own clit rapidly, eyes tightly shut so she didn’t have to look at Pierre’s bulging eyes as he shot his load deep inside her. He wanted to take her on dates in the evenings, but she always brushed him off stating she had work. In reality, Hugo allowed her a very leisurely work life, allowing her to pawn off evening work events to the younger interns. She just wanted to be by herself most of the time these days.

There were other gorgeous men that were great lays but just not worth learning their names. There was a muggle bodybuilder type with a barrel chest and thick cock that slapped her ass so hard she felt it in her clit and nipples. She did cum during that single encounter, and he rolled over and fell straight to sleep almost immediately after ejaculating onto her ass cheeks. A threesome with two young wizards that were studying magical law at the university, during which she learned intimately what a wobbly “H” was. After an industry cocktail party, she even got fucked by a tall, handsome waiter in the kitchen scullery of the large mansion. They broke a bag of rice while she rode him on the floor of the pantry, and she woke the next morning to find a few grains of rice stuck to her inner thighs.

A few men had assumed her entirely black (and often leather) clothing with six inch black stiletto heels, jet black hair and dark eyeliner meant she was a Domme. She had entertained this idea for one encounter and even went along with it (tying a medium build ginger haired man’s wrists to the headboard while bouncing up and down on his cock while calling him demeaning things in French and slapping his face from one side to the other..his idea, not hers), which she had moderately enjoyed. Pansy, however, drew the line after their first orgasms when, while panting together in a sweaty heap, the nameless ginger man looked up at her and asked her if she would like to piss in his mouth. She responded with a shocked but delighted “Non” and laughed all the way back to her flat.

Dominance, she decided, was not for her, and all subsequent requests (let’s be honest, a few men begged) for her to dominate were politely declined with a smirk.

Present day Pansy was scrawling a handwritten note on the tastefully appointed stationery with a “P C” embossed at the top of the heavy parchment.

Dearest Anita,

Sketch #1 for your son’s upcoming engagement party attached. If you love it, no surprise. If you hate it, then you’re an idiot.

Only joking, but please let me know if the proposal is to your liking, we can make adjustments as needed if not.

Kisses,
P

Anita was a pureblood Dutch witch from old money. She, like many other middle aged witches and wizards, was a puddle in Pansy’s capable hands. From the moment they walked through the shining glass doors of Pansy Customs, they were treated like fashion icons and, even better, made to look like fashion icons. Pansy knew well enough when to flatter and when to be blunt, and all of her clients looked fucking good once she had dressed them in her creations.

“Freya, for gods’ fucking sakes, please say something so I know you haven’t perished in some unsightly fashion in my shop.” Pansy called out in a sharp voice.

Still nothing. Sighing, she pressed her hands to her gleaming desk to stand up, grasping the parchment and folio in her pale, narrow hands. She rolled her neck and reached up to rub her shoulder blade. Damn she had been working too hard and hadn’t had a night off since December during the Christmas holidays. She had seen Theo at her mother’s annual Christmas Eve ball, but he was now engaged to a blonde German pureblood witch named Carolina. Instead of enjoying a casual hook up as they normally did during these society events, she resorted to going up to her room early with a bottle of champagne and broke out her muggle vibrator, enjoying a solid B+ orgasm of her own making as she fantasized about being fucked by a tall, dark and handsome somebody.

That was, essentially, her sex life as it stood now. Maybe once a month she might use a Muggle hook up app to arrange a casual one night stand, but those had become less frequent as her business became even more demanding of her time and energy. Most nights, she would get home to her quiet, empty flat around 9:00 PM, catch up on her correspondence or watch a little bit of Muggle telly, but shortly thereafter collapse in bed no later than 10:30 PM.

Pansy sighed deeply. She skirted her desk and stalked out of her office into the dressing room of the shop. Circling the fitting platform, she peered around the lushly carpeted room, peeking behind the long silken curtains of the changing areas, then into the alcove where two large green velvet wingback chairs were tucked. She stopped briefly to check out her reflection in the floor to ceiling tri-panel mirrors. Despite the long hours and sloppy diet, she still managed to look fucking fabulous. Simple was best for work, and today she wore dark denim trousers and a silk camisole, under which tastefully peeked a lacy bralette. She waved her wand to freshen up her makeup and fluff her artfully messy chin length bob.

“Alrighty then. Not in here. I suppose I’ve joined a sweet little game of hide and seek without realizing.” Pansy sighed, pushing through the black curtains that separated the dressing room from the front showroom.

“Freya?!” She bellowed, starting to feel a little crazy at this point. Her shop assistant, while timid, was quite competent and usually anticipated Pansy’s requests, always arriving on time and staying late to help Pansy with whatever she may need.

Pansy swept into the showroom, her eyes scanning the completely black and white space from the back counter, to the tables with neatly spooled reams of luxurious fabrics, to the very front where her enchanted mannequins stood, twirling, bowing, and curtsying to display some of Pansy’s fine gowns and suits.

Between the front glass windows and a male mannequin in a crimson set of dress robes with midnight black velvet trim, stood her petite blonde shop assistant. She was gesturing to the mannequin and chatting quietly.

“Freya, did you not hear me calling you?” Pansy exhaled as she approached the witch. As she drew nearer, she realized with a start that Freya was not alone. Standing in between Freya and the mannequin, tall enough to be at eye level with said mannequin, was a dark-haired wizard in a drab set of brown robes.

Switching into her “client voice” (not dissimilar to her normal voice, just deeper and slower than her usual tone), Pansy drawled, “Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize we had any clients scheduled, Freya. Who do we have here?” Pansy raised herself to her full height, drawing her chin up and pressed her lips into a sly smile she reserved for her male clientele.

The wizard jumped and jolted around to face her, but as he did, he knocked his long arms into her enchanted mannequin, which caused the male figure to sprawl onto the floor. The mannequin, which was modeled after the enchanted knights in Hogwarts castle, leapt back to his feet, dusted off his suit, and resumed his position but with a new air of offended haughtiness.

“Pansy,” the wizard said, and it took a moment for Pansy to recognize the large hazel eyes of her old Hogwarts classmate, Neville Longbottom. As he looked down at her under his long, thick eyelashes with an unwavering gaze, she felt her stomach drop into her ovaries and her pussy contracted of its own volition.

“Fucking Neville fucking Longbottom?” She tried to school her face into her usual cool and smug smirk.

“Fucking yes, Neville fucking Longbottom.” He replied with a lazy and lopsided grin.

Pansy let out a surprised, “Ha!” as her eyebrows shot into her thick dark fringe. “Well isn’t this just a surprise of the year. Neville fucking Longbottom… in my shop… looking like he grew into a tree of a wizard.”

Pansy looked him up and down as she would a client with her appraising designer’s eye. “And my you have grown…everywhere, haven’t you?” She quirked an eyebrow up as she paused her gaze on his hands and feet, then trailed her gaze back up to his face to stare him dead in the eyes.

If her stare made him nervous in the way it did some other young wizards their age, he didn’t show it. He only allowed his grin to widen further and there seemed to be a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a dastardly dimple peeking out of his left cheek.

“I’ll let you two… erm… reconnect.” Freya mumbled as she hustled towards the back of the showroom to stand quietly in a corner.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?” Neville crossed his arms and tried to lean back, but then stumbled backwards a bit as his body came into contact with nothing but air.

He recovered quickly, no sign of embarrassment showing on his face from his clumsiness as he stood with crossed arms and a wide stance.

“Why, yes, Neville. What ever are you doing here in my shop? You do realize this is a bespoke shop specializing in both muggle and wizard high fashion? I didn’t realize your line of work in, what was it…herbology?..would ever require you to wear anything other than… well.. these robes?” She reached out to grasp a swath of the finely made but well worn linen robe and rubbed it between her fingers.

If the physical contact with his person made Neville uncomfortable, he didn’t show it, but he did pointedly look down at Pansy’s hand, then flitted his shining hazel eyes back to her own and held her stare.

“Well I s’pose I’m here to get you to make me some new dress robes, aren’t I?”

Pansy cleared her throat and smirked, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“Of course you are. We are an appointment only shop, and it’s been ages since I’ve seen you and, I honestly I just am surprised you would come into my shop of all places.” She cleared her throat again, which seemed to have dried up. “Yes. Well of course, I am a dress robes designer, and quite good, if I do say so myself. Tell me about what you’re looking for exactly.”

She waved her wand to summon a new sketchbook and quill from her back office, which zoomed to her hand. She gestured for Neville to walk toward a seating area with a low black leather sofa, matching low back armchairs and glass coffee table, all facing a white stone fireplace.

“Anything to drink?”

“No, no please don’t go to any trouble, I just came from The Copper Samovar.” Neville waved vaguely toward the street in the general direction where her favorite Diagon Alley coffee shop was located.

“Well I for one am thirsty.” She waved her wand at a low cabinet in the corner of the room, and out popped two crystal highballs glasses and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. They clinked together slightly as they zoomed across the room to settle on the coffee table.

“Oh before I forget, Freya, can you owl the Anita Dekker folio? She’s expecting it by tomorrow but I’d like her to have it tonight.” Pansy poured out two fingers each of the whiskey into the glasses, then held one out to Neville.

“Of course, Ms. Parkinson. Can I assist you with Mr.. erm.. Longbottom here?”

“No, no. Longbottom is an old chum. I’ll take care of him from start to finish.” She glanced up at Neville from under her fringe and saw that the corner of his mouth quirked. At this, she let out a soft chuckle, raising her eyebrows and grinning with a shrug of her shoulders. “Freya, you can go home for the evening. Thank you for all your work today.”

She held up her glass in a silent toast to Neville, and tipped it back; the liquor a smooth fire down her throat and into her belly. He followed suit, not taking his eyes from hers the entire time.

Pansy refilled her own glass and offered to do the same for Neville, and he held his glass out while she poured another measure.

They both took a seat, Neville on the sofa and Pansy in an armchair. Pansy smirked at the dark-haired wizard seated to her right as Freya breezed by them and towards the front door as she tied the waist of her trench coat and swung her black crossbody briefcase over her shoulder. Freya mumbled a quick Good evening before pushing the glass door open and exiting swiftly, disappearing into the dim evening light of Magical London.

“All right, so typically I like to have my clients describe the type of event they’re attending or particular look they’re going for, and then I draw out some ideas of the looks I would suggest. Then we measure, after which I get to work. My turn time currently is… let’s be honest, about three to four weeks. I’m in high demand, like I said, I am quite good at what I do.” She stated matter of factly, then sat and tilted her head as she waited for Neville to respond.

“So I’ve heard. The Minister of Magic recommended you highly, as have a few other colleagues I sometimes work with at the Ministry.” Neville leaned back against the couch, spreading his left arm over the back, and smiled at her with a flash of his straight white teeth. When had he gotten such great teeth? His mouth had always been a mess of overlapping and overlarge teeth as far as she could remember.

“Yes, well. Minister Shacklebolt and his wife do have great taste. Finally someone who values the importance of dressing for the part. So then, tell me more about what you want from me.” She lifted a brow, narrowed her eyes, and gave him her most alluring smirk.

“Want from you?” Neville met her eye contact unflinchingly. Her chest and neck started to feel hot, and she crossed her legs, bouncing her booted foot in the air.

“What kind of dress robes are you looking for, Longbottom?”

“Why don’t you show me what you think would look good on me… for your standard fundraiser gala, let’s say.” He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and tilted his head to maintain steady eye contact with her, his hands lightly clasped around the glass of whiskey.

She stared at his hands for a moment, entranced by the sheer size of them, the length of his fingers, the veins that pulsed under tanned skin. He had some visible callouses and some small white scars. His nails were kept short and clean, which seemed shocking for someone who enjoyed playing in dirt so much.

She shook herself out of her reverie, waved her wand to hover the sketchbook and quill in the air between them. At the flick of her wand, the quill began to sketch what she saw in her mind’s eye: the tall, broad shouldered and lanky but sturdy figure of Neville on the page, outfitted in sweeping navy blue robes that were cut close to his biceps and chest to showcase what she could surmise was the shape underneath: a trim waste, bulging pectorals and boulders for shoulders.

Another flick of her wand and the sketched Neville took a few steps in a circle on the page so that his illustrated back was now facing them. The robes draped across his back, but Pansy waved her wand so an invisible wind swept across drawn Neville’s back and whipped his robes to the left to reveal slim trousers underneath that hugged a beautifully shaped arse and hamstrings.

Pansy’s tongue had dried up again, so she sipped the whiskey to wet her parched mouth. She sat up taller and puffed out a deep breath. Her own artwork had caused a slow throb in her pussy to begin. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, she often would see a handsome lad out and about and draw him later that evening. Sometimes she would even go as far to make the moving images pornographic, imagining these men with their cock in their hands and masturbating furiously. But she certainly tried to avoid imagining her clients in this way. It was just unprofessional.

“That’s quite beautiful.” Neville said quietly. He was still leaning forward with elbows on knees, gazing up from under his dark lashes at the suspended sketchbook. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked quite so good.” He took a short drink from his glass.

She tried to hide the blush that was rising from her chest up her neck and to her cheeks. “Well, Neville. Let’s be honest. You are fucking gorgeous. I just know how to dress someone to showcase their best assets. Why don’t we go to the dressing room to get you measured?”

Pansy’s stomach flipped again at the thought of which body part of his she’d really like to measure. She threw back her glass to gulp down the rest of her whiskey. Again Neville mirrored her actions and watched her steadily. She pushed herself to standing and walked slowly toward the dressing room, parting the curtains and waved him to walk in front of her.

“So Neville. Forgive me, but what exactly do you do?” Pansy asked as she pointed him to stand on the six inch high circular platform in the middle of the room.

“Oh. Well.. you don’t read the papers then, eh?”

“Honestly, no. I tend to fall asleep reading the Daily Prophet.”

He chuckled. “Well for the past several years I’ve been working on a Ministry-funded research project to develop cures for various long term magical illnesses using various applications of magical plant life.”

Pansy turned toward him and placed her hands on her hips. “And your name has been in the papers because you’ve actually found a cure for something?”

Neville grinned, cocking his head to the side, and Pansy’s eye went straight to that beautiful dimple in his left cheek. “If you can believe it, yes. I actually have been able to do a small bit of good despite being a bumbling idiot the majority of the time.”

Pansy gasped theatrically, placing a pale ring-encrusted hand on her breast. “I would never call you such a thing. Maybe back in seventh year, but Neville. You are very obviously…. Not that.” She leaned back and appraised him, flicking her wand to cast her measurement charms. “Metis.”

Neville whooshed out a half gasp, half guffaw as the white light zipped down his body on a soft rush of air, measuring his height from head to toe. As the white light zoomed past his toes back into Pansy’s wandtip, she waved her wand again, muttering “Desplicare”. A tiny white banner made of magical light waved to the right of Neville’s head, displaying his measurements. Grasping her sketchbook in one hand, she scrawled the measurements with her large white quill.

“My, my, my. You are a big tall man now. 6 foot five inches.”

Another flick of the wand sent the white light back across different parts of his body, and back to Pansy’s wand again so she could jot down each measurement in turn. With each measurement, she would advise Neville how to position his body. When it came time to measure his waist, she stepped up onto the platform and grasped the belt of his robes to cinch it tightly.

“I need to make it tight so I can get the most accurate measurement.” Pansy explained, trying and failing not to notice how good he smelled. Like a pine forest and freshly washed sheets.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense if I just took my robes off?” He looked down at her with a puzzled expression and a furrowed brow. “I mean, I haven’t had a dress robes fitting since 5th year, but surely you would get the best numbers that way?”

“Of course, yes…I just thought that, well I thought you might not have the balls to undress in front of yours truly.” Pansy muttered, raising her chin and pursing her lips into a crooked tight lipped grin.

“Balls present and accounted for, Parkinson.” He stood and waited for her to instruct him further.

“All right then, shall I give you some privacy?” Pansy asked.

Neville rummaged in his pocket briefly, drew out his 13 inch cherry wand, waved it at himself, vanishing his robes and leather boots. He blinked expectantly at Pansy.

“You’re rather practiced at that spell, aren’t you?” Pansy murmured with narrowed eyes and an impressed grin. She tried and failed to look only at his face. He was really quite a specimen; tanned, smooth skin, the body of a swimmer, all broad shoulders and long limbs. Neville was muscular, but not beefy. He had beautifully defined pectorals and abdominal muscles, with cheeky Vs extending into his underwear line, pointing to what may have been one of the largest boxer brief-clad bulges Pansy had encountered thus far. His quads and calves were also quite muscular, and ended in long elegant feet.

“Would you like to take some photos?” Neville asked.

“No no no, that won’t be necessary, I’ll be able to..” She looked up at his face to see that he was smirking.

“Only joking, Parkinson. You just seem to be enjoying the view is all.”

She let out a huff of laughter. “You’re funny now, too, then?” She drew her wand up again to complete the remaining measuring spells at his waist, hips, and inseam. The final measurement sent the white light up from his foot to his groin, first on the right leg, then on the left. Neville jumped each time that the white light and air from the charm zipped up his leg and under his boxer briefs to the uppermost part of his thigh to measure his inseam.

“I forgot how much that tickles,” he said with a laugh.

“Just be glad I’m not doing this the Muggle way with a tape measure and my hands.” Pansy quipped as she jotted down the final numbers in her sketchbook.

“Should I be glad or sad?” He raised his eyebrows with a twinkle in his eye and the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Her stomach flipped and she felt a low rush of blood flow to her nether regions. She looked him in the eye and raised one eyebrow. Then, clearing her throat, “All right, Longbottom. Let’s get you dressed.”

He took a step off the platform, then another until he was standing less than a foot away from her. Even in her three-inch platform combat boots, she had to look up to meet his gaze.

He stared down at her with a hard look in his eyes. “Can I just say how fucking good you look, Parkinson? In school, you were always attractive, but you were quite mean to me. Now, you’ve lost your meanness, kept your edge, and are infinitely more gorgeous? It’s really doing something for me.”

“Is it now?” Pansy swallowed, but managed to stare back at him.

With another half step forward, he was now a few inches from her. “Do you think you deserve a second chance?” He asked with bright laughter in his eyes.

She licked her lips as she stared up at him with her blue green eyes. “I’ll leave that for you to decide.”

Neville leaned forward into her face and grazed his nose across her cheek, drawing his mouth close to her ear. “I think you do.”

She shivered as his breath tickled the raven hair that was tucked behind her ear. He dropped his head to her neck and pressed his mouth to the crook between her neck and shoulder. He brought his right hand up to grasp her waist, while the left hand cupped her neck, his thumb pressing ever so slightly on her windpipe.

Pansy let out a quiet gasp, a sweeping rush of warmth traveling from her throat to her belly like a shot of firewhiskey. Her hands moved of their own accord to cup his biceps.

“You smell divine.” Neville breathed. His tongue darted out to lick up the column of her throat then along her jaw. “Taste divine too.”

She moaned loudly, then shook her head from confusion. What in the fuck was actually happening here? Was Neville Fucking Longbottom seducing her?

He ran his soft lips ever so lightly across her mouth, not quite kissing her. It certainly seemed that he was seducing her, and rather successfully at that.

“Longbottom...”

He caught her lips with her own, then pushed his tongue into her mouth, stroking in, then out quickly. He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth, then pulled away slightly. “Yes, Parkinson?”

“Erm, are you seducing me?”

He moved his head back to look at her, his eyebrows raised. “Was that not obvious?”

“I suppose it was.” She paused. “Do you want to floo to my flat?”

“Not in the slightest.” Neville pushed her chin length hair back away from her face with his right hand, his left still circling her throat. His right hand then dropped to clutch her waist through her silky lace camisole, his thumb tracing patterns across her ribs through the thin fabric. He kissed her again with fervor, taking her breath away. His lips were full and soft, and as he playfully flicked his tongue in her mouth her pussy began to throb.

She realized she was still gripping his biceps like she was holding on to him for dear life. Which, she kind of was. Fucking hell was he a good kisser. She moved her arms to circle his back and tug him slightly closer to her, allowing her breasts to graze against his naked chest with a few layers of clothing still separating them. Pansy grasped his back as he continued to kiss her steadily, feeling his back muscles rippling.

Neville dropped his right hand to her arse, pulling her crotch against his own where she felt something incredible pressing hard against her.

“Longbottom, what the actual fuck?” Pansy pulled away, her swollen-lipped mouth hanging open with shock. She stared down between them at the gigantic rock hard protrusion that pressed against his soft cotton blend boxer briefs.

Neville grinned and tugged Pansy back flush against his chest. He kissed her hard then muttered “Accio” to summon his wand. With one hand moving up to her chin-length silky hair, he tugged slightly and kissed her savagely all while waving his wand, causing one of the emerald wingback chairs to shoot across the room to settle on the fitting platform. He then spun them both so that Pansy’s back was now to the platform. The tri panel mirrors were behind him, and out of the corner of her eye she could glimpse their figures moving together. Her belly swooped again and she clutched Neville more tightly.

He tucked his wand behind his ear, then began to kiss her in earnest again. Pansy’s hands began to wander down his muscular back from his shoulder blades to his waist, then to the dimples right above his ass. She could feel his glute muscles with her pinky fingers. Gods, was he fit.

“Longbottom, how did you get such an amazing body? I can’t stop touching you.”

“Then don’t stop.”

His hands were everywhere too, namely on her her breasts which were small and completely engulfed by his huge hands. She moaned into his mouth as he massaged each one in turn through her thin silk top.

“Please take my clothes off, Longbottom.” She breathed in between kisses.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He lifted the hem of her silk top and pulled it off of her and up her arms, but instead of pulling it off completely, he used the fabric to wind around her wrists as a loose makeshift tie. Neville then squatted slightly to grab her behind her knees and to wrap her legs around his waist. He grasped her black denim covered arse cheeks.

“Fuck me, you are so damn sexy.” He whispered in her ear. He stepped up onto the platform. He hitched her hips higher so her denim clad crotch rubbed up his own. She gasped.

He continued this motion up and down, sliding her up and down. As he did this, he began to focus on her breasts, clad as they were in black strappy lace bralette, through which her nipples were clearly visible and now poking through. He brought his mouth around her left nipple through the lace, sucking gently.

She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands slightly encumbered by the silky makeshift hand restraint. Pansy leaned back slightly, allowing Neville the best angle to continue sucking and licking her breasts through the stretchy lace material.

Neville lowered himself onto his knees before the emerald wingback chair, still grasping her arse with both hands, then plopped her down into the chair. He was kneeling in front of the platform with hands on her knees, his eyes full of lustful fire.

She gazed at their reflections in the tri panel mirrors, each one offering a different angle, each one displaying the glory of Longbottom’s muscular frame, his back and arm muscles flexing powerfully.

“All right, Parkinson?” He panted.

“I’m fucking fantastic, Longbottom. Where the fuck did you come from?”

He bit his bottom lip and grinned. “Can I take off your trousers?”

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, take off my fucking trousers.”

Reaching behind his right ear, he clutched then flicked his wand. Her black denim trousers had a button fly, and with each flick of his wand, the four buttons popped open. Neville leaned back to rest his arse on his heels, then with a flourish, muttered “Desrobere” and her denims flew off, shooting behind him. With the force of the spell, Pansy’s lace-clad arse and hips were bucked into the air, causing her to land at the edge of the green velvet cushion and her feet to bounce onto Neville’s lap.

“Longbottom, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?” She chuckled. Her laughter died quite suddenly when he flicked his wand again. Pansy’s restrained arms were pulled back and up onto the headrest of the chair, and magically immobilized. She let out a surprised laugh. “Neville fucking Longbottom, you have me in a right state, do you realize that?”

“I do realize that.” He pointedly stared down at her black knickers which she knew were rather soaked. Neville tucked his wand behind his ear again and then tugged the legs of the armchair an inch forward on the platform so that her knees butted up against his chest. He took each of her feet in his hands and swung her legs outward, spreading her. Looking up under his thick dark lashes, he drew himself deeper between her thighs. Neville brought his mouth to the final inches of sensitive inner thigh, where he kissed, sucked, and licked. He switched back and forth from one leg to the other for a few minutes without ever actually touching her pussy.

“My gods.” Pansy gasped.

He finally took a finger to the edge of her knickers, hooking underneath and pulling them to the left side. Flattening his tongue, he licked up each side of her outer labia, continuing his slow and arduous journey to her center. Pansy tried to squeeze her legs shut around his head, but he firmly grasped her ankles and kept them pressed to the wooden feet of the armchair. Neville continued his incredibly luxurious treatment of her outer labia, then leaned back. He drew his wand again, and with a quick flit, her knickers zoomed off of her, down her legs, and behind him to land atop her discarded denims.

“All right, Parkinson?”

“I think you know the answer to that already.” She panted, and could feel a drip of her arousal creeping down between her arse cheeks and onto the velvet cushion.

Neville hummed with a closed mouth smirk, then dove back in, grabbing the backs of her calves, massaging and stroking them up and down. He circled her pussy with his tongue in a large oval around and around, starting from the lowest part of her vaginal opening to the very top of her clitoral hood, then back down the other side. Pansy’s legs were shaking.

“Longbottom?”

“Yes, Parkinson?”

“Is this your revenge for my cruel treatment of you at Hogwarts? Sweet, torturous foreplay to never bring me to my release?”

He laughed against her pussy lips, which caused her to moan. Neville drew his wand again and waved it at her knees. “Immobulis.” Her knees felt like they were magnetized to the sides of the armchair.

Drawing his mouth back to her pussy, he began using his lips and sucked her outer labia into his mouth. Pansy gasped and arched her back, thrusting her tits into the air. She stared at their reflections in the mirrors, a flush of desire rolling over her at the sight of her own panting and gaping mouth, flushed cheeks and chest, and Neville’s huge frame between her spread legs. Pansy wished she could play with her nipples, if only to bring some relief from the intense pleasure Longbottom was bestowing with his mouth.

As if reading her mind, Neville glanced up at her, his mouth still pressed tightly to her pussy, then waved his wand, causing her bralette to move up her chest, over her head to join the silk camisole still wrapped loosely around her wrists. He tucked his wand behind his ear again, reached his left hand up to her right tit and massaged it in slow circles.

“Fucking hell, Longbottom. How are you so good at this?” Pansy was sweating and breathless, but was unable to look away from his incredible mouth on her pussy.

Still sucking her left labia, then her right, he drew his right hand up her thigh to rest atop her left thigh, gripping the muscle tightly and allowing his thumb to graze against her outer labia. He switched gears, and began to lick up her center, stroking up and down, higher and higher until he was flicking the tip of his tongue across her clit.

Pansy whimpered as her hips thrusted into his face as much as she could with her knees locked in place.

Neville flattened his tongue again and licked slow strokes across her clit, lowering his right hand to touch her inner labia. She felt rather than saw two long fingers on either side of her opening, sliding up and down, matching the rhythm of his tongue. His left hand still attended to her breast, lightly drawing his fingers from her breast down to her nipples, over and over again.

“Salazar’s saggy testicles!” Pansy cursed breathily, and moaned as Neville’s fingers traced the most tantalizing and delicious patterns along her pussy lips.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of his beautiful brown hair, wishing she could run her fingers through it so she could at least have something to hold onto during the breathtakingly slow climb to bliss.

A few moments later, he began to quicken the pace of his tongue and fingers, and she began to moan and curse as her thighs quaked. Neville wrapped his long fingers around her peaked nipple and pulled hard.

“Please, Longbottom. Please make me cum.” She begged between her breathy cries. He peeked up at her from over her sopping wet mound, then closed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard while bobbing his head up and down.

Pansy screamed as she shattered into a universe of breaktaking pleasure, gasping, awestruck. He pulled his mouth and hands gently away from her leaking pussy and sat back on his heels again, grasping her calves and stroking lightly with his thumbs.

“Whoa. Wow. What the fuck. Just happened.”

Still dazed, she was staring directly into his eyes, her chest heaving and limbs heavy. He was wearing a lazy, lopsided grin and he used the back of his hand to wipe her pussy juices from his chin and mouth.

He pulled his wand from behind his ear and muttered “Finite” at her wrists and knees. Pansy collapsed upon herself.

“Parkinson.”

“Yes, Longbottom?”

“Would you like to come back to my place?”