Chapter Text
April, 2013, Cadracally Castle , Rathlin Island
All three of the children were walking now. Luna glowed in quiet contentment as she watched them frolic in a large courtyard, head resting on arms folded over the tower windowsill. They were supervised there by Mabeline, as she’d insisted she continue to be called, fussily knitting Acromantula silk and pretending to scowl at her granddaughters’ hijinks, which seemed to involve blowing and chasing bubbles of accidental magic. It could really be any of them casting, these days; all possessed rare control.
“You’re distracted,” came a gruff voice from behind her, the vibration of it sending tingles through her sensitive nether-lips in the chill of his tongue’s sudden absence.
“Mmmm,” she agreed, nodding happily as she heard him stand and felt him aligning himself with her wet entry. “I like my family, and, hmmm, I know I won’t-” she gasped a little as he gripped her hips and pushed roughly into her, “-won’t be allowed this… forever… mmm-” she panted, eyes widening as he cast some manor of modified engorgio charm and started thrusting in her, “... em… no more… talking… for me…” She mewled helplessly then as he redoubled his pace, the quick metronome slap of his hips rebounding from hers setting a pace for her shallow breaths as his magically altered length seemed almost to unfurl within her, stretching her wide.
He was only a little short of breath, his voice smug as it rumbled over her shoulder when he lent forward to nip it. “I believe I’ve created a variation with a texture you might fancy, love.”
Oh, and she did fancy. As he shoved her cheek and breasts down onto the cold marble of the sill, she felt the muscles of her desperately spread walls flutter around a sort of spiraling ridge that had spun around his length. It was a miracle she’d thank magic for later that he had the strength to continue despite the drag it created as it rasped within her, each thread a little pop with each exit and entry.
He’d looked at that Muggle catalog for inspiration, she thought, as her fingernails scrabbled about for the ornamental lip beneath the sill to hold on to, casting a wandless chill up through the marble to keep it cold against her flushed skin as an afterthought.
Goddesses and gods bless the magical elasticity of this cunt , she thought blissfully, reflecting on how such a screwing might strip any other thread.
Then he reached his wand down around and in front of her, setting it humming and thrumming with vibration before touching it to her swollen clit, and the scene devolved into atavistic want and pleasure as she tore her voice raw.