The Little Games We Play (Ch. 6)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

The Little Games We Play 

Chapter 6

Shell Cottage’s master bath wasn’t anything to write home about, but Fleur insisted it was cozy. “It is so small, you ‘ave no choice but to touch, non?” she’d said the night before, her voice muffled by the pillow Harry had pinned her face into. Now that they were using it, he understood what she meant. She pressed her naked body to the steamed-up shower glass and made a game of smearing away the fog with the round print of her tits.

Harry stood behind her, coated in soap, as his hands roamed with no regard for decency. He trailed suds along the inside of her thighs, up the swell of her hips, then circled both hands to cup her tits. Fleur’s nipples were already hard and flushed against her pearly skin, and they slipped and slid under his fingers as he lathered her up. She wriggled her ass into his groin, deliberately egging him to go further.

Fleur tilted her head back, letting the spray soak her hair until the silvery-blonde strands stuck to her neck and back. “You will never get me clean like this,” she sighed, as if it were a terrible loss.

“I’m not trying to,” Harry answered honestly, pinching one nipple and rolling it until she gasped. He liked the way her skin trembled under his touch, and how she tried to muffle her own pleasure so as not to sound too desperate. He ran his palm down her belly and found her mound soapy and bare. Fleur always kept her skin perfectly smooth. He wasn’t sure whether that was a Veela thing or just her being fanatical about her grooming. He let the backs of his fingers trace over the seam of her slit. Fleur parted her thighs without a word. He never needed to ask. She always eagerly invited him in. 

He soaped her pussy with loving care, making sure to explore every inch of her slick folds. He found her clit and teased it in slow, up-and-down motions. Fleur shuddered and gripped the metal shelf in front of her. “Mmm, yes, ‘Arry … like that,” she purred, her thick French accent making his cock throb. He loved how receptive she was to his touches. One graze of his finger and she was clenching and arching into him. He could instantly tell that this wasn’t just a performance, like the kind she produced for her husband. Fleur’s pleasure was one hundred percent real. 

With his free hand, Harry reached for her throat and gently pulled her back until her head lolled on his shoulder. He pressed his lips behind her ear, sucked on the soft skin there, and nipped at her earlobe. Fleur’s eyes rolled, but she couldn’t help but look at their reflection in the steamed glass. Harry’s arms were banded tight around her, and his cock was poking out from the triangle between her thighs and pussy and sliding up against the inside of her thigh.

She giggled. “You ‘ave a dirty mind, ‘Arry.”

He smirked at the sexy woman. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“And you never will,” Fleur giggled and wiggled her shapely bottom. 

Harry let his soapy hand work between her legs, drawing tiny, pressured circles around her clit. Her pussy was hot and slippery, and every time he pressed into her, the whole length of her slit gaped around his finger. Fleur whimpered, then reached back and found his cock. She stroked it lazily and rubbed the head along the crack of her ass, smearing the tip with suds.

He groaned, jerked his hips, and ground the head against her asshole, teasing the entrance. Fleur arched her back and lifted her ass higher, offering herself to him. “You like my ass, oui?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “Is it better than Ginny’s?” she asked teasingly, but the question was laced with neediness.

Harry pressed a thumb to her clit and gently worked the other hand up the full, perfect shape of her ass. “Ginny’s is nice, but yours is better. It’s softer and more fun to play with.”

Fleur giggled, then gasped as he popped a finger inside her pussy. She was already wet, and its hot embrace made Harry’s cock twitch in her hand. “You want to fuck me now, don’t you?” she moaned. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Harry asked as he laid soft kisses on her neck.

She smirked and wriggled out of his grip, spinning to face him. Her perfect, soapy tits bounced around and jiggled, drawing his gaze. She pressed him into the tile wall, pinning his cock between their bellies, and licked the corner of his jaw. “Then do it,” she whispered into his ear and reached down to palm his shaft with both hands. She squeezed and twisted, wringing a moan from him, and then guided his cock down to the lips of her pussy.

She held it against her pussy, the head poking out between her fingers. Fleur mashed it up and down her slit, letting her hairless lips split around it. Harry watched as the soft pink folds stretched, clinging to his length and leaving little trails of sticky wetness behind. Fleur shuddered every time the head bumped her clit. She teased herself until she was trembling, then released him, letting his cock spring up.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and climbed up onto his hips, locking her ankles behind his back. Harry gripped her ass, his fingers dimpling her soft, smooth skin, and pressed her against the wall. She kissed him, opened her mouth, and jammed her tongue into his mouth. Harry moaned as he sucked on her talented tongue. “ ‘ard,” she whispered, her eyes blazing with lust. “I want it ‘ard, ‘Arry. Fuck me like a slut.” There was no way he would ever refuse such a demand.

Harry lined his cock up and pushed inside her, the head parting her lips and sinking in. Fleur’s body opened for him, swallowing the thick shaft until their hips slammed together. Fleur groaned and bit his shoulder. “Yesss,” she hissed, and began to ride him, rolling her hips in tight circles. Harry let her take what she wanted. He just held her up and watched as her tits bounced and her soapy nipples rubbed against his chest. 

He pulled out, then thrust in again, harder this time. Fleur whimpered and clawed at his back. “More,” she begged, and he gave it to her. Each pump made a filthy, wet sound as her cunt drooled around him. The tile squeaked as their bodies rubbed against it, and he could feel her starting to lose control. Her breath grew ragged, her body tensed, and her pussy clenched tightly around his cock.

She squealed, then shook, and let her forehead fall to his chest. “I am close,” she gasped. “So close … please!” Harry bent his knees, lifted her higher, and fucked her in short, brutal thrusts, his balls slapping her ass. She screamed in pleasure and squirted all over his cock, her fluids streaming down his thighs.

Harry kept going, pumping through her orgasm, until she slumped in his arms. He slid her down onto her feet, then spun her around, pressing her belly to the wall. Her legs shook, and she braced herself against the wall, her ass sticking out while she waited for more. Harry grabbed her hips, lined up, and pushed inside her again. Her stretched pussy lips offered no resistance, just a sloppy, gaping mess that squeezed and rippled around him.

Fleur arched her spine and looked back at him, her eyes shining with desire. “Keep going!” she begged. “Please, fill me!”

He hammered her pussy, using her body like it was made for him. Her pussy was so sensitive that every slap of his hips made her gasp and clench. She milked his cock for everything it was worth. Harry’s balls tightened, and he felt the orgasm building.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

Fleur dropped down to the floor of the shower, her tits jiggling wildly. She looked up at him with big, blue eyes and a flushed face. She opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and stroked his cock with both hands. Harry moaned as she jerked him fast and hard, aiming the head at her perfect, upturned face.

He came with a grunt, the first shot splashing across her cheekbone and into her hair. Fleur flinched, then giggled, and angled her head for more. Harry’s cock jerked again, and a thick rope of cum smacked her square on the nose and lip, dribbling down her chin. She kept pumping, the last few spurts trickling onto her tongue and pooling at the base of her throat.

Fleur swallowed, then laughed. “You are so naughty, ‘Arry,” she said, licking the corner of her mouth.

“So are you,” Harry chuckled and ran his fingers through her wet hair, making her purr. 

She wiped her face with her hand, then smeared the cum over both tits, massaging it in slowly. “You like seeing me covered in your cum, non?” she teased, squeezing both breasts together so the white mess pooled in her cleavage.

“I love it,” he honestly said and rubbed his head over her lips. “You’re so sexy.”

She licked it clean, then stood and pulled him into a hug. Fleur leaned her head into the crook of his neck and kissed it while she teasingly played with his cock. They stayed there for a while before finally cleaning off. When they were finally done, he reached out and turned off the shower.

The Little Games We Play

They left the bathroom, both completely naked. Fleur tucked herself under Harry’s arm, rubbing her cheek on his chest as they walked down the narrow hallway to her bedroom. The door was already open, but he was too busy admiring the way Fleur’s tits bounced with every step to think about it. They were three steps into the bedroom before they noticed her sitting in the armchair by the window.

Apolline was rarely caught off guard, but she looked positively shell-shocked now. Her eyes flicked from Fleur’s bare chest to Harry’s hard, throbbing cock, then back to Fleur’s face. Fleur froze, and a drop of water fell from her hard nipple. Harry stopped, his body halfway between wanting to grab a blanket and the ridiculous urge to flex for Apolline’s benefit. He settled for just keeping his hands at his side. 

Apolline said nothing at first. Her lips pursed, then she exhaled through her nose and folded her hands in her lap. “I see,” she said, the words short and cold.

Fleur was the first to recover. She stepped forward, tits out, and squared her shoulders. “You are early,” she said, as if the problem was nothing more than bad scheduling. Harry tried to step back to give them room, but Fleur snagged his hand and held it tight.

Apolline’s face remained stony, but she turned to Harry. “Monsieur Potter, I believe it is time for you to go. Fleur and I need to speak privately.”

Harry glanced at Fleur, who gave him a little nod. He tried not to show too much to Apolline as he scooped up his clothes. Fleur snickered and patted his ass as he ducked out the door. Apolline watched him go, her eyes glancing at his muscled ass.

“It is not what you think,” Fleur told her in French.

“Oh, I am certain it is precisely what I think! Your husband has been gone for two days, and you are already … already behaving like a common streetwalker? With a friend of Bill, no less?”

Fleur snorted, grabbed her wand from the dresser, and flicked it. Her body instantly dried, and her hair twirled like it was caught in a warm, summer wind. “You do not know what you are talking about. It is not the first time I have been with ‘arry,” Fleur told her as she slipped on a silk robe. 

Apolline’s voice rose. “Fleur! You are married! You swore vows before your entire family, and yet you …”

Fleur cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Bill knows, and he encourages it.”

There was silence as Apolline studied her face. “You are lying.”

“I do not lie,” Fleur shot back. “Bill likes to watch. He likes to see me happy.”

The chair scraped the floor as Apolline stood. She began pacing back and forth. “I have never been so ashamed. What sort of marriage is this?”

“A happy one,” Fleur replied as she grabbed a brush and ran it through her long, silky locks.

There was a thud, as if Apolline had collapsed back into the chair. “Your father would be …”

“I do not care what anyone thinks,” Fleur stated with finality. 

The silence was heavier now and full of tension. Fleur pressed on with a softer, more understanding voice. “Bill and I are partners, Maman. We take care of each other, and we both enjoy the life we live. If you do not believe me, then ask Bill. You have my permission.”

Apolline muttered something in French that Fleur didn’t particularly like.

Fleur’s voice went tight. “It is my life. You do not have to like it, but you do not get to decide.”

The door opened, and Fleur stepped out, her eyes shining with defiance. She saw Harry waiting at the end of the hall, walked right to him, and kissed him on the mouth. “Come,” she said. “Let us get breakfast before Maman has a stroke.”

Harry followed, hand in hand, while behind them, Apolline remained quiet

The Little Games We Play

Apolline’s chateau sat in the heart of Touraine wine country. It was a big, beautiful house with sprawling grounds that Apolline loved to walk through. She stood at her kitchen window, staring past the manicured garden. She’d left Fleur’s cottage the day before, citing urgent business, but the only thing urgent about her was the burn in her chest that would not go away.

Fleur’s words played on an endless loop in her head. Bill knows, and he likes to watch. Apolline had called her a whore and threatened to write to Bill’s mother, but the threat had been hollow. Apolline wasn’t really all that angry with Fleur. She was more frustrated with her own life, and in that moment, she chose to take it out on her. It wasn’t her finest moment.

Despite her scathing words, she could not stop replaying the scene in the bedroom. She could not stop thinking about Harry’s raw, hungry eyes as he stared at Fleur’s body, or the way Fleur seemed so sexually satisfied. Worse, she could not stop thinking about Harry’s cock.

Apolline had always thought herself immune to English charm, but something about the handsome man had upended her usual discipline. He had not even bothered to hide himself. He’d looked her dead in the eyes, as if daring her to comment on the size and thickness of his erection. When she closed her eyes now, it was not her husband’s touch she imagined, but the thickness of Harry’s cock in her hand.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and took it to the window seat. The house was too large and too quiet. Gabrielle was out with friends, and her husband was in Paris for the week, working late as he always did. Apolline wondered if he ever suspected how little she missed him when he was gone.

It wasn’t that her husband was a bad man. He was kind and gentle, had provided well for her and their daughters, but at heart, he was no different than poor Bill. He preferred tales over experiences, and fantasies rather than flesh. Years ago, he’d confessed his favorite fantasy to her in a trembling voice. He wished Apolline would take a lover … a real, virile man, and tell her husband every lurid detail. He didn’t want to watch. He wanted her to fuck and then come home, slide into bed, and whisper about every sensation. He wanted to know exactly what that man did to her. He wanted to hear about every position, every squeeze of her pussy, and every cry of pleasure. 

Apolline had always refused. It was absurd and perverse. French women were supposed to be discreet. They were supposed to keep their marriages afloat with short-lived, dignified infidelities, not parade themselves for their husbands’ amusement. Besides, Apolline had always found the prospect beneath her. She deserved better than that, but then again, she’d also spent the last twenty years starved for real, mindless pleasure. She drained half her wine in one go.

She thought of Harry again and how he’d looked at her … not as a matron, but as a gorgeous woman. She thought of how Fleur had so easily embraced the pleasure, shame, and joy, all at once. Apolline envied her, but more than anything, Apolline envied her the freedom.

She ran a hand down her thigh, feeling the familiar ache building there, and the heat pooling in her groin. What she wanted was shameful, but for the first time in years, she let the fantasy play out. Apolline imagined Harry pushing her to her knees, grabbing her hair, and shoving his cock so deep she could feel it in her throat. She imagined Harry pulling out and painting her face, her chest, and her tits with his potent seed. She imagined the weight of his body on hers, and she could almost feel her pussy stretching as his cock split her open, and the pleasure of being fucked by a man who could not get enough.

She imagined telling her husband every detail of how she’d begged and lost control. She would tell him how she’d let a man half her age use her, and how she’d loved it. The thought alone made her gasp.

Apolline set down her glass and slid her hand under her robe and down the front of her panties. She wasn’t even sure when she’d last done this. Two fingers ran along the split of her pussy, and her thumb flicked over her clit. It was embarrassingly easy to picture Harry’s cock now. Images of his thick, twelve-inch shaft flooded into her brain. She spread her lips, found the hard little nub, and went to work.

Her hips started to rock in time with her fantasies. She imagined Harry’s low, rumbling voice ordering her to keep her legs open. Of course, Apolline would happily comply. She would keep them open and watch as his huge shaft disappeared between her silky folds, only to reappear slick with her juices. The naughtiness of it made her clench around a cock that wasn’t really there.

She didn’t last long. When the orgasm suddenly hit, her whole body shook with pleasure until her vision blurred. She rode it out in quiet, shaking gasps, clutching the edge of the cushion for support as fat drops of arousal drenched the crotch of her panties. Once she came down, Apolline bitterly laughed. It had never been like that with her husband. He’d never been able to take care of her. Maybe that was why he begged her to find someone who could.

She straightened her back with her robe open, her bare chest heaving. The garden was still and perfect outside, and the early morning sun came through the large windows and bathed her bare tits and wet panties with warmth. She decided then that she would do it. She would write Fleur and ask her to set up a meeting with Harry. She would offer her body and allow him to fuck her in any way he desired, and when it was over, she would go home to her husband and tell him every sordid detail.

Apolline closed her robe and poured herself another glass of wine. She smiled at her reflection in the glass. She wasn’t sure how this would all turn out, but she was excited to find out.