Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are consenting adults (18+), and none of the characters are related to Harry Potter.
"Uncle Harry!"
Victoire's voice floated in through the open kitchen window, and Harry's grip tightened on his glass of Firewhisky until his knuckles ached. He was not usually a day drinker. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd touched the stuff before sunset. But the girls had been upstairs for the better part of an hour, unpacking and giggling and doing whatever it was that young women did when they were about to parade around in bikinis, and Harry had needed something to take the edge off before he did something monumentally stupid.
He had tried to stay away. He had retreated to the kitchen the moment they disappeared up the stairs, telling himself he would busy himself with lunch preparations or perhaps reorganise the pantry or maybe just stand very still and think about Quidditch statistics until his erection went away. But the giggles hadn't stopped, and then the sound of bare feet came padding down the stairs, and the back door had opened and closed, and Harry had been left alone with his imagination and the certain knowledge that three gorgeous young women had just changed into almost nothing and were now spread out on his back lawn.
"Uncle Harry! We need you!"
Fuck.
He downed the rest of his Firewhisky in one burning gulp, set the glass on the counter with a decisive clink, and headed for the garden door. Whatever awaited him out there, he could handle it. He was Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, veteran of a hundred battles. He had faced down Voldemort himself. Surely he could survive an afternoon with his daughter and nieces in swimwear.
The sunlight was blinding as he stepped outside, and when his vision cleared, every ounce of courage he had mustered evaporated in an instant.
Oh, fucking hell.
The three of them were spread out on towels on the lawn beside the pool, arranged in a row like some kind of exhibition, and they were facing away from him. Which meant he had an unobstructed view of three perfect arses, barely covered by the tiniest scraps of fabric he had ever seen in his life. The bikini bottoms they were wearing, if one could even call them bikini bottoms, were little more than strings connecting tiny triangles that did absolutely nothing to preserve modesty. The fabric had ridden up between their cheeks completely, transforming the bottoms into something closer to thongs, leaving vast expanses of bare, sun-kissed flesh on full display.
And their tops. Their fucking tops were not on their bodies at all.
The bikini tops had been discarded haphazardly on the grass beside each towel, abandoned like unwanted accessories, which meant that all three girls were lying on their stomachs completely topless. Harry could see their breasts from where he stood, doughy mounds of soft flesh spilling out on either side of their lithe bodies, pressed flat against the towels but far too generous to be contained, the outer curves visible and obscenely inviting.
His cock, which had finally begun to soften during his retreat to the kitchen, surged back to full hardness so fast it made him dizzy.
He let his gaze travel over them one by one, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst. Victoire was closest, her silvery-blonde hair swept to one side to expose the elegant line of her neck and shoulders, her back a smooth golden canvas that tapered to a narrow waist before flaring out into hips that belonged on a fertility goddess. Her arse was a masterpiece, two round, firm globes that looked like they had been sculpted specifically to make men lose their minds, and the string of her bikini bottoms had completely disappeared between them, leaving him staring at what was essentially a naked arse.
Rose was next, her brown hair fanned out across her towel, and even lying down Harry could see that she had inherited her mother's figure with a vengeance. Her waist was impossibly small, making the flare of her hips even more dramatic, and her arse was fat and round and doughy in a way that made Harry's mouth water. He could see the soft flesh of her breasts bulging out on either side of her body, bigger than they had any right to be on a frame that delicate, and the combination of that innocent face and that filthy, curvy body was enough to drive a man insane.
And then there was Lily.
His daughter. His baby girl. Lying on a towel in his back garden, topless, her tiny bikini bottoms wedged so deep between her arsecheeks that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Her long red hair cascaded down her back like a river of fire, and her arse, Merlin, her arse was even more magnificent than he had imagined. Fat and round and firm, two perfect doughy globes that jiggled slightly every time she shifted on the towel.
She's your daughter, Harry reminded himself desperately, but his cock was straining against his trousers so hard it hurt, and all he could think about was what it would feel like to bury his face between those cheeks and never come up for air.
Victoire chose that moment to look over her shoulder, her green eyes finding his, and her lips curved into a smile that was far too knowing for comfort.
"There you are, uncle Harry," she purred, and then she did something that emptied every thought from Harry's head. She wiggled her hips, a slow, deliberate undulation that made her arse cheeks ripple like water, shaking them at him in a display so blatant that it couldn't possibly be interpreted as anything other than an invitation.
"We need your help with the sunscreen," she continued, still wiggling, still shaking that perfect arse at him like she was trying to hypnotise him with it. "None of us can reach our backs properly, and we'd hate to burn."
Harry couldn't look away. His eyes were glued to the rhythmic motion of her cheeks, watching them bounce and jiggle with every shake of her hips, the tiny string of her bikini bottoms doing absolutely nothing to hide the crease where her thighs met her arse, where the soft flesh of her cheeks began their impossible swell. He could see everything. The dimples at the base of her spine. The way her arsecheeks caught the sunlight. The faint shadow between them that hinted at treasures hidden beneath.
This is dangerous territory, some distant part of his brain warned him. This is your niece. This is Fleur's daughter. If you put your hands on her, there's no going back.
But what was he supposed to say? I'm sorry, Victoire, but I can't be trusted to touch you without losing my mind? That the moment my hands land on your arse I'll spread your cheeks wide and stare at your clenching arsehole until I've memorised every detail? That I'll whip out my cock and sink home into the tightest cunt I've ever had, pounding you into the towel until your begging carries across the lawn and my balls tighten and I fill you up with endless amounts of my seed, breeding you right here in front of Rose and my own daughter?
"Of course," Harry heard himself say, his voice coming out rough and strangled. "I can help."
His feet carried him forward without his permission, closing the distance between himself and the three half-naked women laid out before him like some impossible feast. He stopped beside Victoire's towel, looking down at the expanse of bare skin before him, and his cock throbbed so hard in his trousers that the blood pounded in his ears.
Victoire handed him a bottle of sunscreen over her shoulder, her fingers brushing against his in a way that sent sparks shooting up his arm, and then she settled back down onto her towel with a contented sigh.
"Start with my shoulders," she instructed, her voice sweet and innocent even as she wiggled her arse one more time. "Work your way down."
Harry lowered himself down to kneel over her, one knee planted on either side of her thighs so he could reach properly, and squeezed sunscreen onto his palms. The cool lotion did nothing to quench the fire burning through his veins as he placed his hands on Victoire's shoulders and began to rub.
Her skin was warm from the sun and smooth as silk, and Harry had to bite down on his tongue to keep from groaning out loud. He worked the lotion into her shoulders with hands that trembled only slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand, trying not to think about how easy it would be to slide his hands lower, to feel those magnificent tits against his palms.
"Mmm, that feels amazing, uncle Harry," Victoire sighed, and the sound went straight to his cock. "Your hands are so strong."
He moved down to her upper back, spreading the sunscreen in wide circles, his thumbs tracing the ridge of her spine. He could feel her muscles relaxing beneath his touch, could hear the soft sounds of pleasure she was making, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to abandon all pretence and just grope her.
"Lower," Victoire breathed. "Don't be shy."
Harry's hands slid lower, down to the small of her back, and then, before he could stop himself, they drifted to the sides. His fingers brushed against the soft swell of her breasts, the doughy flesh that spilled out from beneath her body, and Victoire let out a soft moan that made his cock jump.
"Oh yes," she breathed. "Just like that."
He was losing his mind. He could feel her tits against his fingers, warm and heavy, and he was massaging them like they were just another part of her back, rubbing circles into the outer curves while Victoire squirmed beneath him. Her breasts were so full, so perfectly shaped, and every time his hands pressed against them he could feel them yield to his touch, could imagine what they would look like bouncing as he fucked her from behind.
"Keep going," Victoire encouraged, her voice thick with something that sounded disturbingly like arousal. "All the way down."
His hands moved lower still, over the curve of her lower back, over the dimples that marked the top of her arse, and then, finally, they landed on her cheeks.
All thoughts of applying sunscreen evaporated from Harry's mind.
Her arse was even more magnificent up close. Two perfect globes of firm, yielding flesh that fit into his palms like they had been made for him. He squeezed experimentally, feeling them give beneath his fingers, and Victoire let out a throaty moan that made his balls tighten.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. "Yes."
Harry kneaded her cheeks like a man possessed, all pretence of propriety abandoned. He gripped and squeezed and massaged, watching the flesh dimple beneath his fingers, watching her cheeks jiggle every time he released them. She was making noises that belonged in a bedroom, breathy little gasps and moans that carried across the lawn, and Harry was so hard it was almost painful.
Before he could think better of it, before the last shred of his sanity could stop him, he spread her cheeks wide.
His breath caught in his throat.
Her bikini bottoms were little more than a string, a thin line of fabric that did nothing to hide what lay beneath. Her arsehole was right there, peeking out on either side of the fabric, a tight pink pucker that seemed to wink at him in the sunlight. And below that, her pussy. The string had practically disappeared between her lips, which were spread like petals, glistening with moisture that definitely wasn't sunscreen. He could see her clenching, could see the way her cunt pulsed around the thin fabric, and he was going absolutely insane.
He was doing this. He was spreading his niece's arse cheeks in broad daylight, staring at her exposed holes while his daughter lay two towels away. He was so far over the line he couldn't even see it anymore.
He let her cheeks go and watched as they clapped back together with a soft, obscene sound that echoed across the lawn.
"Mmm," Victoire hummed, mock disappointment colouring her voice. "You can do that again if you like, uncle Harry. I didn't mind."
Harry was seconds away from losing it. From whipping out his cock right there and showing her exactly what else he could do. His hands were shaking, his breathing ragged, his cock straining so hard against his trousers that it ached with every thundering beat of his heart.
He moved to her legs instead, desperate to finish quickly, to get away from this madness before he did something he couldn't take back. He rubbed sunscreen into her thighs with efficient, businesslike strokes, trying to ignore the way her legs parted slightly to give him better access, trying not to think about what lay just inches from his fingers.
Finally, he was done. He pulled his hands away from Victoire's body and took a deep breath, ready to flee to the safety of the house, to lock himself in the bathroom with his cock in his hand and wank himself dry to the memory of what he had just done.
"Uncle Harry?"
The voice came from his left, soft and hesitant, and Harry's heart stopped.
Rose was looking at him over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed pink, her brown hair falling across one eye in a way that made her look impossibly innocent. But despite her blush, despite the shyness in her voice, she was shaking her arse. A slow, nervous wiggle that made her fat cheeks jiggle enticingly, her own bikini bottoms just as tiny and useless as Victoire's.
"Could you... could you do me next?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please?"
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
He couldn't say no. He couldn't refuse her, not with those green eyes looking up at him, not with that fat arse shaking at him like an offering. He was in so much trouble.
Harry shifted over to Rose's towel, his knees bracketing her hips, and squeezed more sunscreen into his palms. She was already trembling before he even touched her, her breath coming faster, her fingers clutching at the edge of her towel.
The moment his hands made contact with her shoulders, Rose let out a soft gasp that went straight to Harry's cock.
She was warm, so warm, her skin soft and smooth beneath his palms. He rubbed the lotion into her shoulders with hands that were steadier than they had any right to be, and Rose was already making tiny sounds of pleasure, soft little sighs that reminded him so much of her mother it made his head spin.
He moved lower, down her back, and Rose squirmed beneath him, her hips shifting against the towel. She was far more responsive than Victoire had been, reacting to every touch like it was electric, and when Harry's hands slid around to the sides of her body, when his fingers brushed against the soft swell of her breasts where they spilled out from beneath her...
"Oh!" Rose gasped, her whole body jerking. "Oh, uncle Harry..."
She was whining like a bitch in heat, squirming around on the towel. Harry's fingers traced the outer curves of her tits, feeling them yield to his touch, and Rose's whines grew louder, more desperate.
"Please," she breathed, though Harry wasn't sure what she was asking for.
He had to move on. He had to get through this quickly before things got completely out of hand. His hands slid down over her lower back, and then, before he could stop himself, they landed on her arse.
Fuck, he thought, staring down at the magnificent globes beneath his palms. Her arse is amazing.
It was exactly like Hermione's. Fat, doughy cheeks that spilled over the edges of his hands. He squeezed, and Rose let out a broken little moan, her hips bucking back against his touch.
Visions of Hermione flooded his mind. Hermione on her hands and knees in the tent, her fat arse presented for his use, crying out his name as he pounded into her from behind. The way her cheeks had rippled with every thrust. The way she had begged him not to stop.
He spread Rose's cheeks.
And Rose mewled beneath him, a broken, desperate sound that made his cock throb.
"Please..." she whimpered, and this time he knew exactly what she was asking for.
Her pussy was even more exposed than Victoire's had been. The string of her bikini bottoms had all but vanished between her swollen lips, and she was glistening with arousal. He could see how wet she was, could see the moisture coating her inner thighs, and she was clenching around the thin fabric, her cunt pulsing with need.
Harry couldn't stop himself. His fingers moved before his brain could catch up, sliding down between her spread cheeks, finding her core.
She was fucking dripping.
The moment his fingers made contact with her pussy, Rose came apart. She cried out, a high, keening sound that carried across the lawn, her whole body shuddering as pleasure crashed through her. Harry pressed his fingers against her clit through the thin, soaked fabric, rubbing in tight circles, and Rose thrashed beneath him.
"Uncle Harry!" she wailed. "Oh Merlin, oh fuck, I'm... I'm..."
She came undone beneath his hands, her orgasm ripping through her in violent waves. Her hips bucked against his fingers, her pussy clenching around nothing, her moans growing louder and more desperate with every passing second. Harry kept rubbing, kept working her through it, feeling her juices soak through the fabric onto his fingers, and Rose's cries of pleasure echoed across the garden until finally, finally, she collapsed onto the towel, trembling and gasping.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Harry stared down at his glistening fingers, at the trembling girl beneath him, and the reality of what he had just done crashed over him like ice water. He had fingered his niece to orgasm. Right there on the lawn. In broad daylight. In front of...
"Daddy?"
The voice came from his left, and Harry's head snapped around to find Lily looking at him over her shoulder.
His daughter. His baby girl. Watching him with those bright green eyes, his eyes, her face flushed a brilliant crimson. She had seen everything. Every last second of it. She had lain there, one towel away, and watched him finger Rose to a shuddering release.
And now she was shaking her arse at him.
A slow, deliberate wiggle, her fat cheeks rippling with the motion, her tiny bikini bottoms wedged so deep between them that she might as well have been naked. She was looking at him with pleading eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and Harry could see the desperation written across her features.
She had been waiting for her turn all along.
"Please?" Lily whispered, still shaking her arse. "Please, Daddy?"
No.
He couldn't.
She was his daughter. His little girl. The light of his life. If he put his hands on her, if he touched her the way he had touched the others, there would be no going back. He would be lost, completely and utterly lost, dragged down into a darkness from which there was no escape.
Harry stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over Rose's towel, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest. His cock was straining against his trousers, aching with need, but this was wrong. This was so fucking wrong.
"I can't," he choked out, and then he was fleeing, stumbling back towards the house on legs that barely supported him, leaving Lily staring after him with those pleading, disappointed eyes.
The last thing he heard before he slammed the door behind him was his daughter's voice, breathless and wanting, calling after him.
"Daddy...?"
Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are consenting adults (18+), and none of the characters are related to Harry Potter.