Protecting the Ass(et) - Chapter 1
ALL CHARACTERS PORTRAYED WITHIN THIS STORY ARE 18 YEARS OLD OR ABOVE.
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Summary: Wrong place, wrong time, they said. To Pansy it was just another case of her horrid luck. Now, as the prime witness in an investigation that could potentially put one of Magical Britain's most notorious crimelords behind bars for good, Pansy is forced into protective custody by the DMLE. It was fine, though. The trial was in three months, and in all honesty, she needed a vacation anyway. The only problem was the company. After all, having an Auror-mandated bodyguard was annoying enough on its own. It was even worse when that bodyguard was Harry Potter.
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Chapter 1: Spare Me Your Pity
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Day 1
“It’s clear. You can come in now.”
Pansy stepped through the door and grimaced, her eyebrow arching in disdain.
‘What a dump.’
The thought was the only thing on her mind as she surveyed what would be her home for the next three months. It was a small cottage tucked away deep within the Forest of Dean, though calling it a cottage felt generous. Hovel was a far more fitting description.
The creaking floorboards groaned beneath her weight, while the boarded-up windows reminded her uncomfortably of the old Shrieking Shack back at Hogwarts. What little light filtered inside was thick with drifting dust motes, and that wasn't even considering the layer of grime coating practically every surface. She could almost feel it settling against her skin simply by standing there.
‘It’s not as bad as my flat I suppose,’ she admitted with an inward sigh.
Wrinkling her nose, Pansy caught the stale scent of mildew and old filth lingering in the air. Somehow, comparing the ramshackle hovel before her to her derelict apartment on Knockturn Alley brought her little comfort. She wasn't one of those fools who believed comparing miseries made either one easier to bear. If anything, it only created a new misery altogether.
The sound of approaching footsteps dragged her from her thoughts.
Pansy turned, her irritation only growing as her new 'roommate' returned with their belongings, his mere presence somehow making the already cramped space feel even smaller.
“I’ve sent a message back to Tonks and confirmed our arrival,” Potter said curtly, his voice carrying that same self-important tone she remembered from their school days.
Two trunks floated in after him before lowering gently onto the creaking floor with dull thuds, each impact sending another cloud of dust swirling into the air.
“You remember the rules, correct?”
“Of course I do,” Pansy snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “No contacting anyone on the outside, no leaving the safe house without you, and no using any unauthorised spells. In short, be a good little prisoner and do as I’m told. Need I go on?”
Potter replied with a roll of his eyes, his expression one of long-suffering patience as he stepped past her, his shoulder brushing against hers like a grazing whisper.
“Nope. That about covers it. Your room's through there.” He gestured towards a faded purple door at the end of the narrow hallway, its peeling paint hanging in ragged strips. “I'll go check the wards while you settle in.”
Pansy couldn’t stop herself from scoffing, the sound sharp in the dusty silence. “Settle in? How the fuck am I supposed to do that in a place like this? There are prisoners in Azkaban with better living quarters than this place.”
Potter didn't so much as blink, his gaze drifting over her with practised indifference. “It’s got four walls and a roof, Parkinson. That’s more than you had two hours ago, so I wouldn’t exactly start complaining now.”
Pansy felt the annoyance in her chest tighten into a tiny ball of white-hot fury. The events of the past twenty or so hours were finally beginning catching up to her. Exhaustion, despair, fear, anger — all coiled like a viper inside her gut, threatening to strangle the very air from her lungs. Potter’s dismissive attitude certainly didn’t help matters. In fact, in the span of two sentences, it proved to be the catalyst that finally triggered the emotional bomb inside of her chest.
“Fuck. You.”
The words came out with a waver, as if each syllable was squeezed out of her lips until they were but a shaking whisper. Whether Potter failed to hear the warning in her voice or simply chose to ignore it, she couldn't tell.
“Nice to see you haven’t changed a bit Pansy. Now if you don’t mind—”
What little self-control Pansy had left snapped like a frayed thread.
“I do mind! I mind this whole bloody arrangement!” she exclaimed, stepping forward until barely an inch separated them.
The former Chosen One blinked in surprise but made no move to back away, his emerald orbs filled with confusion.
“I know this may come as a fucking surprise to you, Potter, but not all of us got our little happily-ever-afters when the war ended!” she snarled, jabbing her finger forward into Potter’s chest without a second thought. “For the past two years, my life has been nothing but one case of rotten luck after another, all the while I try to claw my way out of the gutter that everyone else was so keen to throw me in! And now?! Now I’m stuck hiding away in this shithole while a bloody criminal kingpin tries to murder me! So as far as I’m concerned Potter, you can take your fucking ‘holier than thou’ attitude and shove it!”
As she spoke, Pansy’s breathing slowly became more and more erratic. She didn’t even notice anything was wrong at first, not until the last of her rant left her lips and a sudden icy chill flooded her veins. She grimaced, shaking her head as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Potter was saying something now, his expression pinched with annoyance, but the ringing in her ears drowned him out before she could make out a single word.
“I—I don’t—”
The words caught in her throat. Her jaw locked shut as though it no longer belonged to her. She could feel her heart racing. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. Every breath came quicker than the last, yet no matter how desperately she tried to draw in air, it never felt like enough.
What was happening to her? Was she—was she dying?!
Something in her expression must have changed. Potter's irritation vanished almost instantly, replaced by concern as he stepped towards her. His lips were moving again, repeating her name over and over, though the ringing still swallowed every syllable before they reached her.
Pansy tried to answer him, but the room lurched violently around her. She felt faint, her breathing only worsening with every inhale. Dark spots bloomed across her vision. Her mind raced, fear and panic gripping her chest with icy fingers as her thoughts spiralled wildly.
Had she been poisoned? Cursed?! Had one of Sarber’s henchmen gotten to her already?!
In the next moment, gravity shifted, the entire room tilting on its axis as Pansy felt her limbs give out. She braced herself as best she could for the impact with the hard wooden floor…yet it never came. Instead, two strong arms reached out and caught her, ending her short-lived plummet. Pansy forced herself to blink the dark spots in her vision away, the image of Potter’s face slowly coming into focus as he spoke, the sound of his voice finally reaching her ears.
“—st bre—kay? C’mon Pan—ust breath for me,”
With no other option, Pansy did as she was told, forcing her lungs into submission and sucking in a deep breath.
“Good,” Potter murmured, his voice gentle but firm as he held her gaze. “Now let it out... slowly.”
Again, Pansy obeyed, slowly pushing the air from her lungs.
Potter nodded in satisfaction, “Again.”
Over and over again, Pansy followed his instructions. Each breath came a little easier than the last. By the fourth, the pounding in her chest had begun to ease, and the dark spots faded completely from her vision. The ringing slowly retreated, leaving only the quiet creaking of the old cottage around them.
“Feeling better?” Potter asked, genuine concern softening his voice.
Pansy nodded, still unwilling to trust herself to speak. Potter seemed satisfied with that answer though. Carefully, he helped her back onto her feet before guiding her across the room to the threadbare sofa against the opposite wall. She sank onto the worn cushions, the trembling in her arms and legs gradually beginning to subside. After a long moment, she finally found her voice.
“Wh–What was that?” she stammered.
“You had a panic attack,” Potter replied, his voice steady yet softening just a bit around the edges. “They can be pretty nasty, especially when you’re under a lot of stress.”
“Speaking from experience?” Pansy asked, a faint trace of her usual snark creeping back into her voice despite her still-unsteady breathing.
Potter’s lips twitched around the edges ever so slightly. “You can say that.”
Silence settled between them for a moment before he let out a quiet sigh.
“Look, Parkinson, I get that this whole situation isn’t…ideal.” His eyes lingered on her, making her feel far more exposed than she cared for. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now it probably feels like you’re being punished for it. I doubt finding out you'd be stuck with me made things any easier.”
Despite everything, a small, reluctant huff of laughter escaped her. Potter chuckled too, shaking his head before crouching down in front of her, his green eyes once more taking a moment to study her.
It was strange in a way. By all accounts, the way he looked at her should have made her uncomfortable. Pansy hated when others saw her vulnerable moments. Whether they looked to her with pity or mocking judgement, it always made her skin itch and an uncomfortable burn spread down her spine. Yet there was nothing mocking or judgmental in Potter’s expression—only quiet sincerity. It made her feel… safe.
How odd.
“Regardless,” he said, meeting her eyes once more, “the important thing is that you're alive, and you're safe. I'll do everything I can to keep it that way.”
Pansy swallowed, unable to look away.
“Okay.”
A faint smile tugged at Potter's lips before he finally stood. “Why don’t you get some rest? It’s been a long day, and you look like you could do with a good night’s sleep.”
She didn’t feel all that tired if she were being honest. The aftermath of the panic attack had left every nerve in her body humming with restless energy, though she suspected the adrenaline wouldn't last much longer.
With a small nod, she pushed herself to her feet. Drawing her wand, she cast a levitation charm on her trunk as she passed it.
“You know,” she found herself saying as she reached the worn purple door. “We may not like each other Potter, but I suppose being stuck with you as a bodyguard isn’t too bad.”
“Yeah?” he replied, folding his arms with amused disbelief.
Pansy hummed in confirmation as she pushed the door open.
“Just don’t start expecting any hero worship out of me. Morgana knows your ego doesn’t need the encouragement.”
A quiet laugh followed her as she stepped into her room, pulling the door shut behind her.
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Day 3 (Morning)
Even after their little moment on the first day, things between herself and Potter were less than smooth. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Potter just seemed to know the worst of her buttons to press and did so with an infuriatingly mocking sense of glee.
This morning was a prime example.
Pansy, by all accounts, was not a morning person. She was a firm believer in beauty sleep, never once waking before the sun was already high in the morning sky if she could help it.
Potter, however, seemed to disagree with that notion entirely.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The loud pounding against her door cut straight through the haze of slumber. Pansy groaned and pulled a blanket over her head as if her linen shield would be enough to deter Potter any more than the locked door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Cursing under her breath, Pansy ripped the blankets away and stood. She stomped towards the door, a low growl on her lips as she grasped the handle and wrenched it open.
“What?!” she spat, her sleep-rasped voice laced with venom.
Potter was unperturbed by her fury. He stood across from her, arms crossed as he leaned lazily against her doorframe with an amused half-smile.
“Well, good morning to you too, princess,” he replied, his voice smooth with a teasing edge.
Pansy visibly bristled. If he thought mocking her with nicknames would somehow summon compliance, then he was more of a fool than she previously thought. Not for the first time, Pansy heavily considered cursing the prat.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she growled instead. Cursing Potter would only make her already shitty situation worse, unfortunately, no matter how tempting he made ignoring those consequences seem with that annoyingly smug smirk of his.
“Do you?” he shot back.
Pansy’s scowl soured. It was too early to deal with this.
“Fuck you. I’m going back to bed,” she huffed, already reaching to close the door.
“Fine, guess you don’t want breakfast then.”
Pansy stilled. The smell of cooking grease and baked bread finally registered in her brain at Potter’s words. Her stomach growled. The day before they’d eaten nothing but dried DMLE rations used for extensive stakeouts. It had been tasteless and borderline inedible. Pansy barely ate half a serving for breakfast and completely skipped lunch and dinner. She’d gone to bed hungry and forlorn that she would be forced to starve long before the trial date ever came. And yet…
“Fine.” Her hunger winning out, Pansy shouldered past Potter and made her way to the kitchen.
“Good,” Potter said, following behind her. “Cute tattoo by the way. I always thought roses were lovely.”
Pansy’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she looked down. In her sleep-addled irritation, it seemed that she forgot she’d gone to bed the previous night in nothing but a pair of powder pink knickers and an old Weird Sisterz t-shirt cut off at the midriff, leaving her half-naked and one of her most shameful secrets on full display. With a strangled squeak of distress, Pansy turned and dashed back to her room, her face bright red with embarrassment, while Potter’s laughter followed her the entire way.
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After dressing, Pansy took a moment to compose herself. It wouldn’t do for Potter to think he had the upper hand after that little hiccup.
When she re-emerged, Potter was already seated at the small dining table, reading a letter, as he hadn’t just gotten a nearly unobstructed view of her arse. He glanced up as she entered, that same infuriating half-smile still present.
“Not a word,” she snapped before he could so much as open his mouth.
Potter held up his hands in faux surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“That would be a first.”
A beat passed. Pansy kept her glare firmly on Potter, daring him to make another comment. Unfortunately for her, this only served as a challenge to him.
“I just didn’t take you as the kind of girl to get a tramp stamp, is all.”
Murder. That was all Pansy could think of in that moment. Bloody, torturous murder as Potter stared up at her with the most insufferable smirk.
“I hope you fucking choke.”
“Noted.”
Grumbling under her breath, Pansy took her seat and turned her attention to the spread of food before her. It was an admittedly impressive spread with nearly every traditional English breakfast dish. Pansy’s stomach growled loudly at the heavenly smell yet she couldn’t help but feel just a tad confused.
“Where in Merlin’s name did this all come from?” she asked.
Potter didn’t look up from the letter in his hands. “From the village a few miles down the road. I apparated over earlier and picked up a few things.”
“So let me get this straight,” Pansy huffed. “I can barely go to the loo by myself, much less leave the cottage, but you can fuck off and go shopping whenever you please?”
“Pretty much,” Potter shot back.
Pansy scoffed. It seemed Potter didn’t see the hypocrisy in his words, or perhaps simply didn’t care. Regardless, she helped herself to a few pieces of toast and a couple of slices of bacon. Even as hungry as she was, Pansy still considered herself a lady, Noble title or no.
The silence dragged on as she ate. Potter sat across from her, quietly reading the letter in his hand while taking the occasional bite of toast.
“What's that?” Pansy asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. Potter finally looked up, his green eyes questioning. Huffing, Pansy gestured towards the letter, answering his silent question.
“An update from Tonks. She sent two other aurors to watch your flat just in case Sarber or one of his cronies decided to drop in for a visit,” he explained.
“Oh.” Pansy felt a lump form in her throat at the tone in Potter’s voice. “And?”
“Nothing. They kept a constant watch on every exit. They even placed a complete block on the entire building’s floo network. Neither Sarber nor one of his enforcers showed.”
Pansy felt her breath return as relief slowly worked its way into her chest. “That’s good.” Yet the look on Potter’s face said otherwise. “It is good…right?”
“It is, and it isn’t. If they had, then we likely could have moved on Sarber a lot sooner than planned,” Potter explained with a sigh. “Long-term surveillance charms are being placed all around your flat and the building itself just in case, but as it stands, the original court date is still standing.”
“I see.” Pansy sighed and shook her head. “Well it’s hardly ideal but I suppose that’s not too bad.”
“Again, yes and no. The trial is still on, but Tonks and I both have some…concerns to say the least.”
“Concerns?”
Potter nodded. “If we had caught someone with ties to Sarber breaking into your flat it would be more than enough to convict him. Since that didn’t happen, we’re worried your testimony alone may not be enough. Especially given your reputation.”
Pansy felt something icy grip her heart. Suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore, she set her fork down, her features set into a hard scowl.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Potter eyed her with a look of exasperation. “Here we go,” he muttered. He reached forward and plucked the letter from her hands. “I didn’t mean your story’s not to be trusted. We wouldn’t be here if that were the case,” he said, gesturing to the cottage around them. “I just meant that, given your family’s history, the Wizengamot may not be so easily swayed by your words alone.”
“How is that my fault?” Pansy snapped. “I didn’t tell my father to give the Dark Lord his support. If anything, I’ve been the one who’s suffered the most from my father’s idiotic choices during the war.”
“It’s not just your family’s reputation that would be scrutinised,” Potter sighed. “You made your own fair share of bad choices during the war Pansy.”
Realisation hit her like a stampeding hippogriff. She stood, her chair scraping against the floor with a harsh groan.
“So that’s what this is about.”
“Pansy—”
“Don’t,” she snapped.
Anger coiled in her chest like a serpent hissing before it struck. She glared down at Potter, her gaze burning into him as she fought to keep herself under control.
“In case you forgot, Potter,” she spat, his name like a poison on her tongue. “Not all of us were able to run like you and your friends.”
Memories, unbidden and unwanted, floated to the forefront of her mind. Memories of a time when Hogwarts was more a prison than a home.
“For a year—a fucking year, I had to live in the hell that castle became. Perhaps I had it better than some,” she laughed; the sound cracked and was devoid of all humour. “I never felt the agony of the cruciatus, nor did I experience the despair of seeing a loved one’s name listed among the dead, but don’t you dare think for a second I didn’t suffer as well.”
More memories surfaced. Memories of cruel eyes watching her every move, waiting for the first sign of weakness. Memories of lessons taught with a knife to her throat as she was forced to raise her wand against children. Memories tainted by their screams and tears of guilt falling from her eyes.
Pansy shook her head, forcing the memories away before they became too much. “Like I said before, you can take your ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude and shove it, because unlike you, my suffering didn’t end when the Dark lord died.”
Without another word, Pansy turned and stalked away. The feeling of Potter’s eyes on her followed her the entire way, right up until she closed her bedroom door behind her.
-
Day 5 (Night)
A muttered “Tempus” drifted through the silence of the room, followed swiftly by an aggrieved groan. It was nearly two in the morning now, and so far, Pansy had yet to sleep a wink.
It wasn't like she wasn’t tired. She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before either, Potter’s words from the other day weighing heavily on her mind.
Was he telling the truth? Would the Wizengamot really not believe her because of a few words said out of fear?
‘What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!’
It hadn’t been anything personal, and it wasn’t like she didn’t regret it. Without Potter, it’s almost certain that the Dark Lord would have won and everyone in the castle would’ve died regardless. She’d just been so fucking scared. Scared of the Dark Lord, of dying, of… everything.
Not much has changed since then really.
Even now, part of her was still that same foolish, scared, little girl, lashing out in a desperate bid to save her own skin. She was only testifying against Sarber for that very reason. Without the threat of being murdered hanging over her head, she probably would’ve told Tonks to get bent. Not exactly very noble of her.
Something told her the Wizengamot would agree.
Pansy groaned and turned over onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, the faint moonlight drifting in from the window bathing her room in a muted, dusty silver.
She briefly considered getting up and going to search the cupboards for a stiff drink, but she quickly discarded that idea. The living room sat between her room and the kitchen. With her luck, Potter would still be up as well, and she certainly didn't want to see him.
Resigning herself to her fate, Pansy sighed, her eyes firmly affixed to the ceiling as she absentmindedly drummed her fingers against the flat plane of her stomach, her mind working to find something—anything, to distract her mind long enough for sleep to claim her.
‘There is always one option…’
Pansy’s fingers stilled, her pinky twitching ever so slightly towards the hem of her kickers. It had been a while since she last indulged herself. Her work usually left her far too tired and disgusted to partake, but now…
Biting her lip, Pansy slowly reached for the waistband of her underwear. She pulled the thin cotton garment down, only going halfway down the expanse of her thighs. Her body was already beginning to react. Weeks of frustration and stress had left her pent up. The mere thought of pleasure and the graze of her bare fingers against her thighs had her pussy practically weeping with anticipation. Pansy bit back a groan, the tingling sensation in her core making her entire body flush with arousal. Without another thought, Pansy kicked her blanket off and moistened the tips of her fingers with her tongue.
Yet just as she was about to reach down and give in to her body’s needs, she hesitated.
Should she?
Pansy squeezed her eyes closed tight in frustration, the delicate skin around her temples pulsing with each frantic beat of her heart. It was too risky. Potter was quite literally in the next room over, his presence a constant reminder of her precarious situation. Plus, the walls in this place were thin too—thin enough that Pansy would wager what little gold she had to her name that Potter would have no trouble hearing even the faintest of gasps from her lips or the creak of her mattress as she shifted.
No, it was far too risky. She’d just have to suck it up. It’s not like she was some slutty nymphomaniac who needed to cum just to get a few hours of sleep. Pansy was a respectable witch. She could control her baser urges.
…
…but fuck she was horny.
It made no sense! Not only did she have one of the most dangerous crime lords in all of Magical Britain out for her blood, but she was also stuck hiding away from said crime lord in a decrepit fucking shack while Potter of all people acted as her babysitter. Her situation was practically the world's biggest turn off, and yet here she was with a pair of soaked knickers pulled down around her thighs and her pussy screaming for the tiniest bit of stimulation! The fabric was already damp with her arousal, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
Gods she needed to get laid.
Unfortunately, the number of desirable partners she had to choose from over the last two years had been extremely low — borderline zero.
Well…there had been that one bloke.
It happened over a year ago. Blaise had dragged her out to his favourite club with an offer of free drinks and a chance for her to let off some steam. Pansy, being one to never turn down free drinks, accepted happily.
That's where she met him. She could barely even recall his face, much less his name. Both had been lost in the haze of too many vodka cranberries and her favourite Weird Sisters song pulsing through the club. The only thing she could truly remember was the feeling of his hand gliding up the inside of her thigh, the rough texture of his fingertips against her smooth skin while his lips sucked gently on that oh-so-sensitive spot on her neck, just below her ear.
After that, it was all a blur.
Pansy slipped her hand between her legs. The sheer heat radiating from her quim was evidence enough of just how horny she was. Biting her lip hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood, the brunette closed her eyes and coaxed the memories of that night to the forefront of her mind. Her fingers brushed against her soaking wet folds, the slickness coating her fingertips immediately, just as the first memory resurfaced.
They were on the dance floor, the loud music thumping hard overhead while a sea of drunken bodies and bright neon lights threatened to envelop them whole. The bass vibrated through her body, matching the rhythm of her own quickening heartbeat. Pansy could still remember the warmth of his breath in her ear as she grinded against him, their bodies moving in a sensual rhythm to the beat of the music, his hardness pressing against her through the thin fabric of her dress.
In the present, Pansy slipped the first finger inside with a whimper, the sensation of her own walls clamping around the digit sending shivers up her spine.
At some point they'd ended up at a hotel. She couldn't remember how or who even suggested it. It hardly mattered, though. The thumping bass was replaced with the thumping of her heart as she tangled her hands in her mystery man's raven black hair, the strands soft between her fingers. Her dress had disappeared, whether by magic or her own two hands, pooled on the floor, forgotten. In the present, she could still feel the ghost of his lips as he trailed kisses down her body, a slow journey of reverent licks and featherlight bites as if he were worshipping her naked flesh. Gods and when he'd made it to her cunt…
Pansy moaned, pushing her soaked digit deeper inside her folds while her thumb began to move in familiar circles around her clit, the bundle of nerves already swollen and sensitive to her touch.
The memories grew hazier from there, degraded by a deadly combination of liquor and lust up until the moment she met her first peak with the mystery man's face buried between her legs. Pansy could feel herself grow even wetter as the memories shifted, becoming a kaleidoscope of erotic images flashing before her mind as she fought to keep herself quiet, her breath coming in ragged pants.
She added a second finger to the fray, the lewd sounds of her dripping cunt growing louder as she relived each memory—the moment when he first entered her, his cock stretching her inner walls apart with delicious precision, the slight burn giving way to pure pleasure as she adjusted to his size.
When he flipped her over, his hand tangled in her hair as he slammed into her with thunderous claps of flesh against flesh, the sound echoing in the hotel room as she braced herself against the headboard.
The explosion of stars behind her eyes and the way her vocal cords burned as she screamed with climax all over his cock, her body convulsing with the intensity of her release.
Pansy gasped, a familiar pressure in her core tightening further and further, like a coil wound too tight. She fumbled for her wand blindly, her fingers closing around the familiar wood as she cast a hasty silencing charm just as more memories slammed into her.
Somewhere between her second and fourth orgasm, he had flipped her back over, using his grip on her hair to pull her into a ravenous kiss. Pansy could still feel his tongue in her mouth, the loud buzzing of alcohol within her veins, and the toe-curling feeling of his cock ravaging her cunt with powerful strokes, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside her.
Her fifth climax ripped through her not long after, triggered by the sharp stinging pain of his palm against her cheek. That was the night Pansy discovered how much she loved to be slapped. The thought of that act alone—the vivid sensation of the pain mixed pleasure and the high of sexual endorphin racing through her blood—was enough to send present-day Pansy careening over the edge.
With a silenced squeal, the brunette came, her legs trembling with an uncontrollable quake of pleasure that ripped through her. The thin white-linen sheets below her became soaked within moments, her juices flowing freely from her cunt as she rubbed herself through the waves of her climax, her body arching off the bed with the intensity.
Eventually, it all became too much, her orgasm dying away and overstimulation taking its place. Mournfully, Pansy removed her hand, fully collapsing back against the bed with a relieved gasp, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath.
Morgana’s tits, she had needed that…
A steady, pleasant hum vibrated throughout her entire body. A bone-deep tiredness infused itself into her limbs, weighing them down with a pleasant heaviness. Pansy could barely remember to breathe through the haze of her post-climax bliss, her mind floating in a sea of satisfaction as the tension finally released from her body.
As the last waves of pleasure subsided, Pansy made no effort to move. She lay there, with her knickers still pulled down around her thighs, a damp band of lace that she couldn’t be bothered to take off. Her pussy continued to quiver with aftershocks, small tremors of pleasure that rippled through her still-sensitive flesh. Her eyelids grew heavy as sleep began to claim he while one final memory surfaced from the depths of her mind unbidden. The moment when her mystery man had reached his own peak, his body tensing above hers as he buried himself deep inside one last time. She could almost feel the warmth of his seed flooding her womb, the intimate sensation of being filled so completely, all the while her mystery man stared deep into her soul, his eyes brilliant and piercing in a way that took the very breath from her lungs. Those eyes were the last thing she saw as she drifted off to sleep.
Brilliant…
Piercing…
Emerald green.
-
Author’s Note
…
This may or may not come up again later…
On a side note, I've changed up how I do the copies of the chapter attached below. Going forward, it will be an updated document of the full story, with each chapter being added as it's posted.
Thanks for reading!