AT AGE FOURTEEN, DRACO MALFOY INSULTS A LEGENDARY SEX WITCH - A MISTAKE THAT BOTH HE AND HIS PENIS STILL REGRET AT AGE FORTY.
Warnings/Contains: Explicit sexual content and language. A brief chan (underage) scene of a sexual nature and a brief slash (homosexual) scene of a sexual nature. Angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No profit is being made by me.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my wonderful beta, UnseenLibrarian! You are awesome! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. This story opens when Draco is fourteen, the summer between Prisoner of Azkaban and Goblet of Fire. Credit to June Carter Cash and Merle Kilgore for writing "The Ring of Fire", a song popularized by Johnny Cash.
HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE FORTY-YEAR OLD VIRGIN
I fell into a burning ring of fire.
I went down, down, down,
And the flames went higher.
And it burns, burns, burns
The ring of fire,
The ring of fire.
Draco Malfoy was not happy with his sex witch. His father was going to hear about this!
Twenty Minutes Earlier
Draco could not wait to see his sex witch. After years of hearing mysterious whispers about the legendary whore – or high priestess, as Father insisted on calling her – he was finally fourteen, the age when all pure-blood wizards of good breeding were deflowered - as Mother insisted on calling it - at the Temple Rati-Rahasya.
"Temple," Draco scoffed softly.
"Yeah, temple," said Crabbe to his left.
"Temple," echoed Goyle to his right.
Draco knew they were just parroting him and had no idea what he meant. Their thick brains were probably impressed by the ostentatious brothel. The three of them and their fathers had traveled by Portkey (a golden statue of a curvy, naked woman with enormous tits!) directly from the dining room of Malfoy Manor to the spectacular terrace of Rati-Rahasya.
The temple overlooked a sapphire-blue lake and a mountainous, green jungle. The air was hot and smelled like spices. Draco didn't know if they were in India, Peru, Belize or some cleverly transfigured space in Wales. Inside, the brothel was overwrought (for his refined taste) with elaborately carved marble, brilliant silk curtains and tasseled floor cushions. Draco had been certain Father would demand better seating and had been shocked when the arse of Lucius Malfoy had sat down on a pillow on the floor. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle had done the same, and their sons, led by Draco, had followed suit. Strange music, with driving drumbeats and jangly bells, filled the fragrant air.
Refreshments appeared before them – a glowing, purple liquor and trays of spicy and sweet delicacies. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their fat faces and swigging the liquor until their heads started to loll even more than usual. Draco knew better. He abstained from food and only sipped his drink. It wouldn't heighten the mood if he vomited all over his sex witch or had to run off to the loo in the middle of his first shagging. Or Gods forbid, let loose with a fart. Even with measured sips, his drink, which tasted like licorice, filled his head with a blurry warmth.
Of course, Draco knew all about sex already. He'd wacked off for years, and that felt bloody brilliant. He was so good at it that he could shoot his load two whole meters. Almost. And he'd discreetly ordered a few informative books by special owl. In the privacy of his curtained bed at home and at Hogwarts, he'd read them cover to cover and studied every moving illustration. The positions he found most intriguing were the Dexterous Butterfly, the Slippery Python and the Erotic Accordion.
Such moves would require strength, endurance and flexibility. Ever since he'd joined the Quidditch team, Draco had started a rigorous exercise program. His fit physique, coupled with his incredible good looks and the fact that he was a Malfoy, made him the natural successor to The Title. Nicholas Nott had just graduated, after all, and there could be only one Slytherin Sex God. Theo might have been competition for the role except for the fact that he liked blokes in general (and Draco, in particular). But Draco was all about the birds. He had a list of girls he wanted to shag –rated by looks, weight, tit size, overall quality of bum, blood status, house affiliation and intelligence. Fourth Year was going to be wicked. He was half-hard just thinking about it.
"Whaazzat?" Crabbe slurred.
"Pretty sparkle lights," said Goyle.
Draco noticed two whirlwinds of dazzling light swirling in front of them – one green and one blue. Soon, the sparkles became gossamer veils and, through a whirl of silky green and blue, enticing things began to appear. Legs and half-covered breasts and long hair and women. The two dancers swayed to the exotic music, their hips twitching and thrusting with each drumbeat. Their faces were half-veiled, their eyes flashed and they wore jewelry everywhere, even in their bellybuttons!
Draco's dick got so hard that it ached. He couldn't remember it ever being that hard in his young life.
"Vincent Crabbe," said the woman in green. "I am called Inati."
"Gregory Goyle," said the woman in blue. "I am called Heather."
Crabbe and Goyle started giggling like morons and never stopped as the women led them through a painted archway and out of the room.
Draco shifted on his pillow, wanting nothing more than to reach down and give his stiff dick a stroke or three or fifteen. He heard Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle chuckling and looked up to meet his father's smirk. Draco blushed and looked down, taking a sip of his purple liquor.
Suddenly, another whirlwind of dazzling light appeared before him, this one red. Green and blue were better than red when it came to house colors, but when it came to sex, red was far superior. It was the color of passion, of fire, of love. His whore was the best whore, naturally. The high priestess. Draco leaned forward, eager, his heart pounding. The glittering, red light dropped low to the ground and became like gossamer flames. The things that began to appear were shocking but not in a good way – bat-like ears and enormous, bare feet and bulging, blue eyes.
An ugly house-elf stood before him, wearing red scarves and jewelry in its lopsided bellybutton. Draco's erection withered.
Slytherin's saggy sack! No fucking way!
Draco stared at his father in horror. Lucius Malfoy merely raised his left eyebrow. Draco was a master at interpreting his father's many subtle expressions, and this one clearly said, in a haughty tone, What the hell, my son? Are you questioning my judgment as your sire and the reigning patriarch of the Malfoy dynasty?
"Draco Malfoy," the elf squeaked. "Please follow Belda to the chamber of Mistress."
Oh, thank the Gods!
Draco expelled a shaky breath of relief and scowled at Father, Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle as they broke out into riotous laughter. They were rolling on their floor pillows by the time Draco followed the elf through the painted archway and up a narrow staircase dimly lit with gold lanterns.
"Elf," he snapped, still angry. He loathed being teased.
"Is your mistress beautiful?"
"Oh, yes, Sir, Mistress is the most beautiful woman in the whole world."
"Good," Draco said with a sage nod, somewhat mollified.
The elf continued, "Mistress has served in the temple for twenty-six years. Sir is a very lucky young man to -"
"Wait!" Draco stopped two steps from the second floor. "Twenty-six years? Is she a hag?"
"No, Sir, Mistress is a woman," the elf said, puzzled.
"No, you wrinkly scab. I mean, is she old?" Draco whipped out his wand and started scribbling silver numbers in the air. Twenty-six plus – what? – perhaps sixteen? Carry the one. Equals forty-two! "That's older than Mother!"
The elf lifted its hairy chin and said with surprising pride, "Mistress is timeless."
Timeless? Draco stared at the "42" hovering in the air and then swept it away with a flick of his hand. This witch was a professional. Naturally (or rather unnaturally) she would use charms and potions to retain her youth and beauty, to keep her body fit. Her job depended on it. Draco snickered, wondering if Crabbe and Goyle knew they were getting shagged by a couple of old ladies.
"Well, what are you waiting for, you arse blister?" Draco asked the elf. "Take me to her."
"The golden door, Sir. Ring the bell and then enter." With this rather snippy reply, the elf disappeared in a swirl of red light.
Draco gazed down the dim corridor and saw the golden door. As he walked toward it, he passed through a gauntlet of portraits – painted women whispering seductive words to him through their painted veils. "Look at you, handsome." "Nice hair." "Bet you've got a nice, hot cock on you." Draco tugged at the stiff collar of his robes as he felt his temperature rise.
"He looks like White Snake!" one of the portraits exclaimed in delight. Before Draco could contemplate the identity of White Snake, he noticed that the golden door seemed to shimmer, almost like a mirage. Did everything shimmer and glitter here? As he stopped before the door, he realized it was formed of carved panels, like Ghiberti's Gates of Paradise. Each panel featured a tiny, carved couple shagging, their movements like ripples of liquid gold.
"The Dexterous Butterfly!" Draco cried out when he recognized one of the positions.
He watched, riveted, as the man's tiny, gold penis slipped in and out of the woman's tiny, gold pussy. Their limbs fluttered like wings as they moved. Unconscious of his actions, Draco reached out with one fingertip toward the woman's tiny, jiggling boobs.
"Don't interrupt them!" one of the portraits snapped. Draco jumped back. "Just ring the bell and enter as you were told."
Draco sneered at the portrait and rebelliously scanned the other panels. He saw the Slippery Python and the Greedy Oyster, too. He saw women with women and men with men and groups of people, all shagging each other in a great tangle, the expressions on their gold faces somewhere between agony and bliss. Draco knew from his books that people made ridiculous faces while fucking.
When he pulled the red tassel at the end of a cord hanging from the ceiling, he expected to hear a delicate tinkle of sound. Instead, from somewhere high above, came the deep, sonorous tolling of a large bell. He checked his breath and muttered a Spearmint Charm, then ran his hand through his sleek hair one more time. Confident he smelled and looked good – damned good - he opened the golden door and entered the chamber of his sex witch. He hoped she had long, curly hair. He loved wild hair.
What Draco saw on the bed took his breath away.
Grindelwald's galloping gonads!
"Ha ha, very funny!" he said in a loud, mocking voice. He wanted his father to be able to hear him, from whatever dark nook he and his cronies were spying. "First, a manky elf. And now this? There's no way I'm fool enough to believe this fat, old crone is a legendary sex witch!"
The legendary sex witch in question was not amused.
TO BE CONTINUED
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