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The guest list, when he passed it to her, was surprising.
So much so that she set her morning tea aside to give first it and then him a good looking over.
“Really?” she remarked skeptically. “These are who you’d invite?”
“It’s your birthday.” Leaned back in his chair, an ankle over his opposite knee, he was the picture of nonchalance. “Wouldn’t you want your friends to be there?”
This blithe statement she returned with an arched brow and a slow-growing smirk, an expression she’d obtained via too many years in shared company with its star model.
“Indeed I would,” she mused, then tapped a name pointedly. “Though they aren’t all exclusively my friends.”
Across the table, Draco grinned. “Mm. Isn’t it nice that our social circles have managed to overlap?”
The following weekend brought forth two momentous occasions: the birthday of one Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy, and her very first gangbang.
It had been a concept she’d toyed with in idle moments—or, more often, right at the cusp of orgasm, when Draco would murmur filth in her ear and she couldn’t help but respond in kind. When they’d broached the topic in the harsh light of day and found themselves equally up for it, a plan had been set into motion. Debate over whether the participants would be best left as strangers, or whether the comfort of friends was superior, resulted in the independent curation of potential co-conspirators and a subsequent comparison of lists.
In the end, Hermione had deferred to Draco. Yes, it would be her body gloriously shared, but she rather liked the idea of him deciding with whom. (And, as the more reserved, territorial of them, it filled her with a tingle of delight that he would be the one selecting who could fuck his wife.)
And that was how it came to be that Harry, Ron, Neville, and Theo stood around Hermione and Draco’s bedroom in various states of undress, watching as Draco slowly stripped her pretty champagne-colored dress down to her ankles.
In the shower two hours earlier, he’d taken the time to scrub her skin to shining, soap-slicked fingers stroking over every inch of her until she was flushed and panting, her breasts sensitive and heartbeat throbbing between her legs.
“They’re going to lose their fucking minds,” he’d muttered into her ear, cock hard against her spine as he’d teased her nipples into aching points. “Think any of them will last long enough to feel you squeeze around them? Or will I have to finish you off each time?”
She’d gasped, head falling back against his shoulder, as his wandering hand had reached between her legs to pluck only once at her clit.
The torment had continued in the dressing room, his hands like silk over her skin as he massaged oils into every limb before bending her over the vanity and focusing his slicked fingers on her arse until she could take two with ease.
Because that was her decree: he would fill her arse while each of their invitees helped themselves to her cunt. The glint in his eye when he’d readily agreed had suggested he was looking forward to the depravity, and his consistent presence in the center of it all.
And now, standing naked in front of her two best friends, her close friend, and her middling acquaintance, Hermione, too, relished the naughtiness of it. Particularly when each man seemed incapable of keeping their eyes to themselves.
She preened for a moment under their gazes then turned around, giving them a view of her bum and the way her curls spilled down her back, her own gaze lifted to Draco.
“Ready when you are,” she murmured, turning her palm to graze lightly over the bulge of his trousers. “Mm. Seems you are.”
He leaned down to kiss her slow and deep, hands creeping around to palm at her arse gratuitously before administering a short, sharp swap across a cheek. She gasped against his mouth, hand squeezing around his cock on reflex. Noises of surprise and appreciation rumbled from behind but for the moment, she could focus only on the man touching her.
“I ought to put you on your knees, legs spread wide,” Draco drawled, kneading her bum again, “and make your friends watch as I fuck your mouth until you’re making a mess of the floor.”
Ah. If he was already pulling out his god-fucking-damnit-you-need-to-come-so-I-can-fucking-come level of dirty talk, then he was already quite worked up by the mere prospect of the evening.
And considering he was fully clothed and thus far, they’d collectively done nothing but share a bit of friendly conversation, a run-down of the rules, and a round of contraceptive potion shooters, she gathered that he was up to something truly deranged in his head.
She whined needily, to further spur him on, and then went for his belt.
He tsked gently, hands replacing hers and nose bumping at her cheek as he tilted to kiss her more sweetly.
“Perhaps if you beg. But the lads were promised a turn, and you know how I hate to be a poor host.”
She breathed a laugh, fingers working up the placket of his crisp white shirt in lieu of his belt. “You, a poor host? Never.”
With a grin, Draco took over his undressing, so Hermione turned to face the others.
As always, Harry and Ron were standing close together, looking as though they’d been exchanging words in an undertone, both stripped to their pants. Their gazes landed on her in unison and she passed a small, private smile to them. This wouldn’t be any of their first times with one another, though each stint had been brief.
Beside them, Neville leaned back against the bureau, shirt off but jeans buttoned and belted, arms crossed over his broad chest. At her attention, he straightened slightly, sending her a sheepish smile that she knew belied the wolf within.
Neville and she had undergone an intense though mutually-casual situationship during her brief employment at Hogwarts. Holed up at the castle, the pickings had been slim, and they’d quickly realized the convenience of an onsite partner. Originally instigated by her rapping on the door to his quarters and then promptly dropping to her knees, their tryst had expanded all over the castle. It transpired that his narrow expertise could be expanded to include both Herbology and sex.
Indeed, the only man present who she’d never fooled around with in any capacity was Theodore Nott. Theo, who was one of Draco’s closest friends, had been the most interesting name on his proposed list. But then again, Draco’s face always did a certain little thing whenever he was retelling some story between them—a sly, privately pleased little slant of his mouth—and so she could only assume there was some degree of showmanship involved in bringing him into their bedroom. Draco did so like to show off for his friends.
For his part, Theo appeared completely at ease with the proceedings. He, like Draco, had remained fully clothed, though Hermione wasn’t oblivious to the telltale ridge that even his expensive, tailored trousers could not conceal. When their eyes met, Theo’s sparkled and he offered her a conspiratorial wink.
Well then.
Fucked, she would certainly be and, despite Draco’s earlier taunt in the shower, very well indeed.
Each man greeted, Hermione turned back to her husband, taking in a moment to appreciate his lithe, cut figure. Draco tipped her chin up with a crooked forefinger, bringing her fully into his space with a hand low on her spine.
“Get me wet for you, love,” he murmured. “And then come sit where you belong.”
Anticipation sparked through her like a bolt of electricity. She nodded, keeping close as he walked them the few steps backward to their bed. He sat and she followed, getting to her knees between his spread thighs. Already, his cock was stiff and flushed, the rosy head summoning her tongue like a magnet.
Her first lick was performatively tentative, eyes wide and innocent when they raised to his. His jaw flexed, dark grey glinting with the promise of retribution, and she badly concealed a cheeky grin before licking over him properly and swirling swirling swirling.
Humming contentedly, Draco combed his fingers into her hair as the other hand reached for the small bottle of lubricant he’d placed on the coverlet earlier. He clicked it open then leaned over her—surreptitiously sliding his cock deeper into her mouth, the rake—and dispensed a measure of the magically warmed lube just below her tailbone.
The sensation of warm wetness dripping down her crease, sliding across her arsehole and between her parted lips, made her groan softly around him. After the hours he’d spent on foreplay, she was already plush, desperate for contact, and proper, satisfying friction.
It seemed he knew it, too, because once he’d tossed the bottle back to the coverlet, he eased his cock out of her mouth and gave himself an appraising stroke.
“Oh, look at that,” he purred, voice low and just for her. “Slick and stiff. My little overachiever."
Retribution, she knew, would be sweet, but until then, she couldn’t help the pleased bite to lip at his adoring tone.
With hands on his thighs, she pushed herself to her feet then rotated, regaining her handholds in order to bend forward, presenting herself to his cock. He guided her down over the tip, brushing teasingly through her folds before sliding up along the lube and finally notching at her arsehole. His fingers flexed around her hip in warning and then he pulled her down, pushing inside with a little upwards flex of his hips.
The prep work he’d done eased the way, and she relaxed into the sensation of pressure, letting him carefully work her up and down, sinking deeper each time.
Movement caught her eye and she glanced up to see Neville biting his lip over a knowing grin as Theo leaned back from murmuring something in his ear. What it was, she desperately wished to know, though it seemed favorable, or at the very least salacious, if the little adjustment Neville gave himself proved anything. Adventurous though they’d been, Neville had never taken her arse.
In fact, no one but Draco claimed that privilege. Which, she realized with bemusement, was likely the very reason he’d elected to show off his particular permission.
A staking of claim, in a literal sense.
Fuck my wife, come in her if you please, but her mouth is mine. Her arse: mine.
Fondness for her idiotic, precocious, perfect husband bloomed in her chest, and then in her core as he finally ran out of cock.
Seated deeply, the heavy weight of him inside her had a cascading effect on her body. Her muscles tensed and then relaxed, breath leaving her in a small gust from her mouth as contentment settled over her. Feeling her body flush with his was a pleasure that never lost its verve.
In a gradual movement, he leaned back to his elbows, making space for her to do the same. She followed suit, relaxing back on him comfortably, a queen lounging on her throne.
Beneath her, the throne swore.
“Alright?” she teased, casting a glance back at him, knowing full well that the current angle had her tight as a vice around him.
Desire had turned his light grey eyes steely.
“Weasley first,” Draco instructed.
Weasley. So that’s how he wanted it. Reduced to old taunts, back before they’d all begrudgingly shaken hands over the turmoil of their youths. How interesting.
“Seems fitting,” she demurred, knowing he would mark the reason why. Her loss of virginity had been a great interest of his, once he’d been politely informed that no, he’d not been the first.
Hermione turned her gaze to the men standing around.
“Ron,” she called out. “Care to do the honors?”
As expected, Ron chuckled and loped forwards without hesitation, hand tugging at his cock with languid ease. A few years at the dragon reserve with Charlie had turned her gangly, unsure friend into a steady, solid man, inside and out.
Losing her virginity to him had been sweet and clumsy, a perfect first time for two people who’d been forced to shed their childhoods too early, but as he drew nearer, she could acknowledge that there would be nothing clumsy about this new foray.
Sweetness, however, had not seen fit to leave him. Faced now with those affectionate blue eyes, Hermione realized that Draco had been considerate to her behind any ulterior motive he might harbor. Taking Ron first would be the ice-breaker she needed, his familiar body a comfort and his demeanor the perfect compliment to any first time awkwardness.
As Ron pushed his boxer-briefs fully away, Hermione stole a moment of grateful eye contact with her husband. Draco returned it with a little flick of his brow, pleased at having been acknowledged.
“Need a warm up?” Ron offered, bringing her attention back forward. He cast a glance downward, in case she’d missed his implication.
In answer, she planted a foot on the bed either side of Draco’s thighs, spreading herself open to Ron and the room beyond. The cool air felt deliciously teasing against what she knew, without checking, was a soft, wet, perfectly fuckable cunt.
“Just your cock, Ron,” she told him, and relished the angry flex of Draco inside her. Masochistic idiot. God, she loved him.
Obligingly, Ron stepped up, bracing his right knee on the mattress between her foot and Draco’s thigh, and then slowly fed his cock inside her.
Mercifully, he’d been blessed with length but not too much girth, and so the initial stretch only lasted for a moment until her body acclimated. Even so, it was officially the most full she’d ever been. And good lord, it had the potential to be brain-melting.
“Alright?” Ron checked, slowly easing himself in and out no more than halfway.
She assured him with a nod and a distracted smile. “Mm. More?”
He gave her more, and then he gave her everything.
She tipped her head back with a moan. Draco often fingered whichever place he wasn’t fucking her, but it was a new sensation to have two cocks inside simultaneously. She wondered how it felt for Draco, knowing how thin the wall between her two entrances was.
Well—it was her birthday, after all. She endeavored to find out.
She tilted her head to the side. “Can you feel him?” she murmured. “Sliding up against you?”
Draco bit out a groan. “Oh, I knew you’d be like this.”
She grinned, even feigned innocence well beyond her reach now. “Like what?”
“Inquisitive,” Ron supplied, then returned her grin when she passed it to him.
“Quippy,” Draco put in. Ron drew out then slid back deep, kicking the legs out from under Draco’s next words so they came out in a breathy gasp. “And absolutely filthy.”
He cleared his throat, clearly vexed at the early loss of control, and Hermione hummed happily into Ron’s next slow, deep thrust.
“So, you can feel it,” she surmised. “Do you like how he feels against you, baby?”
Perhaps unwilling to voice his reply, Draco reached around to rest his hand low on her pelvis, letting the motion of Ron’s hips rub his fingertips softly over her swollen clit. Hermione moaned, the nerves already sensitive from all his teasing, both physical and mental.
“And you?” he inquired. “You like this?”
“It’s even better than I imagined,” she sighed, then groaned when Draco lightened his touch so that the pads of his fingers tapped down on her clit each time Ron slid deep, sending small, fleeting bursts of electricity through her system.
It was a game he liked to play with her, slowly bringing her to the edge with as little attention on her clit as he could manage, until she had no choice but to come on his cock handsfree. It always made her sweat with the knowledge that he could do it to her. Could make her body bend to his will. Could make it behave.
“I can feel you,” Draco murmured. “Hot little pulses already, hm? Did you always come this easily for him?”
She moaned a plaintive noise—as if he truly needed justification for the way her body was already closing down around them. His fingers tapped her clit with chiding sharpness on the next thrust, and she keened.
Above her, Ron breathed a half laugh, half groan at Draco’s taunting and her reaction to it.
“She does feel bloody close,” he remarked. “Getting tight as hell. Squeezing me—fuck, Hermione, you’re a dream.”
“Go on then,” Draco drawled. “See if you can manage to get her off.”
Ron’s eyes glinted with purpose, holding her gaze as he fucked her with strong, steady strokes.
“Oh, she’ll come,” he said, voice low with promise and tinged with fondness. “Can’t help herself sometimes, can she? Poor thing.”
Full to the brim with cock with three more men standing patiently for their turns—she was a poor thing. A needy, insatiable, poor little whore.
Draco snorted derisively, rolling his hips in small, upward motions, reminding her of his presence. Not that she was in any danger of forgetting.
“That she is,” Draco demurred, tapping at her clit again.
With a gasp, she started to come, pleasure burning through her like wildfire as she quaked around two thick lengths inside her. The men chuckled.
“See?” Ron remarked to Draco, hips rocking gently against her to prolong the aftershocks. “Easy.”
“Well done,” he said dryly. “You have thirty seconds to finish before your turn is over.”
Ron’s eyes flicked from Hermione’s face to her breasts and back. “Easy,” he breathed, and picked up his pace.
Draco held her steady against himself, humming softly into her ear as Ron worked himself to a swift orgasm. “Rutting like an animal,” he whispered, tone low. “No finesse. So desperate.”
And then, more loudly, “Ten seconds, Weasley.”
Ron grumbled something under his breath then reached up to squeeze her breast in a firm, desperate grip. It appeared to be enough to tip him over because just as Draco began a sardonic five second countdown, she felt Ron’s strokes stutter.
“There,” he panted, stomach muscles tensing as he pulsed inside her. “Fuck. H-Happy birthday, Hermione.”
“One down,” Draco murmured, hands sliding up from her pelvis to stroke warmly along her belly and then up to her breasts. He knocked Ron’s hand off her, replacing it with his own for a gentle massage. “Four to go.”
Hermione squirmed against him as Ron pulled out, feeling the way his cum leaked in his wake. Draco sent his left hand down, cupping her cunt and then sliding two thick fingers inside her.
“What a mess,” he tutted, slowly fingering Ron’s spend into her. “On brand for his ilk, I suppose.”
“Draco,” she chided through a laugh and heard his smile in the responding hum.
“Shall we see if the Chosen cock can clean you up?” he suggested lightly, then called out. “Potter! You’re up.”
Harry, who had been exchanging words with Ron as the latter had redonned his boxer-briefs, came over with his usual brand of nonchalance.
“Hey, Hermione,” he greeted, tone affectionate but casual. “Enjoying yourself?”
She bit her lip, heart rate picking up as it always had whenever he’d paid her special attention. They’d always been friends first, but a small part of her would always nurse a crush for her courageous, thoughtful friend.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Mm.” Harry’s eyes skimmed down her, head tilting in consideration as his gaze lingered between her legs. “Yes, I expect you are.”
She was suddenly hyperaware of her husband’s fingers curled inside her, his cock buried deep for all of them to see. Her breath stuttered as Harry brought his hands to the waistband of his boxers, working them down his hips as his head tilted the other way. Appraising. Assessing.
Inside her, Draco’s fingers twitched and she couldn’t help the involuntary spasm that racked through her. Harry was watching her get fingered—and Ron was, and Neville, and Theo. Oh fucking god—
Naked and fisting his cock, Harry stepped up between her legs. He paused for a moment then knocked a foot against Draco’s, making her husband jolt under her. She yelped at the sudden friction, stars bursting in her vision as his fingers curled up hard against her front wall in his impulse to hold her steady by the cunt.
Harry’s grin was wickedly smug.
“Shall I hold her, or do you have it under control?” he jibed.
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco snapped.
“You know, I’m starting to think you might actually mean that,” Harry snarked back, then raised his brows expectantly. “Am I meant to press in alongside your fingers…?”
With a huff, Draco withdrew, curling the hand around the underside of her thigh instead. Holding her securely open for Harry.
“Cheers.” A quick pump with his fist, and then Harry lined himself up and thrust inside in a singular, rough strike.
Hermione squeaked, walls spasming around the sudden, delicious friction, and Harry chuckled knowingly.
“Thought you might need something,” he remarked fondly. “Want it hard like that?”
Good fucking Godric, yes she did.
“Yes,” she moaned, and then subsided into panted out gasps as Harry instantly set to work, maintaining the force and pace, fucking her onto Draco’s cock as much as his own.
Tension built steadily within her, the pressure in her core closing down rapidly as every nerve ending between her legs went haywire at the constant stimulation, and the way Harry’s eyes never left hers. He was pure, perfect intensity.
Below her, Draco had picked up a stream of mumbled swears, hands twitching on her hips before he finally banded his forearms around her ribs just below her breasts, holding her down against him to temper some of the bounce along his cock. However, it had the distinct effect of putting sustained upward pressure on every thrust Harry performed, keeping his hard strokes directly over her g-spot.
He seemed to notice at the same moment she did because his green eyes went bright with awareness.
“Want to?” he offered, and at her instant, eager nod, he grinned and pressed his palm firmly over her low pelvis, shifting it around until her mouth dropped open and then pushing down. “Ah. There it is.”
It was a concentrated annihilation, as was anything Harry set his mind to. It only took him three more precise strokes before heat and tension surged past the point of her control. Distantly, she registered that she was keening, but she was lost to the sensation, thighs quaking before clamping together, knees pinning Harry’s ribs as she gushed out over his cock.
“There you go,” Harry cooed indulgently, fingers deft over her clit before hooking inside, rubbing just right. He’d always excelled at finding hidden places and teasing out secrets. “Keep going. Go until you can’t.”
With another whiny keen, Hermione shuddered through another deep, sodden orgasm, clenching so hard around Draco that she nearly sobbed. Whenever she’d squirted in the past, it had never been with something still inside her.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Draco was swearing, a refrain it seemed he’d picked up around the first time she’d squirted and evidently had not been able to put back down. “Jesus fucking Christ. Jesus fucking Christ—”
Quite.
Hermione panted as she came down, the aftershocks still pinging through her with every coaxing stroke of Harry’s fingers over her clit.
“Enough,” she finally gasped. “Oh god, Harry. Enough.”
He grinned and let up, giving her entrance a gentle, soothing circle before sliding a single finger inside, rubbing a line up the thin wall to where Draco was swollen thick and throbbing.
“Bye, Malfoy,” he taunted.
Halfway through a “fucking”, Draco choked a “Potter,” into the final refrain.
“Wait,” panted Hermione, watching as Harry took a step back. “Don’t you want to finish?”
“I thought I was meant to clean you up,” he teased, flicking a brow at Draco, who was still breathing hard. “Well. Job done.”
As Harry stepped away, Hermione relaxed back into Draco’s embrace.
Everything about him suggested he’d been struggling not to go over the edge with her, something she knew he was reluctant to do so early in the evening. Lasting the duration of four men was perhaps a deranged, egotistical goal, but it was his prerogative to be a nuisance to himself.
“That was such a good one,” she shared, tone pitched soft and deeply affectionate. “Thank you for giving me this.”
He nuzzled into her curls, arms tightening around her. “Of course, darling. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying yourself.”
“And you?”
His tone was rueful. “Nearly too much.”
“Can’t have that,” she agreed with mock seriousness. “Everyone knows a polite host comes last.”
He pinched her side in punishment, then perhaps regretted it for the way she squirmed over him.
“Who's next?” she asked. Despite the veritable mess she’d made of two—god, three—cocks, and the bedclothes, she was only halfway through the full set on offer.
Draco hummed a wicked little sound. “Ah. Right, up you get.”
Up?
Somewhat confused, she allowed him to help her up to a sit over him, one arm lowering to belt around her waist while the other slipped away to brace behind himself.
“Theo,” Draco barked. “Finish Potter off then come here.”
Across the room, Theo’s brows went up. In the intervening minutes, he’d deigned to remove his shoes but was otherwise still dressed. Hands in his trouser pockets, Theo tilted a look toward Harry.
Flushed, chest heaving and damp with her orgasm, Harry dropped down into a nearby armchair. Eyes on Theo, he curled a fist around his cock and then parted his thighs in welcome.
With a little chuckle, Theo went over, hands still pocketed.
“Shall I use my mouth?” he asked, tone easy. “Or would you just like me to watch?”
Harry wet his lips with a flick of tongue, fist working over the tip of his cock as he assessed Theo.
“If it’s not too much bother,” Harry began, steadying his cock at the base, “come give me a suck. Won’t take long.”
“Mm.” Hands still pocketed, Theo lowered to his knees with lithe grace. “And I bet you’ll taste sweet as a flower, won’t you?”
Harry’s eyes settled on Hermione as Theo leaned in to lick a broad stripe over his flushed tip, humming with unmitigated appreciation as he confirmed his statement. It was a loophole around Draco’s cock-only rule pertaining to her body, and one she wasn’t sure he’d meant to give Theo or not. But the result remained: as Theo closed his lips around Harry’s cock and sucked, it was her he was tasting as much as Harry. The sight made her mouth water.
“Here,” Draco hummed, lifting the fingers that had been inside her to her lips, ever attentive.
The weight of them on her tongue made her suck on instinct, the delicate flavor of her arousal overlaid by the distinct salty musk of cum. Ron. It was rather late to blush but even so, as she sucked her husband’s fingers while watching her best friend get sucked off, heat burned along the ridges of her cheekbones.
Draco’s other hand lifted to cup her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple before he rolled it between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. Her moan was muffled but even so, it was enough.
Harry tipped his head back, blowing out a short breath toward the ceiling as Theo sucked languidly at the tip of Harry’s cock, gaze raised expectantly to its owner. A second later, his throat began working, swallowing in cadence with Harry’s low groans of “Happy…birthday…Hermione.”
“Fuck,” Draco muttered, half to himself.
Hermione wrapped her hand around his wrist, pulling his fingers from her mouth, imparting a soft kiss to the tip of one, before bringing his hand back between her legs.
“You’ll get yours soon, darling,” she murmured, amused. “As early as now, if you like.”
He sunk his fingers inside her with a groan, petting once before drawing out to give his balls a quelling tug.
“Last,” he said, determined.
“Fool,” she replied fondly.
Across the room, Harry reached down to card his fingers through Theo’s hair in a soft gesture of appreciation. “Gorgeously done,” he panted. “Damn.”
Theo sent a lazy blink up at him, expression a mixture of smug and pleased. “Ta, Harry.”
Job done, Theo levered himself to his feet, finally withdrawing a hand from his pocket as strolled toward the bed to swipe ostentatiously at the corner of his mouth with the edge of his thumb before licking it clean. Theo drew up a few feet from them, mild expression belied only by the glint in his eye.
“My compliments,” he told Hermione, and licked his lips again.
Hermione breathed a laugh, unduly charmed.
“Stop flirting with my wife, you pest,” Draco said waspishly. “Now, undress.”
“Pent up,” Theo diagnosed, lips twitching with amusement. “Mm. Can’t wait.”
Draco tsked though he didn’t deny it, squeezing Hermione’s hips in a small upward motion to encourage her. She eased up slowly, mostly to torment him, and shared a conspiratorial look with Theo as she did.
He gave her a lazy, approving smile in return, undoing his shirt buttons with an insouciance she admired. This was a man who liked to reap what he sowed. A perfect complement to Draco; a perfect provoker. Her nerves thrummed with excitement.
As Draco rose from the bed, Hermione cast a glance around the room. Harry was still sitting in the chair, though he’d regained his boxer briefs. He arched a brow at her that seemed to say good luck. She gave him a wry smile then flicked her eyes to Ron where he was leant against the bureau beside Neville, having taken up Theo’s former position.
The men flicked twin glances down her figure, Ron lingering on her hips while Neville’s attention seemed riveted on her breasts. She went up on the balls of her feet, putting a little bounce into them, and caught his appreciative glance before turning to face Draco.
He was doing a decent job controlling his breathing though she could see the lines of tension in his neck and across his chest. A downward glance confirmed that his cock was achingly hard, pointing up toward her like an eager pet hoping for a pat.
He caught her wrist the moment she reached to do just that, halting her with a wry chuckle. “Not a chance, love. You know what your fist does to me. Now, as he’s finally ready…”
Using his grip on her, Draco rotated them both to face the bed. Theo stood with his hands clasped demurely behind his back, his wide stance and stiff cock lending him an air of confidence. And yet, the dip of his chin was nothing if not yielding. Waiting to be told what to do next.
Hermione didn’t have much exposure to the inner workings of Theodore Nott beyond what she’d gleaned while socializing with him at Ministry dinners, or friendly gatherings. Certainly, she never thought she’d find herself in the position of seeing him naked, and at liberty to play with him.
“Lie on the bed,” Draco instructed Theo, then leaned in close to Hermione. “He likes being on his back,” he explained, tone intentionally provoking. “Don’t you, Nott?”
“Aw, Draco. I didn’t realize you’d missed me.” Theo quirked a brow but did as bid, arranging himself on his back in the center of the bed.
Oh.
Arousal flared through Hermione as sharply as a double-dose of Pepper-Up. While Draco had been the first to fuck her arse, it seemed she wasn’t the first one he’d taken. The image of it turned her molten: Draco, shagging Theo. And then oh, Theo, doing god knows what to Draco.
She had a weakness when it came to imagining her husband fooling around with other men, perhaps because he always held himself so sure and confident in their company, and she badly wanted to see how he might behave if set upon by someone his size.
Or, perhaps more likely, because she was simply a hot-blooded little deviant with a fierce imagination and no lack of inspiration for ways to make him sweat.
Draco ignored Theo’s taunt, hands sweeping up Hermione’s sides and bringing goosebumps along with them. She shuddered deliciously and didn’t miss the way Theo’s eyes dragged appreciatively down her figure. Not only here for Draco, then.
“You’re going to ride him, love,” Draco informed her, rounding her shoulders to give her breasts a languid squeeze. “Alright?”
She tipped her head back, savoring his touch with a contented sigh. “More than alright.”
“Good.”
With a final caress, Draco released her, hands slipping down her sides as she stepped forward and crawled up over Theo’s thighs.
He was waiting for her with a smile and a helpful hand around his cock, holding it steady for her to sink down onto. Apart from the barest curve, he seemed evenly matched with Draco in size and proportion, and as she slowly took him deep, she was struck with a sense of familiarity.
Perhaps it showed on her face, because Theo’s smile turned soft and pleased.
A moment later, the bed dipped as Draco climbed up behind her, a knee on either side of Theo’s thighs and his chest warm against her back.
“Went in like a knife into butter, didn’t he?” he murmured.
She twisted to look at him, a hand planting on Theo’s stomach for balance. “You watched?”
Draco hummed. “With a view like that? How could I not?”
“You could have helped guide him in,” she said, feigning innocence. “Made sure he found the right hole.”
Under her hand, Theo’s abs flexed. Inside her, his cock twitched.
As she’d expected, Draco’s eyes darkened, nostrils flaring with his controlled inhale. His gaze flicked over her shoulder to Theo, and when they met hers again, there was new purpose burning within them.
“Pin his wrists,” Draco instructed. “Hold him down.”
Hermione sent Theo a questioning look. In answer, he raised his hands, wetting his lips with eager anticipation.
Ah-ha. It would be her favorite sort of ride, then.
No stranger to such an arrangement, Hermione easily collected Theo’s wrists into her hands and braced them over his head. It put her breasts right over his face, something Theo noted with a low groan.
It also afforded Draco excellent access to her arse, something he’d obviously planned for because, with a little nudge of warning, he pushed back inside. Being up on her knees, even if partly resting on Theo’s lap, had brought gravity into play. It meant that when Draco began a moderate in-and-out, she was acutely aware of Theo’s cock sliding inside her in a matching counter-cadence. Her body felt heavy; occupied.
For a moment, she let herself be useless over it. Eyes closed, head tipped back, mouth ajar. Just a docile little fucktoy.
Draco brought her back to the room with slow, gentle hands sweeping up her spine. He collected her hair into a loose handful, holding it over one shoulder so that he could bring his lips to her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive space below her ear.
“I used to fuck him like this,” Draco murmured, the words low though not for her alone. “On his back, hands tied to the headboard. Think you can get him to beg, darling? It always made him come so fucking hard.”
She whined—at the visuals, at the sensual gust of his breath, at the rich timbre of his voice. When his wicked smile made itself known against her throat, her walls spasmed hard. He’d known exactly what he was doing to her.
“Oh sweetheart,” her husband teased. “Overcome already?”
Any other day, a taunt like that and he would’ve found himself at her mercy. The time she’d edged him to actual tears lived forever in her mind, tucked up cozily beside the memory of when he’d begged—on his knees, hands behind his back—for her to just look at him. He’d come when she’d finally deigned to—gloriously; ruinously.
But today, Hermione merely whimpered her assent. Theo groaned, hips flexing up, chasing the tightness.
Draco clucked his tongue in sympathy.
“Suck her tits,” Draco coaxed, the words sent over her shoulder. “See if you can get her to come before you beg me for yours.”
Now that she’d had two big orgasms, Hermione knew any others would be easier to achieve. The more her muscles fatigued, the quicker they gave in to the tension. It was an advantage Draco had worked to their mutual benefit whenever they had the time for an extended session.
It was not, however, an advantage that Theo was keyed into. At Draco’s proclamation, he huffed a sound of despair and instantly craned his neck up, licking over her breast.
Helpfully, Draco used his grip on her hair to force her chest lower, his pelvis tilted to strike her arse with each forward motion, making her breasts bounce over Theo’s face.
It was clear Theo was getting off on the light degradation, his hips rolling to increase the friction of Draco’s borrowed thrusts, groaning low in his chest as he sought for purchase on her breasts, and was continually forced to fail.
With the way they were positioned, the undersides of their cocks would be sliding together on either side of the barrier she provided. Knowing how sensitive Draco’s was, Hermione could scarcely imagine how he was holding his orgasm off if he could feel the raised ridge and taut band of skin below rubbing fervently against Theo’s.
The image was nearly enough to set her off, and when Theo’s lips finally closed around a nipple and suckled with clear desperation, she stumbled swiftly toward the edge. It was the imagined visual of Draco and Theo sliding their cocks together, sans human barrier, that had her cresting hard. Her grip tightened around Theo’s wrists when he sucked, teeth nipping the very tip of her breast in a sharp, electrifying graze.
“Oh fuck,” she keened, and then she was falling into another glorious orgasm, shuddering all the way down.
“Yes,” Draco hissed, fist tightening around her hair, hips adamantly flush with her bum despite the way her walls were trying to force him out. “Good fucking girl. Fuck that feels good. Tell her Theo. Tell her how good it feels when she comes on your cock for you.”
Theo choked out a groan. “Please.”
“Tell her.”
“Happy birthday, Her— ” His voice broke, shaky with a breathy whine, as she twitched around him in another strong aftershock. “Ah—happy birthday, Hermione.”
Draco hummed his approval then tugged expectantly on his hair. “Now tell him.”
She inhaled slowly, blood humming through her. It was clear to see what Theo wanted, even without needing to play off her husband’s lead, and so she met his eye and murmured the words she could feel Draco wanted him to hear.
“Good boy.”
Theo bucked up under her uncontrollably, the tendons and muscles of his wrists shifting within her grip as he strained once before giving in, brows drawing together over softly parted lips. As he twitched hard inside her, Draco panted a harsh sound, rich with fraying control, and pulled out, forehead thunking heavily onto her shoulder.
While he caught his breath, Hermione picked up a light gyration over Theo, coaxing out the last of his orgasm, enjoying the way having only one man inside her gave her more space to move on him. He watched, expression slowly regaining his usual aloof bemusement.
“Careful there. Might get me going again.”
She smiled down at him, flushed and pleased, then carefully released his wrists to plant her hands more securely on the bed. Theo left his hands overhead but circled his wrists in a delicate little stretch, humming contentedly.
Draco planted a soft kiss to her shoulderblade then sat straight, pulling her up with him. Hermione lifted up to let Theo slide free and then peered around at her husband.
He was flushed, sweat glistening at his temples and along his still-heaving chest. He’d gotten himself dangerously close—something she suspected wasn’t simply due to the sex, but the person they’d been having it with.
“I suppose I know who to bring home for your birthday,” she whispered, slanting a knowing smile up at him.
If possible, his flush deepened but his expression was pure deviousness. He grinned down at her then sighed deeply, chest expanding dramatically as he recentered himself.
“Last one, baby. Can you take it?”
She observed him with unchecked amusement. “Can you?”
The expression he fixed her with was wry but then he reached for her, hauling her flush with strong arms wrapped around her. His cock sloped up to press hard against her belly, hot and damp.
“Longbottom,” he called out, eyes locked on her.
“Brace yourself,” she murmured, then grinned when Draco raised an inquisitive brow. He knew about her history with their tall, broad friend but not the specifics.
The reason for her warning made itself known as Neville came up to the edge of the bed beside them, naked except for a pair of snug-fitting grey boxer-briefs that did little to conceal what they barely restrained.
“My, my,” Theo murmured, going up onto his elbows. “You’ve been hiding quite a secret, haven’t you?”
Neville chuckled, then hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, shoving them down without fanfare. “Ah, it’s not much.”
“What the fuck,” Draco enunciated, eyes downcast on Neville’s cock. “That’s—”
“Much.” Theo demurred. “Much indeed.”
Draco muffled a swear then raked a hand through his hair. “Christ. This is going to be…tight.”
“It’s a good thing we kept you for last,” Hermione told Neville cheekily.
“Not that you ever had trouble taking it,” he returned, then cast an apologetic glance to Draco. “Ah. Sorry.”
Draco waved it away, finally collecting himself. “Please. I know you’ve slept with her. And anyway, that’s why you’re here.” He clicked his fingers at Theo. “Right. Fuck off, now.”
Theo curled up to a sit, chuckling. “Aye. You’ll need the room.”
Draco shoved his shoulder and with another laugh, Theo stood, summoning his clothes with a flick of his wrist and then sauntering across the room to Ron and Harry.
Warm hands slid down to her bum, and Hermione looked up into her husband’s eyes. He squeezed, then slid his hands back up her spine to rest lightly at her waist.
“We’d better get you on your back,” he murmured. “Spread nice and wide, hm?”
She squirmed against him, purposefully rubbing up against his erection. “Will you hold me open for him?”
Draco’s groan rumbled in his throat, a lusty, tortured sound. “Yes, love.”
It had been far too long since she’d kissed him. Hermione rectified it immediately, curling her arms around his neck to pull his mouth to hers for a searing kiss. He leaned into it instantly, tilting to deepen it, hands tightening until she felt contained by him. It likely only lasted a moment but when they slowly broke apart, she was replete.
To be a menace, she dropped a hand between them and curled it around his cock, giving him a loving squeeze. Draco grunted out a plaintive noise but let her, inhaling deeply before turning his head to the side.
“Ready?”
Neville made an agreeable sound. “Pass me the lube?”
Draco barked a laugh. “Trust me, you won’t need it.”
To prove his point, he slid a hand between her legs, making her squeak as he slid three fingers inside her with ease. The sound was unmistakable, but even so he brought his fingers out between them to show Neville the mix of cum and arousal practically dripping from them.
Polite as ever, Neville braced a knee on the bed to lean in, putting his cock within reach for Draco. Draco’s brows shot up but after only a second of hesitation, he wrapped his slick fingers around Neville’s cock, smearing Ron and Theo’s cum along his length.
It was unexpectedly arousing to watch her husband stroke another man’s cock, particularly when he finished the motion with the deft twist around the head that she knew he personally favored. Neville hummed an appreciative sound that speared right through her, and Draco cleared his throat before letting go.
Hermione had half a mind to tell him not to stop—to stroke Neville until he was groaning; until Draco was so turned on he was leaking; until she was so worked up that when they finally pushed inside, it would be enough to set her off.
But before she could voice her new birthday wish, Draco was dropping the same hand to his own cock for a quick stroke and her focus momentarily blurred. Those long, dextrous fingers, so tight around his beautifully thick shaft—
The rest of her deranged musings were cut off when Draco moved to settle on the middle of the bed, though her gaze followed him down, locked on the way his cock swayed and then fell heavily against his abs.
“Love.” Draco’s voice had dropped a register, as it always did when he was nearly out of restraint, and she glanced up expectantly. “Don’t just look.”
Right.
Looking certainly had its place, but perhaps not when doing was also on the table.
She climbed up on top of him at once, lowering down to steal a quick kiss before sitting tall then beginning to turn around.
“Here,” Neville offered, holding out his hands to help.
She took them gratefully, muscles wobbly from all the exertion, and used his stability to position herself backwards on Draco’s lap, feet planted flat on either side of his thighs. Draco cupped her arse, supporting her weight as he notched the head of his cock and then slowly lowered her down onto it, hissing out a measured exhale the moment she enveloped him.
It wouldn’t be long until he was far past the point of even his most adamant restraint. The knowledge made her want to bounce on him, to pull that line so close he would trip and stumble right over it.
But then Neville dropped a hand to his own cock, giving himself a preparatory stroke, and she refocused on the reality that she was about to take that, too. It would be a tight fit indeed. Her body throbbed with nervous excitement.
At Draco’s guiding touch, she lay back, spreading her legs into her husband’s waiting hands. He curled his fingers under her knees and eased them further apart before adjusting his grip so he could hold her securely with his forearms.
Neville moved forward, kneeling on the bed between her legs, his broad frame looming over her. It had been years since they’d been together like this, but the motions of it still held their practiced flow.
He rubbed the head of his cock softly over her clit, humming thoughtfully to himself.
“So pink,” he murmured. “Sore?”
Soon she would be, though she knew Draco had extensive aftercare plans which would rid her of any aches. But at present, she was beautifully sensitive. Even the gentle stroke of his taut cockhead was enough to make her muscles twitch.
She shook her head.
“Okay then.” Neville traced down the line of her cunt to brace heavily at her entrance, smearing himself through the slickness leaking out of her. “Remember to breathe.”
And with that, he pushed in.
The stretch was intense. Neville slowly drew back, and then, with a confident thrust, plunged back to the hilt. She whimpered helplessly as her walls quaked in feeble protest, as if unsure why they were being subjected to more, and more, and more.
“Oh fuck,” Draco bit out, at the same moment Neville murmured, “Feel that?”
She muffled her agreement behind her lips because yes, obviously she could feel him. She was shaking from it.
Neville made his meaning known with a small forward flex of his hips. “You took it all. Still the best, aren’t you?”
It appeared that her husband withstood the taunt about as well as she, meaning that for a moment, she clung to her sanity. Beneath her, Draco was breathing hard, abdomen flexing with an urgency that suggested she was about to get an arsefull.
“Alright back there?” Neville asked, sounding to genuinely mean it.
Draco swore in a harsh undertone, then clipped out a brisk, “Just fuck her, Longbottom.”
Neville chuckled. “Righto.”
Big man that he was, Neville had learned how to use his power rather than simply inflict it on others, and so it was with careful force that he picked up a steady, coaxing pace.
It seemed even the generous use of her cunt had not been enough to prepare her for the overwhelming sensation of being full—oh god full, so full. It turned her thoughts sluggish, focus tunneling down to each slick slide out, each firm push in, every motion stroking the inner wings of her swollen, sensitive clit.
And to know that it wasn’t only her experiencing the jaw-slackening, massaging motion but also Draco, who was so unbearably hard that he felt made of glass.
“Oh my god,” she breathed, eyes rolling shut. “Oh my god. I’m so, so close.”
“Fuck,” Draco groaned, arms tightening around her legs.
Ready to break as easily as glass, too, it seemed.
Experimentally, she squeezed her inner walls. The effect was instantaneous.
“Sweetheart,” Draco panted. “Please.”
The plaintive plea was like a direct lick to her clit, her nerves sparking and then burning as her orgasm took hold.
The combination of Neville and Draco was the most she’d ever come on, and it sharpened her orgasm, turning the crest nearly more than she could bear until she was trembling under the uncontrollable contractions around them both.
Neville exhaled a small, reverent sound. “Oh, Hermione. That’s gonna tip me over,” he panted. “Ready for it?”
She nodded feverishly, breathless, eyes rapt on his swift collapse, taking in the way the tension swept along his face as his thrusts sped.
The pace was almost more than she could take but after only a few harsh thrusts, he stilled and then groaned from low in his chest. “Happy birthday, Hermione.”
She could feel him swelling inside her, twitching fervently enough that she swore she could feel each burst of cum striking deep.
Below her, Draco whimpered softly behind tightly-pressed lips.
“Can you feel him pulsing against you?” she murmured. Draco grunted out another tight, desperate sound, and she gasped out a little laugh of realization. “Oh. Are you coming with him?”
Draco’s hands were like iron around her, drawing her attention to the solid tension of his body below her. After a protracted moment, he panted out a harsh breath, his next inhale fueling a rich sound of relief.
It was a sound she knew in her marrow; one of her favorite in the world. It made her want to kiss him, to share her pleasure with him and taste is own in the lazy slide of his tongue.
Carefully, Neville eased himself out, eyes downcast. He’d always liked seeing the mess he made of her, gardener that he was.
As he stepped back, Draco gingerly let down her legs and then wrapped his arms around her.
“Hold on,” he murmured, then rolled them to the side, reaching down to cup her cunt soothingly.
“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek.
The bedding felt like a cloud, and she nuzzled down into the soft plushness. She hummed a soul-deep sound of contentment.
“The happiest.”