Title: Our Little Secret
Author: ldymusyc
Characters: Draco Malfoy/Madam Rosmerta
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Crossgen, non-con, masturbation, character under 18
Themes/kinks chosen: Breasts
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Draco's use of an Unforgivable Curse for guilty pleasure leaves him guilty.
Author's notes: Thank you so much to the mods for the invitation! I was so excited I had to write immediately. :D And much obliged to my friend Kay, who looked this over for me and plaintively asked "Why do you do this to me and when are you writing more?" *mwah*



It was a certainty, he decided as he set his wand down on the scarred wooden table, that they would think the worst of him when he was eventually discovered. When, not if. Never a chance of if, not with Speccy the Scarheaded Savior and the Mudblood bitch on his heels every fucking day. It was a certainty they'd discover he'd been made a Death Eater, and it was a given they'd assume the worst. He knew the rumors and whispers, had heard them for years. Vices and perversions that even the most debauched, desperate whore would refuse in disgust. Midnight orgies on cold stone floors, Bellatrix the center of a writhing pile of robes and masks. The Carrows entwined with a monstrous snake, its massive coils draped around their limbs and squeezing the siblings to ecstasy. The Dark Lord watching it all from a throne with his bone-white fingers wrapped around his cock.

Draco shuddered and rubbed his knuckles across his eyes to wipe the image away. The Dark Lord had no interest in sex beyond ensuring no Mudbloods were left alive to have any of it, the Death Eaters fought amongst themselves more than fucked, and the closest Draco had been to an orgy was hearing Wormtail licking his testicles for three hours one afternoon. But the rumors ran wild in the shops and pubs, and Draco decided that if they'd think the worst, if they'd accuse and charge him of any number of crimes, regardless, he might as well be guilty of at least a handful of them.

"Shut the door, Rosmerta," he said, and cleared his throat to rid his voice of its tremor. "Shut it, lock it, and come here." He pointed to a spot beside the table and waited for Rosmerta to obey, her eyes as dull and blank as a fog.

She stood with her head bowed and shoulders slumped, but her hands twitched at her sides, fingers arched as if one spark of consciousness wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze until blood ran over her nails. Draco watched her, his mind racing as he ran through ideas, some options discarded and others saved for later. Rosmerta was his mother's age, well into her autumn years, but her skin was clear of lines and her body was full and lush. Draco licked his lips and nodded, his first move decided.

He stood to reach the silver hooks that held Rosmerta's robes closed at her throat. "Lift your chin," he told her as he unfastened the hooks, and he pushed her robes off her shoulders to expose a simple cotton dress. Ribbons from the drawstring neckline dangled into the deep valley between her breasts, and Draco lifted the ribbons on one finger. He tugged to loosen the bow, then took a step back. "Your tits are legendary at school, you know. Undo your top and show them to me."

Rosmerta's fingers twitched again, but her hands came up to the ribbons. She undid the bow and pulled down the neckline of her dress until it rested under her breasts. She dropped her hands and waited.

"Black lace?" Draco flashed his brows as he took a deep breath. "My favorite. At least, my favorite in pictures. Have to confess, since I know you won't tell a soul. Never actually seen a woman's breasts before. Not for real. Looking down a girl's shirt in class doesn't count, don't you think?" He ran the tip of one finger along the cups of her bra, with a muttered warning not to move when Rosmerta flinched.

"Pansy's never let me have a look," he said. "Was close once, after the Yule Ball. Had my hands on her bodice, almost had her talked around to letting me undo her laces, but some damned Hufflepuff prefect just had to have a broom up his arse. Do you have any idea how much it cost me to get her that drunk? The bottle I paid Higgs to smuggle me was utter plonk, to be sure. Tasted like cobwebs and moldy lemons, but it did the job. Wasted, though. She made me go back to the dance and that was that."

He tipped his head and tapped her sternum. "Bra. Get it off."

Rosmerta's nostrils flared as she reached behind her back. She struggled, and Draco felt a spike of fear that she might break the Imperius, then he realized she was only stuck. The sleeves of her dress prevented her from slipping out of her bra straps. He helped her and left her standing naked to the waist.

"Fuck," he mumbled, staring at her chest. "Boys in the locker room had no idea what they were talking about. You're even better than they said." Draco set both hands on her shoulders and slid them over her collarbones, then down her chest to stroke the curves of her breasts. Age had forced them to sag somewhat, but she made up for that in size.

Draco gave a soft whistle of appreciation before he lifted her breasts in both hands. "Nice," he said, his voice tight as his hormones gibbered that he had his hands on tits, real actual tits, for the first time in his life. "Very nice. Loads softer than I'd imagined, though. Dunno why, but I'd thought they'd feel more like bollocks. Sort of solid, a little bit. But this is almost ... squishy."

He looked at her face, checked her expression. Her eyes were still dull and unfocused, and that gave his courage a boost. Draco rubbed the sides and tops of her breasts, traced the blue veins showing through her skin. Her nipples fascinated him, and he spent a minute just taking a look. They were about the size of the tip of his pinky, and the skin around them was a dusky shade. He'd expected it to be pink, but decided this was better. Pink was for girls, untouched, doe-eyed, pure girls. An older witch, tainted with years of lustful glances in a smoky pub and god only knew how much more, deserved that smutch on her body.

Her nipples were flat to her breasts, and that annoyed him. "Not enjoying this?" he asked, his nose wrinkled with his irritation. "Shame. I am. Doesn't seem right for just one of us to be having fun, does it?"

He folded his arms and leaned against the table. "I want them hard. Want to see that in person. Play with your tits, Rosmerta."

In the back of his mind, he was waiting for her to break free of the Imperius. He'd practiced for weeks, testing his skill on Crabbe, Goyle, and whatever firsties were stupid enough to get caught without witnesses, but he hadn't been completely certain he could pull it off. Putting a spell on his boys took as much out of him as Weasleys could take gold from a vault - next to nothing. Obliviating his targets after was almost pointless, since he doubted either his boys or the firsties had the brains to notice what he'd done. Rosmerta, at least, had been a challenge.

She didn't break free of his command, though her face twisted in frustration and she made a soft, keening noise of distress. Draco cupped her cheek and murmured to her. "Don't fight me, Rosmerta. I want this to feel good, want you to enjoy it. You want it too, I know you do. I see how you flirt with the boys when we come in on the weekends. Always leaning over the tables and brushing against our shoulders, always arching your back in your low-cut blouses. You like the attention. I'm just giving it to you. Relax. Enjoy this."

Her expression smoothed as he repeated his instructions to touch her breasts. She cupped them and lifted them high, then ran her thumbs over her nipples. The pebbled skin grew darker as they stiffened, and before long, the tips of her breasts were a deep, rich brown and her chest was flushed red.

Draco watched her in fascination, his mouth hanging open until his tongue went dry. "That's amazing," he said, after a few rough swallows to moisten his mouth. He shifted against the table, realizing that his cock had stiffened along with her nipples. He opened his robes and reached into his trousers to pull his cock vertical. Fluid dampened his skin as he slid his thumb across the head, and he smiled as an idea struck him. "Tits look nice and big," he said, rubbing his palm on the swell of his cock. "Think you can lift them up enough to lick your nipples? Give it a try for me."

He'd seen that in a couple of crumpled magazines passed around the locker room with furtive suggestions to check various pages or pictures. The buxom witch in his favorite photo had sucked on her swollen nipples with a sultry glance up at her audience. He'd wanked over that so often one month that he'd had to ask Pomfrey for a salve. She hadn't seemed to believe him when he claimed his shin guards were chafing, and the knowing look she'd given him had left him angry until morning, when that salve had come in handy for his pre-breakfast wank.

Draco unfastened his trousers and stroked his cock as Rosmerta kissed and licked her breasts. "Look at me," he ordered, thinking to replicate the image of that magazine witch. Rosmerta's eyes, though, held no seduction, only a blank and vacant stare that made his erection falter. Draco shuddered as a small part of his mind shouted imprecations at him for what he was doing. He shut off that voice, locked it away, and told Rosmerta to close her eyes.

Despite her efforts and the demands of the Imperius, she couldn't get her nipples to her mouth. Draco feared she'd hurt herself in the attempt, but he still wanted to see her breasts shining. "Stop before you break your neck. Keep touching yourself, though. That's sexy. Think if I ever manage to get into Pansy's knickers, she's going to do that for me." He sniggered as he pushed the bench away from the table and sat on the end. "Or Astoria. She has one hell of a rack for a fourth year, let me tell you. Likes to show it off, too. She's always rubbing up against me in the corridors. Might give her a swish and flick some day."

He pumped his cock, foreskin drawn back from the blood-purple helmet. "Come closer, Rosmerta. Stand here." He pointed to the floor between his feet. She wasn't that tall, and when she stood in front of him, her breasts were level with his head. Draco's hand tightened on his cock as he urged her a little nearer to him.

He licked his lips and closed his mouth on his tongue, the tip of it pointing at Rosmerta's dark nipples. He stroked his cock harder, faster, then forced himself to slow before he came. "Hold 'em up." Rosmerta obeyed and Draco stuck his face in her cleavage.

Her skin smelled like woodsmoke and whiskey, but under the harsh odors of pub work, Draco thought he caught the scent of clover honey. He licked the side of her breast, tasting her skin. Soap, possibly, though he knew most women had an absolute obsession with the toiletries and beauty products hawked by any myriad of adverts and cheery jingles on the wireless. They bought from young witches with taut smiles who posed and enticed buyers from the pages of Witch Weekly, spent their coin on perfumes, creams, lotions, and powders to attract partners. It made him want to laugh. The girls his age were all apprentices in this bizarre occupation, when the only work they really needed to do was smile. He didn't know a single bloke who wouldn't pant after any girl who looked even slightly interested. All the fripperies and scented things weren't truly necessary.

They did make Rosmerta's skin a pleasure to lick, though. He mouthed her breast, laying down a trail of kisses that followed a thin, silvery line around the curve. Her breasts were soft, warm, and moving ever so slightly as her breathing sped up. Draco licked his way to the darker area around her nipple and drew back in some surprise when the texture of her skin changed.

"Higher," he said. "Hold it up, Rosmerta. Really show it off to me."

She lifted her breast further, her nipple almost balanced on the edge of her hand. The skin puckered, the nipple tightened, and Draco groaned. Before he could stop himself or even consider the action, he leaned forward and fastened onto her breast.

His hand dropped to his cock again, thumb slipping over the head and picking up fluid to slick his fingers for his strokes. He matched the circling motion with a swipe of his tongue as he licked Rosmerta's nipple. It was definitely clover honey, he decided. The taste was odd when combined with the odors of firewhiskey and butterbeer, but as he felt her nipple grow harder on his tongue, he forgot any concerns about scent or flavor. The only thing he could focus on was the round, firm flesh between his lips.

Draco experimented with different licks, from a slow circle with the point of his tongue to a broad swipe with the flat of it. He didn't expect, at first, that Rosmerta would react much beyond the physical response he was certain she couldn't stop, then she made a soft noise and her body swayed, her breast pushing against his mouth.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her through his lashes. Her eyes were still closed, and her expression could have been called calm, were it not for the slight flare of her nostrils and parting of her lips. Draco could hear her breathing, fast and rough, with a quiet growl to it that sounded as though something had caught in her throat. He couldn't quite figure out the reason for her sounds and expression, but then her hand cupped the back of his skull and pressed his head to her breast.

Relax. Enjoy this.

He'd only intended to stop her struggles with that order, only meant to keep her from fighting him, but the Imperius had taken his command much further.

Too far.

Draco's entire body jerked when he realized what he'd done. His head snapped away from Rosmerta's breast; his hand clamped hard on his cock. A twisting, roiling sensation tightened his gut, and with a horrified gasp, he came. Thin streams of milky semen dripped over his fingers to stain his trousers as his face twisted in a grimace of delight and disgust. He clutched the edge of the bench, praying for a splinter, a quick burst of pain to wipe away his pleasure, but the bench had been smoothed by generations of arses and thighs, and Draco was left to ride out his orgasm until he whimpered with a final, shamed throb.

He shoved backward on the bench and flailed for his wand, desperate for a cleansing spell. The thought of what he'd done, what he'd forced Rosmerta to do, made him ill, and he turned away to retch, the taste of bile coating his mouth and mixing with the remnant flavor of clover honey. He spat on the floor and wiped his chin with his sleeve. His head ached and he gulped for breath as he cleaned his hands and clothing.

"Get dressed," he said without looking at Rosmerta, unable to look at her. "Cover up. Please." He wished he could modify his own memory, wished he could erase the incident from his mind. It wasn't solely because of what had happened, but also because of what would happen. He had a meeting soon with Bellatrix, another painstaking and painful lesson in Occlumency, and he shivered, his skin prickling with goose flesh and fear, as he wondered how she'd use this when she inevitably found it in his thoughts. She'd find it, she'd find that he didn't have the stomach for this sort of work, that he had too much guilt to be guilty, and he could not let that happen. He'd seen the results when the Dark Lord thought a Death Eater was faltering, and he could live another hundred years without seeing anything half as dreadful. He couldn't allow himself to fail.

Draco pushed his fringe from his eyes and stood to do up his trousers. He had to handle this, couldn't let it affect him. Couldn't let it affect his task, his mission. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hands over his face as he concentrated. He wrapped up everything, every thought or action in the minutes since he'd led Rosmerta into the room with the pretense of a question, wrapped it all up in mental wool and pushed it to the back of his mind. Too much was at stake to let this bother him. He exhaled sharply, straightened his shoulders, and spoke in a voice as dull as her expression. "Rosmerta, you're going to forget this. Forget everything from the point where I told you to lock the door. Nothing happened. Nothing."

He turned to face her, forcing himself to meet her vague, empty eyes. He took a Galleon from his pocket and held it up. "This is what you'll remember. This is all you need to know. I have a job for you."

He explained the workings of the Galleon and its communication charm to Rosmerta, then left her blinking in confusion as he released the Imperius and unlocked the door. "Thanks," he told her with a wide smile. "This room will be perfect. Pansy will be thrilled to have her birthday party here. Now remember, it's a surprise." He put his finger across his lips, ignoring the shake in his hand. "Not a word. To anyone."