Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: miss_morland
From: eeyore9990

Title: Dudley Dursley and the Fucking Thereof
Characters/Pairings: Millicent Bulstrode/Dudley Dursley
Rating: Hard R
Kinks/Themes Included: Magical Viagra
Other Warnings/Content: Motorboating FTW!, dub-con
Word Count: 1256
Summary/Description: Dursley's being a gentleman and taking things slowly. Millicent doesn't want a gentleman. And she's certainly not going to stand for "slow."
Author's Notes: Happy Kinky Kristmas, mystery recipient! I hope this is everything you were wishing for.

Many thanks to my beta for sharing her awesome super powers with me.

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I'm not a patient woman. In my defence, I've never had to be. If I want something, I can usually get it by brute force or cunning. Granted, I use others for the cunning, but that's where brute force comes in handy.

Comes. Heh. Handy. This is really one of those stories that tells itself.

I could go into details that would bore you—tragic tales of war and being on the losing side—but I won't do that. And people say I'm a bitch. You wouldn't, of course; not if you value your teeth.

But I digress. There are things you need to know to make this story less confusing. The first is that I'm dating a Muggle. My father flipped over twice and turned inside out in his grave, I'm sure. Do I care? Not a whit. He's been less than useless since he stepped in front of that killing curse, and he wasn't much cop before that.

The only reason I'm dating a Muggle, though, is because the stupid lump is infected with gentlemanlyism. Otherwise I'd just be fucking him.

And oh, he's eminently fuckable. Tall, with shoulders so wide I've actually seen him get stuck in a narrow doorway, light hair, huge muscles. Great big hands and feet, as well, and what they say about hands and feet? Completely true.

Besides the Muggleism, the only thing wrong with him is the fact that he's related to Potter. A cousin or some such. We can't all be perfect, though, so I forgive him his relations—and if I've heard correctly, he made Potter's life hell when they were kids, so there's not really much to forgive.

Can you believe he feels badly about that? I do try not to chortle when the topic is raised, but it's so difficult to restrain myself.

Oh, I've managed to wander away from the subject, haven't I? Dudley Dursley and the fucking thereof. Yes, yes, back to that.

So my Dudley was under the impression that a dating couple should go no further than hand holding for the first two months of a relationship. At which point they're apparently supposed to be satisfied with a bit of light petting. Obviously he's never dated a real woman.

Before taking matters to hand, I tried explaining to him that I wanted his cock and wanted it immediately, but his cow of a mother interrupted me when she fell forward into her soup. Weak constitution, that one. No matter. That's when I decided talk was overrated, so her near-death experience was my moment of enlightenment.

See this potion? Lovely shade of blue, isn't it? This little beauty got me a hard, stiff one, right up the fanny. I'm all wet and sticky just remembering it.

It was easy. Ridiculously so. After dinner last night, I poured some into a glass and told him it was a shot of wizard liquor. Down the hatch and Bob's your uncle! Dudley's prick sprang up so fast it blew the seam out of his trousers.

Being the lovely, compassionate, caring girlfriend that I am, I immediately had to check it over with my hands. And kiss it better. It might have been sprained, after all! We certainly can't have that.

He tried to push me off, was actually horrified at how 'unruly' it was being. Can you imagine? But he kept going on and on with his apologies, so I had to shut him up. With my tongue.

And if I crawled into his lap and wriggled—a lot—while kissing him, who can blame me? He's a very large man, you know. In all respects. You have to climb the mountain to reach the summit. Or something to that effect.

Also, I might have been wearing a skirt.

When he felt me all hot and wet against his bare prick—with just a thin piece of satin between us—he went a bit mad. It was lovely.

Those massive hands of his grabbed me by the arms so tightly that I have delicious little bruises on them today. He flipped us over, held me down, and apologized before ripping my shirt right off my body.

If I was wet before, I was dripping then.

My best lacy bra is no match for Dudley when he's overwhelmed with lust. Or was, I suppose, since it no longer even resembled a bra after he got through with it. Can you blame him? My breasts are incredible. I play with them every chance I get, so it's no wonder the sight of them in all their glory sent him into a frenzy.

More of a frenzy, that is.

As soon as he saw them, he knelt up, grabbed his prick and gave it two great yanks, spilling his come all over them. And my belly. And my thighs. My knickers are probably ruined, not that I care.

You can imagine how very, very displeased I was that he'd come so quickly. I was all set to hex his prick right off when I noticed that it was still completely hard. And he was still very much crazed with passion.

Little blue potion, how do I love you?

Dudley Dursley is a kinky bastard, by the way. After coming all over my breasts—and still being fully charged and ready to fuck—he grabbed them up in those hands of his, plunked his face right down into the mess he'd left, and began rubbing his nose back and forth in my cleavage, making these odd, burbling noises.

It was odd and rather less than sexy, if I'm being honest. But just as I was about to smack the back of his head, he left off the noises and the nose-swishing and began licking and sucking, which is much more my speed.

Sweet Merlin, but my nipples have never been as well loved as they were last night. He didn't stop there, either. He paid attention to every inch of skin from my neck to my knees and back again. I didn't have a chance to get sticky with his come because he licked it all off. As experienced as I am, I never had a clue how very erotic that could be.

After he finished cleaning me with his tongue, he cupped my arse with his hands, lifted my hips, and buried his face between my thighs. What a magnificent tongue that man has. I've never come so hard or so often in my life.

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he sat back, lifted me up—I do love a man who can toss me around like a rag doll—and dropped me down right on his cock.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I screamed. It bears repeating that his prick is a thing of wonder and majesty. And it's almost indefatigable.

I expected a quick fuck after all that build-up (not to mention the potion), but apparently he enjoyed my screams because he spent over an hour drawing them out of me until I was so far gone I blacked out. I assume he finished because he's still passed out and it's nearly noon. Although I do hear him stirring now, so perhaps I'll go find him and offer him a bit of the hair of the dog.

I think I'll keep this one. Oh, he's still a Muggle, nothing will change that, but I enjoy stirring my family and acquaintances into a froth on occasion.

Plus… he's an excellent fuck.