Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
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31st August 2009 18:16 - Fic: Private - Arthur - NC-17
Title: Private
Author: [info]millieweasley
Characters: Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wanking
Kinks chosen: Personal Ads
Word Count: 1250
Summary: Arthur finds the personal ads highly…interesting.
Author's notes: Don’t ask me how this idea entered my head, I would have no clue LOL

He reads them with a strange sense of excitement, the words of hunger and desperation filling him with longing and curiosity. He’s not even sure why he does. He has his wife, his children, his life – no need to look for anyone – no wish to, either. Yet somehow he can never turn his eyes away from those lines, those few words in the pages of a paper telling of a longing for love and intimacy.

He likes to imagine them, the people behind the words. He imagines the truth that lies behind the obvious lies and clichés. The greying lady behind “woman in her prime”, sitting there hoping that the one who answers her letter will not care about her greying hair, or the wrinkles in her eyes or the fact that she no longer can have children as long as she can love enough, make love enough. As long as her body is warm and welcoming and embracing. Will she find what she’s looking for? Will she get to have her throes of passion in the arms of the man she seeks? Will he please her withered body, claim it as if she was young again? Will she in turn devote herself, her flesh to his? To the slightly too big stomach and the not quite hard cock? Will she take it into her mouth and gently coax it into the hardness it once had? Will she remind him of his youth? Will he remind her of hers?

He’s not sure why his own cock hardens at the thought, of why his hand sooner or later finds its way to the front of his robes as he reads on, his imagination growing more vivid with every new ad, with every new word. He imagined the man who favoured “long walks on the countryside” thinking of his newfound love going down on her knees in a solitary clearing, the soft grass swaying in the wind as she lifted his robes and took his hard, aching cock in her mouth. He imagined her too red lips circled around the long, hard, slightly purple cock. He imagined the marks those lips left at the base of the man’s cock. He imagined the sounds the man made, the grunts and groans and moans as she gave him pleasure. Would he reciprocate after she was done? When she’s swallowed down his come, or after he’d pulled out and covered her too red lips, her cheek and her chin with his sperm? Or would they stop halfway through? Before he came? Would she lay down on the grass and spread her legs, showing pink glistening folds among the dark hair exposing her as a brunette though her hair was charmed blond? Would he go down between her legs and push inside her hungry cunt, almost reckless in his need to feel her around him?

He imagines them there, and his own cock grows harder at the thought. His own hand finds its way inside his robes, and he grunts as his hand teases his cock. He moves slowly, delicately, taking his time as he reads on, as the next person writes out their longing. He doesn’t find it odd as his hand wraps around his cock, that he slowly moves it up and down the hardened shaft. He moans softly, quietly, and lets his thumb spread the drops of pre-come over the head, the sensation drawing more moans from him as he imagine the next woman in the ads.

Dancing. She likes dancing and his mind goes just to a dance floor, but to a decadent club where people have too little clothes and far less morals. She is middle aged, and slightly too old for the crowd, but the man who has found her does not mind her age. No, he does not mind at all, because with her age comes experience, and a wish to explore. He lets his hands move down to her hips, and pulls up her too short robes. She does not protest even as others can see her arse, even as he pulls her against his erection and everyone who wants to look can see what they are doing. Of course no one looks, not in places like this, and they both know it as they move off the dance-floor to one of the worn and abused sofas. They’re dirty, but you cannot see it because the lights too dim. If you were too inspect them, you’d find stains of alcohol and semen and other things you’d probably wouldn’t want to know about, but neither of the two care as they claim a sofa for themselves, wanting only to add to the spots that are already there.

The man does not kiss her, but turns her over, exposing her arse to him fully as he leans her over the back of the sofa, her knees on the cushions as he falls to the floor and buries her face between her cheeks. She moans, and throws her head back as he licks her arse and cunt, no shame in her as she takes pleasure where she can get it. He moves up, and frees her breasts from their confines. They’re large and heavy and pale, and he grabs them with both hands as he grinds himself against her exposed arse.

Only as she begs does he pull back to release his cock, ramming it deep into her hungry cunt, making her moan even louder. He grabs her heavy breasts again, squeezing them as he rocks in and out of her, taking his pleasure roughly, selfishly. They are both selfish, and they both take what they’ve longed for. Right there on a spotty, worn sofa in the middle of the club, a few younger patrons pointing and watching.

When he comes, he comes onto her arse and back, staining not only the sofa but also her robes. He almost collapses after, and she has to fight to stay upright and not fall face first into the stinking sofa, but neither of them regrets their actions, and both of them leave sated and happy. Perhaps the woman even brings him home – or brings someone else home – when her cunt lets her know it has not yet had enough.

This is when he loses it, when he forgets the paper and groans and comes all over the text, panting as he relaxes back into the armchair. Only then does he realise that the pages are ruined, and he blushes as he crumples up the pages and folds the rest of the paper back to normal. His hands are slightly shaky as he places the paper next to the armchair, and his knees are week as he gets up and puts the crumpled paper in the fireplace. He watches the last of it disappear as he hears Molly come into the room, hears her reach for the paper. A moment later she huffs.

“I think I’m going to have to write to the Prophet,” she says. “This is the third time this month that there have been pages missing. They’ll have to control their deliveries better than this.”

Arthur feel his face going slightly red, and keeps his face to the fire. “I’m sure it’s only a temporary thing, Mollywobbles.” Secretly he hopes it is, but just in case it isn’t he decides to put in an extra order of the paper from now on. He swallows, and wished he didn’t feel as guilty as he does.

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