Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: silvernatasha
From: ragdoll

Title: The Twelve Dates of Christmas (or A Dirty Dozen)
Characters/Pairings: Bill/Tonks, Bill/Minerva, Bill/Pansy, Bill/Rosmerta, Bill/Hermione, Bill/Parvati, Bill/Lavender, Bill/Millicent, Bill/Narcissa, Bill/Angelina, Bill/Hestia, Bill/Ginny, Bill/Helga (implied)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: anal sex, blindfolding, blow jobs, bondage, corsets, cunnilingus, D/s, discipline, drug use (opium), exhibitionism, frottage, hate sex, ice/sensation play, incest fantasies, lap dancing, mutual masturbation, orgasm denial, outdoor sex, pegging, ravishment play, rimming, role-playing, spanking, tattooing (mendhi), verbal humiliation, voyeurism, wanking
Other Warnings/Content: age disparity, erotic traditional dancing, femme!dom, implied food smut, motorboating, nipple clamps (implied), smoking, student/teacher fantasy, do not operate heavy machinery or mix with alcohol
Word Count: 8100
Summary/Description: Bill Weasley is a man of many talents and many kinks. Luckily, he has a Metamorphmagus girlfriend to indulge them all.
Author's Notes: You asked for twelve kinks and/or twelve separate partners for Mr William Arthur Weasley, dear recipient, and I so have complied. Although there are definitely more than a dozen kinks herein. But definitely twelve partners. Well, technically a baker's dozen if you consider Helga's inclusion, so I suppose Bill gets to shag (or be shagged) by a virtual coven of witches. Lucky boy.

Along with your prompts, this story was inspired by "Sex (I'm a...)" by Berlin and "Kiss" by Prince.

I hope you enjoy this and that you had the kinkiest of Kristmases.

Thanks to S, K and C for all their help with betaing as well as T & R for handholding, betaing and psychotherapy. Without you, I am nothing.

Thanks to the DD mods for their patience and encouragement.



"Ooomph!" Tonks went flying backward as she slammed into Bill in the foyer of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. She sat sprawled on the floor, rubbing her shin with a grimace.

"Sorry, Tonks. You all right?" Bill loomed over her and extended his hand.

"S'pose. Bloody troll umbrella stand," she muttered, grabbing Bill's forearm and allowing him to haul her to her feet. Her hand lingered on his for just a moment longer than necessary, then she stepped back, dusting herself off. "Who the hell would have one of those anyway?"

"Great Auntie Walburga always had the most awful taste in decor, didn't she?" Bill slipped one hand into the pocket of his jeans, feeling the scrap of parchment she'd stuck there. As soon as he got away from prying eyes, he'd read it. "Remind me never to buy one of those things for my house, yeah?"

"I'll do my best." She paused, then eyed him curiously. "I didn't know you were planning to get your own house, Weasley."

"Ah, I'm thinking about it. Might want some place bigger'n a flat some day. Especially if," he started to smirk, "I find the right girl to live with me in it."

Tonks let out a derisive snort. "As if any girl in her right mind would want to live with you, mate. Good luck with that, then." She gave him an almost imperceptible wink, then turned and headed towards the stairs leading to the kitchen. Bill couldn't help but notice the way her hips swayed as she sashayed away from him. It was a very pleasing sight.

"One of these days, that girl is going to kill herself with her clumsiness," said his mother, 'tsking' with disapproval as she also watched Tonks leave. "The cheek of her questioning your relationships."

"Hmm?" Bill wondered just how much she'd witnessed or overheard.

"What on earth is the matter with you, Bill Weasley? I swear your head's always in the clouds these days." Molly pursed her lips. "It's hardly like you at all."

"Mum, I'm fine," Bill replied, flashing her his most sincere smile. While he loved his mother dearly, she hadn't known what he was truly like since he'd left for Hogwarts. "I'm just distracted by work and the Order. My mind's on too many things at once. As is everyone's."

His mother's cool appraising stare told him she wasn't buying that excuse for even a moment. With the slightest shrug of his shoulder, Bill stalked out of the foyer, not wanting the conversation to go any further. She was right — he was distracted, namely by Nymphadora Tonks. But his love life was none of his mum's business, or anyone else's for that matter. Hence the subterfuge.

He and Tonks would tell people they were involved when they were good and ready, and not a moment before then. There were far more important things to be concerned about these days.

He decided the only cure for his annoyance with his mother's prying was a cigarette. Bill snuck out of the house and into the back garden for a quick smoke. With any luck, he'd have a few minutes privacy to read Tonks's note, too. It had been burning a hole in his pocket from the minute he realised it was there.

Lighting his cigarette, he pulled the parchment out of his trouser pocket, still amazed that a girl as seemingly clumsy as Tonks could be so adept at passing notes without being noticed. Clearly that was one of her lessons in Stealth she hadn't failed.

"Dear Bill,
Helga requests the pleasure of your company at 11 o'clock tonight,
♥ ♥ ♥

PS Clothing is optional.
PPS I hope you're hungry."

Helga? Now that was a new one on him...

One of the most exciting things about his relationship with Tonks was how utterly unpredictable their sex life was. His girl had a penchant for role-playing and, being a Metamorphmagus, was absolutely brilliant at it. She loved to play different parts for him, to be a myriad of different women in countless different — and kinky — scenarios. And Bill loved her for it. It wasn't that he needed or even wanted any other partners, but it was beyond thrilling to have a virtual harem at his disposal.

Of course, he did his best to reciprocate, although it was far more difficult. Barring a degree from the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, and a vat of Polyjuice Potion, he was never going to be as adept at being someone else as Tonks was. Happily, she didn't seem to mind in Bill being Bill the least.

Making certain no one was watching, he held his smouldering cigarette to the edge of the note until it flared into flame. He dropped it onto the slate, watching it quickly turn to ash. Bill smirked to himself as it burned, trying to decide in what creative manner he ought to go about accepting Tonks's invitation, and pondered just what Helga Hufflepuff would have in store for him tonight.

~*~

1. Minerva

His legs were shaking by the time Bill entered the makeshift office. He'd never had detention before. In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd managed to avoid getting in trouble, even when he'd probably deserved it. But tonight was different.

"I'll see you in my office at eight o'clock sharp, Mr. Weasley," she'd said, giving him a withering look. Bill was smart enough to know not to brook any argument.

"Ah, there you are, Weasley," Minerva said as she caught sight of him. "Right on time. Close the door behind you."

"Yes, Professor." He complied, then slowly made his way toward her, his head hung down in shame.

"You do know why you're here, don't you, Weasley?"

Bill shuffled in place awkwardly. "Yes, Professor."

"And why is that?"

He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Passing notes in your class."

"Precisely." There was a rustle of paper as she pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and proceeded to read it aloud. "You're right, Harper. McGonagall is certainly some fine vintage totty. Phwoar, she's a right PILF if you ask me."

Starting to blush, Bill did his best to focus on the toes of his boots.

"Did you write this, Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, Professor."

"And what, dare I ask, is a pilf?"

"Not...not a pilf, Professor. It's an acronym. A P-I-L-F."

"And that stands for...?"

Even without looking, he could feel her eyes upon him, burning into him through her trademark spectacles. "Professor I'd like to—"

"You'd like to what, Weasley? I want you to enlighten me as to what a P-I-L-F is."

"No, no," Bill attempted to explain. "It means a professor I'd like to fu—" He choked on the word, his blush growing deeper.

"Spit it out, man. If you can write this sort of trash to Harper, you can tell me to my face."

He drew in a deep breath, then blurted "A professor I'd like to fuck."

To Bill's surprise, she uttered a noise that sounded much more like a snigger than one of outrage. "Oh, you would, would you?"

"Professor, we were only larking about," he protested. "I didn't mean—"

Minerva cast him a look of abject disbelief. "Whether you did or not is beside the point, Weasley. You were passing notes in my classroom, filthy ones at that. I'm deeply disappointed in you. You're the Head Boy — you're supposed to be setting an example for the other students, not behaving like a randy hooligan." She tutted in dismay. "I'm afraid some strict punishment is in order here."

Her words sent a frisson of excitement up Bill's spine, his cock twitching in his trousers.

"Oh, yes, I'm afraid so." There was a feral gleam in her eye, making Bill shiver further. Reaching down, she pulled a long willow switch out from behind her desk. "Trousers and pants down. Then bend over my desk. I won't tell you a second time."

If she expected him to plead with her not to do it, or to show any sign of weakness, she would be sadly disappointed. Bill was a Gryffindor through and through; he would not be afraid. He would take his punishment like a man. Turning his back to her, he faced the desk, and with trembling fingers, unfastened his trousers and pulled them down around his knees. His boxers followed, and then Bill lowered himself over the sturdy wooden desk, sticking his bare arse up and on display for her.

His cheeks and ears were burning as he gripped the edge of the desk, steeling himself for her blows. There was a loud whistling sound as she whipped the switch through the air. Bill did his best not to flinch. He was determined not to show any signs of weakness.

Her hand was on his arse, caressing his buttocks lightly. Bill's erection only grew harder, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning. "I think ten strokes will suffice. Any more would mar this lovely bottom. You may count them, Weasley."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor," he managed. "O-one." He groaned as the switch made contact with his buttocks with a loud snap. Pain blossomed from the spot immediately.

Two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten.

Each blow landed with expert precision on his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, growing harder as they went on. By the time Bill received the last one, there were tears in his eyes and he was choking back the urge to howl in agony. His cock throbbed against the smooth wood, the switching only intensifying his arousal.

He felt cool hands against his skin, and the pressing of warm lips against the small of his back.

"Good boy. You took that well."

Panting, Bill lay against the desk, limp and shaken. "Th-thank you, Professor."

Minerva wrapped her fingers in his ponytail, pulling his head up to meet hers as she loomed over him. "So, Weasley, am I still a professor you'd like to fuck?"

It would have been pointless to deny it. "Y-yes," he stammered, his face red with shame.

"I think we might be able to arrange that," she said archly. "Although I hope this has taught you that the next time you get such filthy ideas in that pretty little head of yours, you will discuss them with me rather than your chums."

Bill nodded mutely, allowing her to help him to his feet, the back of his thighs and his arse stinging and making it difficult to move. He suspected there would be welts for days.

Minerva's hair had escaped its neat bun, falling in soft dark tendrils around her face. Her glasses were off, and her fingers were already working the many buttons on the front of her green velvet robes. Bill watched in rapt fascination as she finished opening the garment and stripped it off, letting it slip silently to the floor in a heap around her feet.

He suppressed a smile as she stood before him in just her lingerie: lace trimmed tartan satin bra and knickers. She was tall and slim, her skin fair and flawless. Finally, she peeled off her underwear, revealing her naked body. It was not the body of a teenager, but that of an older woman, flaws and all. To Bill, she was beautiful.

It only took him a few moments to kick off his pants and trousers, and pull his shirt over his head. He stood naked before her, liking the way her eyes roved over his body, taking it all in. Her mouth curved up into a definite smirk as her eyes fixed on his cock.

She fused her lips against his as she pushed him back against the desk. Bill winced as his sore arse hit the hard edge. Minerva then pulled herself up, straddling his thighs, her knees firmly on either side. He let out a hiss of approval when she grabbed his cock, gasping harder as she lowered herself down until he was buried balls deep inside of her tight, wet heat.

Shifting, she settled her weight on his hips, constricting around him until he groaned. Slowly, she began to rock up and back. Bill arched up to meet her as she moved in hard, fast strokes. Minerva rode him frantically, Bill fighting to keep pace with her, each thrust up punctuated with a loud cry, growing in intensity as she moved faster. The noises she was making coupled with the sight of her breasts bouncing above his face was driving him to the brink. He gripped her hips, hanging on for dear life, knowing he wouldn't last much longer.

It only took a few more thrusts before Minerva was crying out his name, shuddering violently, her cunt pulsing around him. Her climax pushed him over the edge. He spilled into her, shuddering beneath her until they finally both slowed, then stilled.

She bent down and kissed him full on the mouth, brushing damp hair off his face. "I hope you've learnt your lesson now, Weasley."

"Mmmm, yes, ma'am." He reached up to cup her face, unable to concentrate on anything but touching her.

"Just to be on the safe side, I'd like you to report to my office every day for the next week." Her eyes twinkled with mirth. "I wouldn't want you to forget."

~*~

2. Pansy

Bill arrived at the appointed time, the doors swinging open of their own accord to allow him entrance.

She took him by the hand, leading him into the room, and indicated he should sit in the large, overstuffed velvet chair. Her eyes were dark and her hair jet-black, cut in a short boyish style. However, there was nothing boyish about her. Her nails, long and crimson, were the same shade as her shining lips, her short silk dressing gown, and the impossibly high-heeled shoes on her feet. The room was lit by paper lanterns which cast a dim, red light upon the room.

Smiling wickedly, she handed him a pipe, long, slender and silver, the bowl already smouldering with sweet, pungent smoke. Bill raised it to his lips and sucked in smoke, long and deep, into his lungs.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she loosened the sash of her robe; it slid off her shoulders to the floor with a rustle of silk to pool at her feet. She was naked underneath, her skin luminous in the bloody light of the paper lanterns. Her breasts were pale and round, tipped with deep red nipples, already hard. Her smile grew broader as she began to touch herself, nails dragging across alabaster flesh, from her perfect breasts down to the coal-black V of curls between her legs. Her hips rocked as she squeezed her eyes shut, and a sigh of contentment escaped her lips.

Bill took another drag, the opium starting to take full effect. He felt dreamy, euphoric, weightless, the slow thrum of arousal coursing through his entire body. One hand still on the pipe, he palmed his growing erection through his loose trousers, savouring the sensation.

Pansy's gaze flickered down to Bill's crotch, watching his hand move, the tip of her tongue jutting out to lick at her lower lip in anticipation. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees, shuffling forward to kneel between his splayed legs, her hands resting lightly on his thighs.

Leering, Bill inhaled another lungful of smoke, then gently let it out, a grey cloud wafting into her face. She didn't even flinch. He offered her the pipe, allowing her one quick hit before reclaiming it for himself. As he raised the pipe to his lips, Pansy slipped one hand into his trousers and pulled them down to expose his cock. Bill groaned as her fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft, sending jolts of electricity up his spine.

Lowering her head, she flicked her tongue against his knob head, her fringe falling forward to obscure her face. Bill didn't need to see what she was doing; he jerked his hips forward, groaning again as her lips engulfed him. He gripped the arm of the chair with one hand, attempting to keep the pipe steady with the other while she began to suck her way down his length, taking him all the way in.

Her head bobbed up and down as she worked him relentlessly with lips and tongue and fingers, her mouth hot and wet. She pushed him to the brink of orgasm once, twice, three times, stopping cold before he could come. It was both agony and ecstasy, the opium coursing through his veins keeping him hard, and prolonging his torment.

Bill thrashed beneath her, his hips bucking wildly as he thrust deep into her mouth. "Let me come," he croaked, his throat raw from the harsh smoke.

Finally she acquiesced, not pulling away as he tensed, then began to shake. The orgasm tore through him, his vision exploding behind his eyelids. He let out a harsh roar before slumping into his chair, panting hard.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, gazing down at her. Pansy flashed him a feral grin.

"Now it's my turn," she said softly.

Bill nodded, licked his lips and began to laugh.

~*~

3-5. Interlude: Rosmerta, Hermione & Parvati

Bill buried his face in Rosmerta's shoulder, muffling his groans as he thrust into her. Skirts bunched around her hips, her legs wrapped around his waist, she sat on the counter in front of him, then leaned back, managing to knock over a tin of coffee with her hand. The tin went clattering to the ground, spilling coffee beans everywhere, and Bill could only be thankful it was after hours at the Three Broomsticks, and that the staff had all presumably gone home or to bed upstairs.

There had been no way to refuse her tonight. He blamed the bloody corset. He had never been able to resist a curvaceous woman in a tightly laced corset, making her waist so narrow he could span it with his hands, and pushing her breasts so high that they threatened to spill out with any sudden movement on her part. Not that he'd ever have turned down a proposition by the lovely Rosmerta. He'd fancied her ever since he was a teenager and this was a dream come true.

He'd only gone into the kitchen to help her with a few bottles of her prized oak-matured mead. Too high for her to reach, she'd said, and much too difficult to negotiate a ladder in her corset. Thankfully a tall strapping lad like himself was on hand to fetch them for her. One minute he'd been handing her dusty bottles, the next, they were snogging furiously, his hand on her corset-covered breast.

Now his trousers were around his ankles, her hands clutching his arse while she panted and moaned in his ear, her cunt clenching around him, the culmination of a hundred teenage fantasies...

~*~

Water from the melting ice cube ran down Bill's fingers and dripped onto Hermione's bare stomach. She gasped and writhed when the droplets hit, and Bill chuckled. He'd never imagined that bookish Hermione could be so uninhibited or responsive in bed.

"Bill..." Hermione pleaded. However, Bill was having far too much fun winding her up, tormenting her and building her arousal slowly. Blindfolded as she was, she couldn't know what was coming or when, so she could only anticipate, wait, and respond when the sensations hit suddenly and unexpectedly.

He allowed a few more drops to fall in a slow trail from Hermione's belly and between her breasts. That was all the warning he gave before he brought the ice cube down and swirled it around her left nipple, coaxing it into hardness.

Crying out, she arched her back, gripping the sheets with trembling hands. Slowly, Bill continued on until all that remained of the ice was glistening rivulets that ran over her damp breasts and down her sides each time her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing. Only then did he lower his head to lick the chill water from her skin...

~*~

Parvati undulated in front of him, modelling the henna tattoos drawn all over her body, deep red lines standing out against her cinnamon skin. Intricate floral designs spiralled around each breast, trailing off to her sides. They ran along her lush curves, ending on her pert arse. Bill had painstakingly applied the henna paste, painting swirls and flourishes and complex patterns on every inch of her as she'd lain naked and prone before him.

She had sighed and moaned in pleasure as the charmed brush swept over her, each little noise sending another stab of arousal straight through Bill. He'd been desperately turned on before he'd even finished, but now, watching her sway to the strains of exotic music, her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes locked on his, it was unbearable.

Her hands skimmed up over her breasts, then down the curve of her belly, her fingertips tracing the lines he had painted on her skin. Then she threw her head back and twirled, her long hair fanning out behind her. His hand was down his trousers before she'd even turned back to face him, his cock rock-hard beneath his sweat-slicked fingers.

He began to stroke himself, biting his lower lip to stifle his groan. Her mouth twitched into a devilish smirk as she watched him with great interest and amusement...

~*~

6. Lavender

The room was brightly lit, the music blaring when Bill got to the private room at the club. An empty chair, straight-backed and armless, was placed by the wall. Assuming it was for him, he took a seat, stretched out his long legs, and waited.

The piped-in music changed from driving hard rock to something slower and more sensual, signalling her arrival.

She stepped out into the room, and Bill's heart began to race. She was tall with ample curves, wearing in the scantiest of lavender g-strings and a matching bikini top that barely contained her extremely large breasts. Long, loose waves of gold-streaked, honey-brown hair fell all the way to the middle of her back, and black knee-high stiletto heeled dragon-hide boots adorned her feet.

As she twirled to the music, whipping her hair back and forth, Bill could see she had a lavender rose tattooed on the small of her back. She strutted closer to him, bumping and grinding to the music, her breasts bouncing all the while. Bill couldn't help but stare, his trousers already feeling uncomfortably tight.

"Hiya," she said, her voice soft and girlish. "I'm Lavender. Who are you?"

"Bill," he managed, his mouth dry and his tongue thick in his mouth as if he'd eaten one of the Twins' Ton-Tongue Toffees.

She giggled, her breasts jiggling delightfully as she did. "Bill. I like that name. Can I dance for you, Bill?"

"Yes, please."

Her giggling grew louder as she glanced down at his lap, eyeing the burgeoning bulge tenting his trousers. "Is that a wand in your pocket or are you enjoying the show?"

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

"I think you'll enjoy this even more." She reached back and in one swift movement, untied her skimpy top and flung it to the floor. Bill's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he caught sight of her bare breasts, his erection now straining against his flies.

He watched hypnotically, his eyes fixed on her chest, as she gyrated in front of him, moving in closer until she was directly in front of him. Finally, she swung one leg over his and seated herself on his knees, scooting forward along his thighs until they were only inches apart, her crotch pressing against his own.

Bill groaned, automatically jerking upwards to increase the pressure. He craned his neck up, attempting to kiss her, but she pulled away, shaking her head.

"Uh uh. No kissing allowed." Lavender giggled again, rolling her hips and wriggling in his lap. Grabbing him by the hair, she shoved him head first into her enormous breasts. For a moment, Bill wondered if he might suffocate. Although, he reasoned, if he did at least he'd go out with a smile upon his face. There were far more unpleasant ways to die.

Lavender didn't protest as Bill grabbed her arse, yanking her even closer. In a proper club, he would not be allowed to touch her at all, but this was a private dance with no rules other than the ones she set. His face still buried in her breasts, he nipped at the soft, warm flesh while kneading her bottom. He moaned against her skin as she ground her hips into his, still moving in time to the loud music playing overhead.

The friction from her wriggling through his trousers was driving him mad, the ache in his cock and bollocks unbearable. He could hear her mewling softly, her breathing becoming uneven and coming out in short, sharp gasps. Bill clutched at her, digging his fingers into her arse cheeks, and holding her fast.

She writhed furiously in his grip, head thrown back in overwhelming pleasure. Any thoughts of dancing were gone entirely — all Bill wanted now was to get off to the maddening cadence set by the driving beat, and to ensure that Lavender did the same. He felt her starting to quiver, then quake in his arms. With a strangled cry, she climaxed.

Ignoring her earlier demand, Bill raised his head and clamped his mouth over hers, kissing her hard while she came. He bucked up one last time and let go, feeling the hot rush of release spilling inside his pants. He'd worry about the mess later.

Lavender began to giggle again as she relaxed. Her mirth was infectious. Bill was unable to contain his own laughter, joining in until he was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

~*~

7. Millicent

Bill knew it was completely his fault he was in the position he was in now. Both literally and figuratively. He would not have been trussed up like a Christmas turkey face first over a leather ottoman, arse in the air, in the middle of the sitting room if he hadn't bet that her beloved Harpies would lose to the Catapults.

The winner would get the loser at their complete mercy for a full twenty-four hours, no refusals allowed. Bill had been cocky, so certain of winning that he'd come up with all sorts of elaborate plans as to what he was going to do to her once the Catapults claimed victory.

He really ought to have known better. That was the last time he would ever listen to Charlie's predictions about Quidditch League standings.

The Harpies had handily beaten the Catapults and, as Bill had already discovered, he wasn't the only one with elaborate plans.

And Millicent was a harsh Mistress.

She was a large woman, nearly as tall as Bill himself, with dark brown hair cut in a severe bob. She outweighed him by a fair few pounds and was strong enough to put him over her knee and spank him when he'd failed to follow orders to her satisfaction — which seemed to be quite often. His sore and swollen arse certainly attested to that.

Bill truly wanted to please his Mistress, but it was so very difficult. He had spent most of the day doing domestic chores — in the nude, of course. He had only stopped when his Mistress demanded him to, usually demanding he pleasure her. She had been using him, and using him hard all day.

She crouched down behind him, running her hands up the insides of his spread legs to his arse, then lightly brushed her fingers over his bottom. She cupped his bollocks, thumb skimming over the sensitive skin, making a low noise of approval. Bill's heart thudded in his chest, trying to keep his breathing even as she touched him. He was already hard, his erection trapped between his stomach and the hard surface of the ottoman.

"You make such a pretty picture like this," she said, her voice husky. "Might have to keep you here long after the twenty-four hours is up."

He squirmed, a whimper escaping his lips as her thumb reached the pucker of his arsehole, pressing gently. Drawing in a deep breath, Bill tried his best not to tense.

"You've got such a lovely arse, boy," she continued, drawing slow circles around his entrance. "You want me to fuck it, don't you?"

He whimpered again, bucking back slightly.

"Answer me, slut." She withdrew his hand, giving his bum a quick, hard slap.

"Yes, Mistress. I want you to take me — p-please," he pleaded, wriggling against the smooth leather of the ottoman.

"Wait here."

Bill had to admire her sense of humour — he was bound hand and foot to the bloody ottoman. He wasn't about to go anywhere until she untied him.

He could hear the heavy fall of her footsteps as she exited the room, a frisson of excitement coursing through him and his pulse racing as his anxiety and anticipation mounted.

It didn't take her long to return. She stood behind him so he couldn't see what she was up to. He heard the creak of dragon hide and the jingle of metal buckles — the distinctive sound of a strap-on harness being put on — before he felt her hot breath ghosting on his skin, her fingers already spreading his cheeks apart. Bill groaned as her tongue dragged up the length of his crack, then swirled around the edge of his arsehole.

Her tongue pushed into him, making him gasp. He raised his arse up higher and rocked back to meet her. Millicent held him firmly, alternately licking and thrusting until he was writhing in desperation beneath her.

She pulled away abruptly, causing Bill to moan in frustration. That elicited a throaty chuckle from her as well as another smack on his bum. Leaning over him, she wound her fingers in his hair and jerked his head up. "I'm going to fuck you now, slut," she rasped in his ear. "Nice and hard. But you're not to come until I tell you to. Otherwise, you'll be punished again. Think you can manage that, boy?"

He swallowed hard, then stammered "Yes, Mistress. I'll be a good boy for you." His cock was aching, threatening to burst. Bill prayed he had enough self-control to do as he was bidden.

"You'd better," she growled.

There was the cool, slippery sensation of lubricant being smeared against his skin, then something hard and wide nudging his arsehole. He was never failed to be surprised at how warm and life-like the dildo felt. Bill clenched his fists, willing himself to stay relaxed as she worked her way in deeper. He felt her heavy weight against his arse and back, pressing him into the ottoman, her hips shifting while she settled behind him.

Millicent put her hands on his hips, holding him in an iron grip, and began to thrust. She slid in and out, taking him hard, impaling him upon her phallus. It was an incredible feeling to be stretched and filled so completely. Bill's hips snapped up to meet hers, his shameless moans growing progressively louder each time she drove the dildo into him. To make matters worse, she worked one hand underneath him, grabbing his cock to stroke it in time with her thrusts.

"Wanna come, Mistress," he begged. "Please let me come—"

"No," she hissed. "If you do, you'll be in trouble."

Bill fought to hold back, but it was too late. With an earsplitting roar, he came, hot spunk splashing against his stomach as it pooled on the surface of the ottoman. Millicent waited until he'd stopped thrashing before pulling out.

The bonds holding him were suddenly released. Sighing with relief, Bill flexed his hands and stretched his arms. He looked back over his shoulder at her, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"You," she said, "did not do what you were told, boy. I am very disappointed."

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he blurted, trying his best to sound as contrite as he could. "I didn't—"

"Shut your gob. I don't want to hear your excuses. You clearly cannot follow simple instructions so you'll have to learn how." She pulled herself up to her full height, the large purple dildo bobbing absurdly against her stomach, and pointed towards a cupboard at the far side of the room. "Fetch me the nipple clamps and the black paddle. Now."

Bill scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the cupboard. He was pretty certain there was an Arrows vs. Cannons match next week. All he had to do was convince her to back the Cannons and he'd have the tables turned. Given everything she'd put him through, he couldn't wait to get her back.

~*~

8.- 10. Interlude: Narcissa, Angelina & Hestia

Revenge had been Bill's several nights later, and it had been exceedingly sweet. He'd fucked Narcissa Malfoy long and hard while she twisted and struggled beneath him, hissing and cursing his name. He'd had her on all fours and completely at his mercy, her expensive Paris robes reduced to rags, surrounded by broken furniture and crockery strewn on the floor from their duelling.

Bill had needed repeated episkey spells and an extra large jar of bruise paste to clear up the worst of the damage she'd inflicted upon him in the course of the night. He was still in need of more Healing, but it had been utterly and completely worth it just to have her...

~*~

A soft breeze blew over his bare skin, the wind rustling the leaves that sheltered them from the warm late summer sun as Bill clutched Angelina tighter. She rocked with him, her arse bouncing on his thighs as he knelt in the grass. Her nails raked his back, her teeth grazing his earlobe, and her breath ghosted, as hot as the sun, against his neck.

Their brooms lay nearby, abandoned after a long, exerting flight. The same was true of their clothes, and their picnic lunch — hamper and all — sat laid out but uneaten, all forgotten in the heat of passion. The ants were already having a feast.

Bill's hair hung loose around his face, pulled free from its dragonhide thong by her questing fingers. Angelina's braids clacked softly in time to their movements, the coarse ends tickling Bill's bare chest. Bill captured her mouth with his, kissing her hard as his hands caressed her arse.

Angelina mewled, her knees pressing against his waist, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rode him at a frenetic pace. With a impish grin, Bill pitched forward, knocking her onto her back. She squealed in indignation, pulling him down with her into the grass.

He kissed her again, hips still pumping, and laughed as she locked her legs around the small of his back...

~*~

Bill stood behind the bedroom door, peering through the crack into one of the spare bedrooms at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He did his best to keep still, breathing as shallowly as he could in order to avoid detection. He'd passed by the partially open door, and, overcome with curiosity, had not been able to stop himself from peeking in. His timing had been impeccable — at that very moment, Hestia had stepped out of the bathroom, straight from the bath: dark hair piled on her hair in loose curls, water beading on her pale, naked skin.

He'd have been a fool to turn away.

She hummed a nonsense tune, quickly blotting herself with a towel before tossing it away onto a nearby chair.

Unaware that she had an audience, she lay back on the bed, knees bent and splayed apart. She brushed her fingertips over her breast, tweaking at her nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Bill watched in rapt fascination as she touched herself, eyes closed, her hands slipping downward until they were between her legs.

She traced along the edge of her folds, then gasped as her index finger came into contact with her clit. Back arching, hips jerking upward, she drew slow circles around the swollen nub.

Bill touched himself through his trousers, cock pulsing. Fumbling with his zip, he freed his cock from the confines of his pants, and began to fist himself in tandem with her movements. His flailing arm hit the door, making it creak.

They both stopped cold, Bill's heart pounding with fear and excitement. Hestia raised her head, eyes narrowed, and stared at the source of the sound.

Then she licked her lips and blew a kiss in his general direction before resuming, her fingers moving frantically over her clit...

~*~

11. Ginny

Of all the fantasies he had share with her, this had been the most difficult. He had expected her to loathe him, revile him, run away in disgust once he'd admitted just what he wanted — and more importantly, with whom. To Bill's surprise, she had listened, then nodded solemnly, although there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"If that's what you want, we can do it," she'd finally said.

"We can?" He could barely contain his astonishment...and his relief. "You mean you're okay with it?"

"It's just a game, innit?" She'd reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. "It's not like you'd really want to—"

"No!" Bill exclaimed. "Of course not. It's just—"

"A fantasy," she'd finished with a understanding smile. "So, why shouldn't I indulge you, love? I like being your fantasy. Merlin knows you're mine."

And that, more than anything else, was why he loved her.

Bill sat in the bedroom, waiting impatiently — and nervously — for her arrival. He had wanted her for far too long, and now, finally, she would be his. She had been a child when he'd left for Hogwarts — an unruly, rough and tumble tomboy of a child — and he'd hardly recognized her when he'd come home. She had turned into a beautiful, poised young woman in his absence.

She entered the room barefoot, dressed only in a light pink cotton shift, her long, red hair — so like his own — spilling down her back. Except for the differences in their height, age and eye colour, they could have been twins. Same eyes, same lips, same smattering of freckles across the bridges of their very similar noses. Perhaps he was attracted to her because they looked so very much the same.

He refused to think any further on it, to justify the reasons for his desire. She was here now, and that was all that mattered.

Ginny's eyes met his and she flashed him a reassuring smile. Cupping his chin in her hand, she caressed his cheek tenderly. For a brief instance, Bill caught a glimpse of Tonks behind her borrowed visage — and then it was gone.

He lowered his head to hers, hands on either side of her face and drew her in for a tentative kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, returning his kisses without any hesitation. They stood there, wrapped around one another, exchanging urgent kisses until they were both breathless. Lips still glued to hers, Bill scooped Ginny up in his arms, carrying her over to the bed and gently depositing her onto the mattress.

With a soft laugh, she reached down and pulled her shift over her head, tossing it to the end of the bed. Underneath, she had on nothing other than a pair of pink knickers the same colour as her gown. His eyes widened at the sight of her pert, round breasts, an appreciative smirk on his lips.

Bill knelt in front of her, kissing her on the mouth once more before grazing at her throat. He worked his way lower, nuzzling his way down the line of her chest. Her breasts filled his hands perfectly as he cupped them, slowly kneading the pale, freckled flesh. Ginny let out a soft sigh when his lips closed over one hard nipple and he began to suck greedily.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pressed her lips against the crown of his head. Bill lavished one breast, then the other, catching her taut nipples between his teeth and tugging lightly. She tasted both sweet and salty, her skin musky with just a hint of something flowery. He couldn't seem to get enough.

She seemed to like it when he licked his way over the swell of each breast to the underside, wriggling and moaning shamelessly as his tongue laved her skin. He continued downward until he'd reached the edge of her knickers, nipping along the line of the waistband until she was begging him to do more.

Raising her hips, she allowed him to strip her panties off entirely. Ginny leaned back against the mattress and spread her legs apart for him, exposing soft copper curls and glistening pink flesh. Grinning, Bill buried his nose between her legs and inhaled deeply. He used his thumbs to part her labia, then pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit.

She responded with a buck of her hips and a moan of approval. He teased her mercilessly with his tongue, applying gentle pressure with his mouth before he slipped an index finger inside her to thrust gently. Bill moaned against her skin, the scent and taste of her making him agonizingly hard.

He stopped cold when he felt her tugging on his hair. He raised his head in concern, but she was grinning, her eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

"Want you," she whispered. "Want you so much."

Needing no further invitation, Bill crawled up the length of her body, immediately falling into her embrace. He claimed her mouth with his own, kissing her hungrily. Her hands roved over his body, touching, caressing, stroking. Rolling on to her back, she pulled him on top of her and wrapped one leg around his waist.

Bill shifted, sheathing himself inside her in one quick move. Ginny gasped, grabbing at his arse, her nails digging into his skin. She was so incredibly tight, so incredibly wet...

She constricted around him, sending shock waves through his body. He started out with slow, shallow thrusts. Her hips rocked up to meet his until they were moving in perfect unison, building up to a frantic rhythm. Ginny's mouth was pressed up to his ear, her breath hot as she let out each soft cry. Her cries turned into keening moans as she writhed and bucked, coming hard beneath him. Bill lost the tenuous hold he'd had on his own control, his body wracked with shudders as he spiralled down into orgasm, spilling into her.

Her hands were soothing as they brushed along his back and shoulders, her lips soft as they pressed against his temple. Bill had not expected such tenderness, such understanding from her after this. Something broke inside him and his eyes stung as he blinked back tears. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he whispered, "Thank you."

"Sweetheart, I told you it was okay—"

"I know, but I needed to say it anyway. I love you."

"Love you too." She cradled him in her arms, kissing him gently.

When he finally raised his head, wiping tears away with the back of his hand, her bright red hair had shifted to bright pink, her freckles faded into flawless porcelain skin and the whole shape of her face had changed. Ginny had vanished, leaving Tonks in her place. His beautiful, incredible Tonks.

~*~

12. Tonks

Bill stood outside in the back garden of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, his black dragon hide jacket zipped up to keep out the chill night air. He'd snuck out for a smoke — Order meetings always made him a bit stressed — and he'd been dying for a fag for hours. He leaned back against the brick wall and lit his hand-rolled cigarette with his wand, taking a long, slow drag and relishing the burn as he inhaled.

He let it out slowly, watching the silvery smoke curl out in front of him in random patterns, then flicked ashes to the ground.

"Wotcher."

The sound made him turn his head. Tonks was standing in the doorway, watching him intently. She was wearing her usual clothing: a form-fitting and faded Cyclopsapalooza t-shirt, tight blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed purple combat boots. "Hi."

"Mind if I come out and join you, then?"

Bill shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took another drag off the cigarette. This time he blew smoke rings as he exhaled.

"Aren't you the clever one?" she commented. "That's quite a talent."

"Cheers."

"Filthy habit though, innit?" Tonks wrinkled her nose in disgust. Making her way to Bill's side, she rested lightly against the wall next to him, then shivered. "I pity the woman who's got to kiss you. Bet it's like licking an ashtray."

"I've never had any complaints," he retorted, proceeding to take another puff.

"Huh." She shifted close to him, her arm brushing his. He could see goosebumps rising on her pale flesh.

Bill switched his cigarette to the opposite hand, letting his free arm drop. He felt her hand, small and warm and soft, slip into his, her fingers entwining with his own.

He gave one final puff on the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stamping out the smouldering butt with the toe of his boot. Tonks sidled closer, her hip pressed against his. He could feel her trembling.

"You're gonna catch your death," he said. "Why aren't you wearing a cloak?"

"Didn't think of it." There was the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. "You could warm me up, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "Could I? Wouldn't want to inflict my filthy habits on you."

"Oh, shut up and kiss me, Weasley."

Unzipping his jacket, he allowed her to slip her arms around his waist and snuggle close to him before he brushed his lips against hers. Tonks deepened the kiss, catching his lower lip between her teeth and sucking gently.

Breaking it off, Bill stood there, nose to nose with her. "So, I taste like an ashtray, do I?"

"Well, yeah."

"Huh." Fishing a tin of mints out of his pocket, Bill popped one in his mouth, then forced a puff of frosty breath out into her face. "Better?"

"Think so. Might have to try again to see."

"Oh, now that would be bloody torture, having to kiss you again," he teased.

She started to pull away. "Oi, if that's how you feel about it, mate —"

Bill grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back into his embrace. "Not so fast, you."

Giggling, she pretended to struggle against him. "I wouldn't want to torture y—-oomph!" Bill silenced her with another kiss, this time quite passionately. He'd been as desperate to snog her as he'd been for a cigarette, hoping she'd take the hint to sneak out and join him. He was thrilled she had.

He kissed his way up her throat to her chin, trailing along her jawline, his hands straying down her back to her arse. Tonks wriggled at his touch, then nipped at his earlobe, eliciting a low moan from him. Going back into the meeting was not going to be an easy task if she kept up like this.

"So," she whispered in his ear, "who are we going to be tonight? Got any preferences?"

"What would you say to it being just you and me?" he replied, stroking her cheek gently with his fingertips. He loved Tonks no matter what she looked like or who she played at being. It was the woman inside who counted — his brave, funny, and clever girl who indulged him in any and every fantasy. Bill knew it didn't get any better than this. "All I really want is you, sweetheart."

His answer seemed to be the correct one. Tonks laughed, then knocked him back against the wall, kissing him with enthusiasm. As far as Bill was concerned, tonight's meeting couldn't end soon enough. He couldn't wait to get her home.