Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: nearlyconsciousFrom: tamlaneTitle:
Seas Between Us Broad Have RoaredCharacters/Pairings:
Blaise/Ginny (implied Harry/Ginny)Rating:
spanking, belting, bondage, dirty talk (including name-calling), BDSM (dubiously safe & sane and not explicitly consensual), subspaceOther Warnings/Content:
infidelity, breathplay, anal sex, semi-public sexWord Count:
4,800Summary/Description: “We both know you were hoping and praying Potter would get called in tonight so you could come to me and get what you really need. What he won’t give you. So can we drop the charade?”Author's Notes:
Recipient, when I saw your kinks, I had to have them. All of them. And when I saw your tone request of ‘filthy plz’… er, I took that seriously. I hope you enjoy the results! Title from ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Thank you to my cheerleader and beta for her advice and encouragement. And thank you to the Daily Deviant mods for another year of Kinky Kristmas.
The moment Ginny steps into the loo, her arms are twisted behind her, her face barely spared as she’s thrown against one of the stalls.
“You call that a dress, you filthy whore?” a voice growls in her ear.
She hates that voice. She aches for that voice. “Hanging out in the women’s loo is sleazy, Zabini. Even for you.”
“Sleazy, eh? That’s a good one. What would Saint Potter say if he knew his wife spent Christmas Eve getting fucked in a Muggle dance club?”
The truth is Ginny doesn’t know what Harry would say. He hasn’t spent Christmas Eve with her in several years. Nor many other nights. She redoubles her efforts to wrench her arms free because she needs this fight. She needs Blaise as rough as she can get him. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to have sex with you in this filthy loo,” she says.
“Have sex?” Blaise laughs. “Have sex. That’s a good one. Yeah, that’s what we do, isn’t it? We have sex.”
His laughter stops abruptly when she manages to kick the stiletto of her heel into his shin. She’s suddenly immobile, nearly crushed in his grip.
“Bitch,” he grits through his teeth. “You and your husband might have sex
, but I’m not your husband.” He gives her a painful squeeze. “And you’d best be thankful I didn’t decide to fuck you raw in a dark corner where anyone could walk by and see you giving it up.”
The thought alone has Ginny’s skin prickling in excitement, her cunt already getting slick. But she knows why they’re here in this loo. Some things Blaise can’t do in front of an audience, and Ginny wants them all. “Oh yeah, that’d be quite the show,” she snorts. “You whimper like a baby when you come, did you know?”
Blaise’s hand closes around her throat. “Are we really going to play this game, Weasley? I'm tired of it. And it's got to be hard on you, giving me that good-girl act when we both know what a dirty slut you really are.”
His fingers press, and Ginny feels that first delicious wave of adrenaline hit her, arousal right behind it.
“We both know you’re soaking your knickers right now for my cock. If you’re even wearing knickers. Are you wearing knickers?” He pauses for dramatic effect as she sputters for air. “Sorry, didn't catch that. No matter. I'll find out soon enough.”
Even tighter. Now Ginny can’t catch her breath at all. She twitches in instinctive panic, but Blaise holds firm.
He drops his voice. “And we both know you were hoping and praying Potter would get called in tonight so you could come to me and get what you really need. What he won’t give you. So can we drop the charade?”
Ginny starts to see spots in her vision. Spots are always better than tears.
Then his hand is gone, and she’s gasping and choking for sweet oxygen, and only two words will come out.
Blaise chuckles. “Always getting it backwards.” He lets her go for a split second before crushing both her wrists in one of his hands. She can feel him making jerky movements and knows that he’s removing his necktie. “And always insistent on doing things the hard way.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ginny snaps as she feels the silk knotting around her wrists.
“Making you more cooperative.” She can feel his fingers working nimbly, even as she wriggles to get loose.
“You've got a lot of nerve, Zabini. Don't think for one second—”
“Yeah, yeah. You don’t want this. You hate me. I disgust you. Blah blah blah.” And with that he digs another necktie from his pocket and gags her with it. “There. Now you don't have to worry about running that pretty little mouth.”
He lets go entirely and steps back, no doubt watching as Ginny tests the strength of his bonds. Then he’s taking her by the arms and maneuvering her towards the sink.
Ginny couldn’t not
look at her reflection if her life depended on it. She’s been wet since he first grabbed her. But the moment she sees herself in that mirror, arousal floods her from head to toe.
Harry would never believe she owns a dress like this. It’s scarlet red and skintight, held up by spaghetti straps on top and stopping just below the curve of her arse on bottom. The bonds force her smallish breasts outwards, the hard nipples clearly visible beneath. Her long hair is already tangled from their struggle, sticking up at odd angles around the gag.
And Blaise is right there behind her, gauging her reaction.
Sometimes Ginny forgets how horribly handsome he is.
“Bend,” he says, one hand between her shoulder blades, forcing her over the sink.
When she’s in a position that suits him, he jerks her dress up over her hips. It’s so tight that it stays with no problem. “Just as I suspected,” he says with a chuckle, finding nothing but bare skin.
Ginny whimpers when he begins to rub and knead the cheeks of her arse, too gently. Every stroke brings his fingers closer to her soaked lips, every stroke stopping just shy. In the mirror, she sees him smirk when she widens her stance, silently begging for his touch. His gaze is trained on her arse, almost worshipful. Then his eyes finally meet hers, and his fingers dip between her legs, right through all that wetness.
“Oh yeah,” he practically purrs. “I can feel how much you hate me, Weasley.”
It’s her reminder that she should be fighting him, and she immediately jerks away from his touch, pulling at his impossibly secure bonds.
Blaise responds by roughly grabbing a handful of her hair and pressing her forward until her breath ghosts the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he hisses. “God, if your husband could see you now. The Great Savior's wife, gagged and trussed up and sloppy wet for some big…hard… Slytherin cock.”Shut up, shut up!
she tries to say around the gag, although a part of her does
wish Harry could see her, just like this. See that someone wants her.
Blaise yanks her head back so that she’s looking straight up into his face. “No more talking,” he snaps. More casually, he adds, “You can moan and cry if you like, though. In fact, I'd prefer it if you did. But you might want to keep in mind that door's not locked or silenced, and anyone who comes to your aid is going to get an eyeful.” He gives her a truly wicked grin, white teeth gleaming. “You think they'd want to take a turn on you?”
She starts to yell around the gag for him to lock the door.
“Easy,” he says. “I charmed it so that Muggles see an Employees Only sign. I'm not the arse you make me out to be.” For a moment, his jaw tightens. Then he gives her a faint smile and a condescending kiss on the forehead.
“I don’t want to be an arse at all,” he adds. “But if you insist on being so difficult, I really have no choice but to punish you for it, do I? Cause and effect.” He lets go of her hair and wraps his fingers around her bound wrists, holding her in place. His other hand returns to stroking her arse. “A good, hard spanking should make you more obliging.”
Ginny hangs her head and closes her eyes, ashamed of what the mere idea of that does to her body. Her cunt clenches on nothing, and her back arches. She wants this too badly to pretend otherwise. And as Blaise starts to land light strikes, she can’t help the low moan she makes.
The gentle taps don’t last long. After as few as ten, he starts picking up both speed and intensity. After twenty, it really starts to sting. And after thirty, she hits that wall of panic. This hurts. She had forgotten just how much it hurts. And now it doesn’t matter how hard Blaise spanks her. Light or hard, it’s all blunt pressure on tender flesh, and she wants to be brave, to be strong and take it, but fuck it burns, it burns….
With a single muffled shout, she bows her back outward, trying to get away from his relentless palm, but the blows keep coming.
In fact, they only get harder in retaliation. “Where you going, hmm?” Blaise says, and now there’s a stern clip to his voice. “Where you going? You think that hurts?”
Of course it hurts. He’s whacking her with all his strength now, he’s got to be. Ginny glances in the mirror and shudders at the harsh set to his jaw.
“We’re just getting started,” he says. “Now arch your back and stop clenching, or it’ll be a lot worse.”
Ginny doesn’t want to test him on that. She chews on the gag to keep from crying out, eyes welling up with tears. She can feel her nose begin to stop up. For the most part, he alternates from cheek to cheek, but he doesn’t give her any time between strikes. And he wouldn’t dream of taking a moment to soothe her searing skin. This is punishment.
She wanted this. She tries to remind herself of that.
Then he’s not even alternating his strikes any more. He picks a single blazing spot on her left cheek, right at the bottom curve, and wails on it. It takes everything Ginny has not to scream, to cry, to growl in pain. He can’t go on like this. He just can’t. It almost feels like he’s taking skin off now, but she knows he isn’t. It always feels worse than it is. But she can’t take much more in that one spot. Her tears flow, the gag soaked with her spit, and she’ll have to stop him if he doesn’t let up soon, she’ll have to….
Then he stops.
And then the realization hits her. She may think she’s in pain, but it’s her cunt that’s really on fire. She feels wetness coating the insides of her thighs, her insides spasming in search of something, anything, to fill them.
“Oh yeah,” Blaise whispers in her ear, softly rubbing her burning skin. He chuckles. “Getting nice and warm now, aren’t you?”
Just as she inhales sharply to roar at him, he slides his fingers through the cleft of her arse and runs them over her outer lips. Ginny bucks back, but he refuses to touch her clit.
“Mmm, and even sloppier,” he says. He sucks her earlobe between his lips and teases her entrance with the tips of his fingers. “See, this is the part where I’d love to stop and stuff that pretty quim full of cock.” He gently pumps two fingers in and out of her, but only up to the first knuckle. “Give you the long… slow… deep fuck I know you need.”
An embarrassing sound escapes her, low and animalistic. She knows better than to try to move on his fingers. One small motion of her hips, and he’ll stop.
“But unfortunately for both of us,” he whispers, “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”
In less than a second, his fingers are gone and the strikes start again. Ginny doesn’t know if he’s spanking her even harder now — and she wouldn’t be surprised — or if she’s just so raw that it feels like he is. Either way, there’s no holding back anymore. She openly cries out in pain.
“That’s it,” Blaise says. “I was wondering when you’d start making some noise. Let’s see if I can’t make you louder.”
He’s alternating again, but all the strikes are falling directly on the most sensitive part of her arse. They’re so hard that she can feel the flesh bouncing with each one. The sharp sound rings out against the metal and porcelain of the loo, magnified, and it only makes it worse that people simply must
hear them from outside. They must hear her accompanying cries.
“You know. I’d say this hurts me worse than it hurts you.” Blaise has started to get out of breath. “But that arse is looking really fucking sore.” Whack, whack, whack.
It’s relentless. “You’re gonna have a hard time sitting still at Christmas dinner tomorrow, aren’t you?”
Ginny is outright bawling now. But she needs this punishment, needs to suffer for her desire to be here. And she needs this release. The pain actually begins to ebb, and she starts slipping into that fuzzy state of intoxication where nothing can touch her. Not Harry’s neglect of her, not her own shame over wanting this. Not even Blaise’s words, although she craves every one of them. But now they’re just seasoning to the raw, blistered meat of her abused arse.
Her body hasn’t quite caught on, though, because when she releases what she thinks is a hysterical laugh, it still comes out as a whimper. And she can still feel the strikes, no doubt about that. She almost feels like she’s choking from the spit-soaked gag, the snot streaming down into it, the constriction of her throat over her sobs.
Blaise knows. He always knows when it starts. Ginny doesn’t know whether to be grateful or to hate him for that. This is the best part, and this is where he starts to back off.
She dimly registers him cursing under his breath. Then he stops. He doesn’t touch her at all. Through her swollen, teary eyes, she can see him wipe his brow, his eyes never leaving her arse.
“Had enough?” The stern clip has softened. “Ready to be a good whore?”
Ginny squeezes her eyes closed. And around the gag, she forces out those same two words that started all of this. But this time they sound more like a plea than a curse.
Blaise sighs. “Guess not. But I gotta tell you, Weasley. My hand's getting tired.” She hears the tinkle of his belt buckle. “And you know what happens when my hand gets tired.”
Ginny lets out a long, low groan.
Time feels strange now. It seems only a split-second later — or maybe an hour — that the sharp leather of his belt comes into contact with her arse, a narrow stripe of acid burn across both cheeks at once.
The pain is nearly unbearable. And that much lets her know that it won’t last long.
“That's gonna leave marks,” Blaise says. He gives her another swat. “Do you even bother to cover them up?” And another. “Bet you don't have to.” And another. “Bet he fucks you in the dark, face-to-face like a nice boy, doesn't he?” Another, the hardest one yet. “Does he fuck you at all?”
She doesn’t even recognize the sounds coming out of her throat now. She’s past caring about them.
He stops again. “You know, I really don't like to see you suffer like this, pet,” he whispers, stroking her hair. “Especially when we could be doing so many more enjoyable things.”
He slowly rubs his palm down over her back, giving her bound wrists a light squeeze. Then his fingers again slide between her legs. Ginny just stands there and feels. “Tell you what. I'll take the gag off. And I'll give you five more licks.” His fingertip nudges her clit, and she shoots to her tiptoes, keening. He does it again, more softly. “But after each one, you have to say, 'Thank you for punishing your naughty slut.'
” He circles her clit over and over. “Can you do that? Or do we need to keep going with the belt indefinitely?”
Ginny shakes her head. She’s ready. She’s there
. And Blaise knows it.
“No?” he confirms. “You're ready to follow instructions?”
She pauses a moment, hating the way he says it, even as it sends another jolt of arousal through her cunt. Reluctantly, she nods.
“Good girl, good girl,” he chants. He very gingerly unties the knot on her gag and untangles it from her damp hair. He places it in the sink so she sees it if she looks down. A reminder. “Here comes the first one. Let me hear you, nice and loud.”
It’s not a hard strike, but Ginny stutters to comply with his terms. “Th-thank you….”
“Thank you for what?”
She grits her teeth. “Thank you for... for p-punishing....”
He fists her hair, jerking her head back. “You're going to make me lose my patience, slut. Say it, or the next one is really going to hurt.”
“Thank you for punishing your naughty slut,” she bites out.
“There we go,” he says with a smile, rubbing the flat of the belt over her dripping cunt. “That wasn't so hard, was it? Louder this time.”
Despite her compliance, the second one is harder. Ginny wonders if he’s drawing blood yet. It feels like he is. Still, she clenches her jaw against the words. Then, in a low growl, barely audible, she answers, “Thank you for punishing your naughty slut.”
“That's unacceptable,” Blaise yells. It’s rare that he raises his voice. Ginny winces. “If you can't say it louder than that, I'm going to start over. Are we clear?”
She whimpers, and he tugs on her fistful of hair.
“Are. We. Clear
Ginny says nothing simply to postpone the next strike. She pushes the pause as long as she can, until she hears Blaise’s sharp intake of breath, and then she’s helplessly spouting, “Yes! Yes, okay, okay.”
Rather than responding, he lands another swat, and this one is so hard that the humiliating words come from her mouth almost without thought.
“Better. But I want to hear you shout it.” He’s right up in her face now, and it’s a mess. He can probably see every trail of tears and snot, but he’s single-minded in his purpose. “I want to make sure that anyone near that door knows that there's a disobedient little whore in here who's getting exactly what she deserves. Now shout!”
He strikes the sensitive curve of her arse, and Ginny nearly bellows the degrading line.
“That's more like it,” Blaise purrs. “Now you're starting to convince me that you might have learned your lesson. One more time, with feeling.”
It’s the hardest strike he’s given her all night, and in a roar that everyone can certainly hear from outside the loo, Ginny says those words. “Thank you for punishing your naughty slut.”
Ginny means those words.
She hears the thud of the belt when it hits the floor, and then Blaise is fitting himself against her back, pulling her up into an awkward embrace. He nudges her hair out of the way with his nose, his lips trailing over her neck. “That's a good girl,” he whispers. “That's a very good girl. You took that so well. Look at you, look at you
And he is looking right at her in the mirror, a guarded look of awe on his face. “Look at you.” He fully takes in her red-rimmed eyes, her ruined makeup. With his thumb, he smears her lipstick. Then he slides two fingers between her salty lips. “Suck,” he demands, and she does, wetly, because she knows from experience there’s no telling where those fingers will go next.
Blaise groans, rubbing himself against her abused arse, the wool of his trousers rough enough to make her release another sob. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of her mouth, his lips dragging over the shell of her ear. “You feel that?” he whispers, rolling his hips. “You feel how hard I am for you?”
Ginny sucks in air around his fingers. Her nose is completely stuffed up from her crying. Yet she pushes back against him, feeling his hard cock against the cleft of her arse.
“I think you should do something about that, don’t you?” Blaise says. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
To emphasize the point, his fingers slide all the way to the back of her throat, nearly gagging her. But she knows Blaise. As much as he would love to see her knees scraping the tile of this filthy loo while she chokes on his cock, that’s not what he really wants right now. Not after a spanking like that. His patience has limits.
“Let’s do something about that dress first. I want to see your tits.”
Ginny knows he doesn’t mean taking it off. He only wants the important bits displayed for him, and he wants the rest pushed out of the way, torn, bunched up, whatever it takes to make her look the most wanton. Sure enough, the moment his fingers leave her mouth, he’s yanking at the skimpy material.
“Rip it and you’ll pay for it,” she says, but it comes out more breath than threat. Ginny doesn’t care about the dress, other than the fact that it’s all she’s got to wear out of this Muggle dump. And they have to be careful how much magic they use in a place like this. Ginny won’t use any at all. The stakes are higher for an Auror’s wife.
Blaise snaps the spaghetti straps like they’re nothing. “Like I can’t,” he replies with a smirk.
He’s still fully clothed, and Ginny’s dress is nothing but a narrow red sash around her waist. Blaise weighs her bare breasts, rolling her dark pink nipples between his fingers. With a sharp pinch, he whispers, “How’s that cunt feeling? Empty?”
Ginny’s back arches under the assault, but she doesn’t say anything. He knows what she wants, the bastard. She refuses to beg.
“Do you need to get fucked, Weasley?” His voice is exceedingly soft. “How long’s it been? A month? Two?”
She clenches her jaw against the truth, but she’s hissing a moment later when one of his hands slips down, fingertips lightly grazing the bare lips of her cunt.
Blaise chuckles, immediately removing his hand. It goes behind her, and she can feel his jerky motions as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers. “Up here,” he whispers, tugging on one of her legs until her heel is propped on the edge of the sink. It’s awkward. She has to lean back against him, and he secures her with an arm around her waist, his other hand guiding the head of his cock in circles around and around her entrance.
“So wet,” he whispers. Ginny watches in the mirror as he pushes in barely an inch, then retreats to nudge at her clit.
It’s too much after the spanking, and she snaps, “Are you going to fuck me or not, Zabini?”
Their eyes meet in the mirror. “That depends.” He continues the maddening tease. “Are you going to ask nicely?”
Ginny clenches her jaw. Nice isn’t what she’s here for.
With a low growl, Blaise shifts their weight until his fingers wrap around on her throat once more, jerking her head sideways and holding his cock motionless, just outside her. “I want
to fuck you.” His fingers press lightly. “See how easy that is, to say what you want? What you need?”
Ginny tries to impale herself, but he pulls his cock away, instead slapping her with it. She nearly yelps at the sharp pressure against her oversensitized clit.
“Yet you make me go through this nonsense,” he continues through his teeth, “every... fucking... time.” Each word is punctuated by a slap with his cock. “You think I won't start over on your arse, is that it?” The bass of his voice booms in the small space. “Just say it, you slut!”
“All right, fuck me!” Ginny cries, exhausted and aching. “Just… just fuck me…”
The ‘please’ is silent, only a slight movement of her lips, but it’s enough for Blaise. He slowly slides his length inside her. Her eyelids begin to droop, and Blaise’s hand tightens around her throat. “Oh no no no,” he says, “don't close your eyes. I want you to watch this.”
His grip doesn’t let up until she concedes. And the moment she glances down into the mirror, she involuntarily clenches around him at the sight. “That’s it,” he says with a low chuckle, “look at who’s fucking you.”
He slowly pumps his thick shaft in and out, her pink inner lips dragging greedily against him every time he pulls out. And with every thrust, his dark flesh glistens with more of her slickness. His free hand stretches over her belly, the pale fingernails hovering just over her mound.
“You were made to take my cock, Weasley,” he whispers. “You like that? You like watching yourself get split wide open?”
She releases a shaky breath. She would call him smug, except there’s no other way to describe what he’s doing to her, and they both know it.
“Mmm,” he hums, “I'm going to stretch that tight little cunt so wide your husband will have to fuck your arse to feel anything.” He pauses, smiling. “Or maybe that's his thing.”
“You know, Zabini,” she grits out, “if you fucked as dirty as you talk, you might have a chance at getting me off.”
It works. A second later, her foot is back on the floor and her face an inch from the faucet. Blaise yanks her hair again as he picks up speed and hisses in her ear, “Who says I want to get you off? I dare you to get off. I dare you. Go on.”
This is it. This is what she needs. The hard porcelain digs into her ribs, her scalp on fire. Blaise goes at her like a battering ram. His hand slips between her legs, giving her just the right pressure on her clit. Desperate, Ginny bucks back against him.
His answer is a strained chuckle. “You're not going to come, are you? You are really going to regret it if you come, Weasley.” He’s pounding away at her, his fingers working just right, and she’s so close. He’s chanting now to her, “don’t come, don’t,” and it only brings her closer.
“Know what’s going to happen when you come?” he pants. “I'm going to take it out on you.” Just as she feels it building to the point of no return, Blaise moves his hand. His thumb presses into her arsehole, his voice a whisper: “Right here, right here. Don't.
She explodes, crying out, her back bowed in release, and Blaise pulls out with a curse, fishing around in his pocket. Dimly, she’s aware of what he’s doing, but she’s still spasming when she feels the slick oil dripping down her crack and Blaise forcing his huge cock between her cheeks.
He’s lost it, too, mumbling ‘ohgodohfuck’ as he pushes all the way in. She whines at the stretching burn of it, and Blaise smacks her arse hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. “I told you,” he grunts, shoving himself in and out with no regard for the noise she’s making, “not to come.”
But that’s the end of his bravado. He jerks her up long enough to wrap his arms under her, his long fingers curling over her shoulders. Then he presses his cheek against her back and rides her arse like an animal, grunting and gasping, his voice steadily pitching higher until he shoves in as far as he can go and stills. And then it’s “Ginny, Gin, ahGinny
,” over every pulse of his cock inside her.
That’s the part she hates, but she grinds her teeth and bears his weight on her back when he collapses against her. She tolerates his sweaty forehead against her cheek, his lips so gentle against her neck. “Ginny.” She wants to buck him off of her, but she squeezes her eyes shut and lives with the fact that this is why and how this happens.
And eventually Blaise pulls himself together.
He slips out of her and stands, dragging both hands down his face. He’s still mostly dressed. Ginny can’t see it because she doesn’t open her eyes yet, but she can feel his trousers against the backs of her thighs and his shirttail brushing her very sore arse.
He’s tugging on the knots of the necktie before he even rights his clothes, and as soon as her hands are free, she scrambles to get her dress back into place. A daunting task, considering there wasn’t much of it to begin with. She feels sick. She avoids her reflection now.
They get themselves in order without meeting each other’s eyes. She sees Blaise pull out his wand just as she feels his come trickle out of her arse, and she grabs his wrist. “No.”
She drops his wrist and heads for the door.
“You know he doesn't lo—”
Ginny swings open the door, and the pounding bass swallows the rest of the sentence she's heard so many times before. The only one that really hurts.
It only takes about forty-five seconds to get out of the club and to a safe Apparition point. The bruises, on the other hand, should last through New Year's.
Just long enough to make another resolution.