"I'm going to fucking ruin you."
-
The Dark Lord conquers the wizarding world, Harry Potter is dead. Muggleborns are slaughtered. Halfblood's are shoved into imprisonment, conditioned to alter their beliefs and dictated to worship Purebloods.
Y/N Y...
I wish to be satisfied with what my eyes perceive when I look in the mirror. Instead, I see my imperfections outshining what society calls beauty standards.
How cinched must my waist be? How much of a curve must my hips convey? Chest size? Height? Must my nose exist and lift in the thinnest line? Why must my skin be free of blemishes? If the hair on my head and the lashes by my eyes must be long, why can't the hair on my legs remain that way?
Why are perfections considered attractive when absolutely no one on this planet called Earth conveys the perfect body?
Yet, in this intimate position with Vance, he worships my body— every touch is enhanced, intensified as if he were abrading his fingertips upon a goddess.
He serves his trace, our skin pressed against one another. A cotton sheet of blush absorbs within the pores of my cheekbones. His touch brings illuminations to my system, with him— I feel alive.
"Fuck— you're gorgeous," his words pour into the shape of my ear, his lips pressing at the nape of my neck and the crevices of my collarbones. "—so fucking tight too."
My body has slumped, my inner legs straddled at his hips as we both make efforts to motion penetration. His large cock pumping in and out of my frail body.
Delirious moans and unpretentious whimpers slip past my tongue. "Oh gosh—," my forehead drops to his hefty shoulder, his skin absorbing the voicing of my pleasure.
Satisfaction is driving me into insanity.
We've been at it for hours.
Round after round.
I've lost tally of how many times I have orgasmed.
The flesh beneath my skin heightened and overflowed with pulses of gratification. His cock shuttered in me, releasing his liquid in timely splutters as his air carried a heavier weight.
