The Hogwarts PlayWitch (Ch. 13 - Fleur Delacour) (Patreon)

Disclaimer: This story is set in a period of time after the war, where Harry and his friends return to Hogwarts to complete their studies. All featured characters are 18 years of age or older.

The silk gown slipped from Fleur Delacour's shoulder with a deliberate grace that made Harry's breath catch in his throat.

She stood in the centre of the Room of Requirement, which had transformed itself into a warm, intimate parlour for the evening's shoot. Rich burgundy drapes hung from the walls, catching the soft golden light of floating candles. A velvet chaise longue dominated the space, its deep crimson fabric practically begging for a beautiful woman to drape herself across it. The enchanted camera floated silently nearby, its lens trained on the goddess before him.

And Fleur Delacour was, without question, a goddess.

Merlin's fucking beard.

Harry had photographed beautiful women before. Daphne with her ice-queen perfection. Hermione with her bookish sensuality. Ginny with her fiery curves. But Fleur put them all to shame with nothing more than a bare shoulder emerging from the pooling silk.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever put in front of a lens, and she knew it. That knowledge sat in every line of her body, in the slight upward curve of her lips, in the way her silvery-blue eyes held his gaze without a flicker of uncertainty. There was no nervous fidgeting here, no blushing maiden waiting to be coaxed out of her shell. Fleur Delacour had walked into this room knowing exactly what she intended to give him, and she was going to take her sweet time doing it.

The Veela blood sang beneath her skin, a faint luminescence in the candlelight that made her fair complexion glow soft and warm. Her silver-blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, reaching nearly to her waist, shimmering with each subtle movement she made.

Her face was exquisite. High cheekbones that could cut glass. A straight, elegant nose. Full lips painted a deep rose that parted slightly as she breathed. And those eyes, pale blue with hints of silver, watching the camera with an expression of supreme confidence that made Harry's cock throb against the confines of his trousers.

Fleur let the other shoulder of the gown fall.

The silk whispered down her arms, catching briefly at her elbows before continuing its slow descent. Harry watched, transfixed, as inch after inch of creamy skin revealed itself. The elegant column of her throat. The delicate prominence of her collarbones. The upper swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each measured breath.

She paused there, letting the gown pool at her elbows, her arms held loosely at her sides. The silk still covered her chest, but barely, the neckline now resting precariously at the upper curve of her tits. One deep breath, Harry thought, and they'd spill free.

Please let her take a deep breath.

Fleur's lips curved into a knowing smile, as if she could read his thoughts. Perhaps she could. Veela were said to have an uncanny sense for desire, and Harry was currently radiating enough of it to power a small village.

She rolled her shoulders back, a movement so subtle it might have been unconscious, and the gown slipped lower. The silk caught on her nipples for one agonising moment before gravity won the battle, and Fleur Delacour's magnificent tits were bared to the world.

Harry forgot how to breathe.

They were perfect. Impossibly, devastatingly perfect. Full and round, with a natural firmness that defied their generous size. Her skin held that same ethereal glow, making her look like a Renaissance painting come to life, some masterwork that had stepped from its frame to torment mortal men with its beauty. Her nipples were a soft pink, small and delicate, already stiffening in the warm air of the parlour, standing at attention as if begging for his mouth.

The camera floated closer, capturing the way the candlelight played across her curves, the way shadows pooled in the valley between her breasts. Fleur made no move to pose or preen. She simply stood there, letting him drink in the sight, confident that the mere fact of her existence was enough.

She was right.

The gown continued its inexorable descent, sliding past the flat plane of her stomach, down over the gentle flare of her hips. Fleur's waist was impossibly narrow, giving way to hips that curved outward with a sensuality that made Harry's hands ache to grip them. The silk caught briefly at the swell of her arse before she gave a little shimmy, and the whole thing pooled at her feet in a puddle of shimmering fabric.

Fleur Delacour stood before him completely nude.

Holy fucking Merlin.

Her body was a study in perfection. Long, elegant legs that seemed to go on forever, tapering down from those gorgeous hips to delicate ankles. The Veela glow intensified now that she was fully exposed, her skin luminescent in the low light. Between her thighs, Harry caught a glimpse of smooth, bare skin, her pussy completely devoid of hair, the lips pressed demurely together as if keeping secrets he desperately wanted to uncover.

And her arse. When she turned slightly for the camera, Harry nearly groaned aloud. It was round and full, each cheek a perfect hemisphere of pale flesh that jiggled ever so slightly with her movement. The cleft between them was deep and shadowed, promising pleasures Harry could only imagine.

"Are you going to stand there with your mouth open," Fleur murmured, her French accent wrapping around each word like a caress, "or are you going to take photographs?"

Harry blinked, realising he had indeed been staring like a slack-jawed idiot. He raised his secondary camera, the one he held for manual shots, and began to work.

Click. Click. Click.

Fleur moved through poses without instruction, her body undulating with a serpentine grace that made Harry's cock strain painfully against his trousers. She turned to show him her profile, one arm raised to push her hair back, her back arching to thrust those magnificent tits forward. The pose lifted her breasts, making them appear even fuller, the nipples pointing slightly upward like offerings to some pagan god.

Click. Click.

She turned away entirely, looking over her shoulder at the camera with heavy-lidded eyes. This gave Harry an unobstructed view of her arse, those perfect globes catching the light, the shadow of her cleft drawing his eye downward. He could just make out the delicate folds of her pussy peeking between her thighs, glistening faintly with arousal.

Click. Click. Click.

"Like what you see?" Fleur asked, her voice a low purr. She bent forward slightly, placing her hands on her knees, and the movement made her arse jut out obscenely. Her cheeks parted with the pose, giving Harry a tantalising glimpse of her most private places. The tight pucker of her arsehole. The pink perfection of her cunt. All of it gleaming wetly in the candlelight.

"I think you know I do," Harry managed, his voice rougher than intended.

Fleur straightened and turned to face him again, her eyes dropping pointedly to the bulge in his trousers. A smile played at the corners of her lips, satisfied and hungry all at once.

"You 'ave been working so 'ard behind that camera," she said, crossing towards him with a slow, deliberate stride that made her tits sway hypnotically. "Perhaps it is time for you to... participate."

She stopped directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her bare skin. This close, the Veela glow was even more pronounced, bathing him in a soft luminescence that seemed to seep through his clothes and caress his skin directly.

Fleur reached out and traced a finger down his chest, her touch feather-light through his shirt. "Shall I show you what I 'ad in mind for this feature?"

Without waiting for an answer, she sank gracefully to her knees.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he looked down at her. Fleur Delacour, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, kneeling before him with that knowing smile on her perfect lips. Her silver-blonde hair pooled around her shoulders, catching the light, framing her face like a halo. Her tits hung full and heavy, swaying gently as she settled into position, the pink nipples almost close enough to brush against his thighs.

Her fingers went to his belt, working the buckle with unhurried precision. She didn't fumble, didn't rush. Every movement was deliberate, designed to build anticipation. The belt came free. The button followed. Then the zip, tooth by agonising tooth, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet parlour.

Fleur reached into his trousers and freed his cock.

It sprang forth, heavy and thick, slapping against his abdomen before jutting out towards her face. The head was flushed a dark purple, the shaft criss-crossed with prominent veins that pulsed with his heartbeat. Fully hard, it was an intimidating sight, well over a foot of throbbing man-meat pointing directly at her beautiful face.

Fleur's eyes widened fractionally, the first genuine surprise Harry had seen from her all evening. But it lasted only a moment before that confident smile returned, tinged now with something that looked almost like hunger.

"Mon Dieu," she breathed, wrapping one elegant hand around his shaft. Her fingers were cool against his heated flesh, and they couldn't even come close to meeting around his considerable girth. "They said you were impressive, but I did not expect... this."

She stroked him slowly, her grip firm but unhurried, watching as a bead of pre-cum welled up at the tip. Her thumb swept across the head, spreading the slickness, and Harry's hips twitched involuntarily.

"Such a magnificent cock," Fleur murmured, almost to herself. "It would be a crime not to worship it properly."

She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the head.

Harry groaned at the contact, his hands clenching at his sides as he fought the urge to grab her hair and fuck her throat. But Fleur was clearly not a woman to be rushed, and part of him wanted to see exactly what she would do when left to her own devices.

Her tongue emerged and traced a long, slow line up the underside of his shaft. From root to tip, she licked him like he was the most delicious treat she'd ever tasted, her eyes fluttering closed in apparent bliss. She reached the head and swirled her tongue around the crown, dipping into the slit to lap up the moisture gathered there.

"Mmm," she hummed, the sound vibrating against his sensitive flesh. "You taste exquisite."

She kissed her way back down his length, her full lips pressing against the heated skin, leaving traces of her lipstick along his shaft. When she reached the base, she nuzzled against him, inhaling deeply, before continuing down to mouth at his heavy balls.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Harry watched, mesmerised, as Fleur worshipped his cock with single-minded devotion. This wasn't the eager, slightly clumsy attention of a schoolgirl desperate to please. This was a grown woman who knew exactly what she was doing, who understood the art of building pleasure, of stoking desire until it became an inferno.

She took one of his balls into her mouth, rolling it gently on her tongue before releasing it to give the other the same treatment. Her hand never stopped its slow stroking, maintaining a steady rhythm that kept him on edge without pushing him over.

"You 'ave been working so 'ard," Fleur murmured against his sack, her accent thickening with arousal. "Photographing all those eager little girls. But I am not a girl, 'Arry. I am a woman."

She licked her way back up his shaft, pausing to kiss the sensitive spot just beneath the head. "And a woman knows 'ow to properly appreciate a cock like this."

She took him into her mouth.

Harry's head fell back as wet heat enveloped his cock. Fleur's lips stretched wide around his girth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, her tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. She took him slowly, inch by inch, never gagging, never rushing, just steadily swallowing more and more of his length until her nose pressed against his pelvis.

How the fuck is she doing that?

She held there for a long moment, her throat working around him, massaging his cock with muscles Harry hadn't known existed. Then she began to pull back, just as slowly, her lips dragging along his shaft, the suction intense enough to make his toes curl in his shoes.

When only the head remained in her mouth, she looked up at him through her lashes, those silvery-blue eyes meeting his green ones. The image was seared into his brain forever, Fleur Delacour on her knees, her lips stretched around his cock, her magnificent tits heaving with each breath, looking up at him like he was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

She sank back down, faster this time, setting a rhythm that had Harry gripping the edge of the table behind him for support. The wet sounds of her mouth working his cock filled the parlour, obscene and beautiful, accompanied by the soft hum of pleasure she made with each stroke.

The floating camera drifted closer, capturing every angle: the way her lips clung to his shaft, the way her throat bulged when she took him deep, the way her tits swayed with each movement of her head. This was going to be the most erotic footage PlayWitch had ever published.

Fleur pulled off his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening head. She stroked him lazily, her other hand coming up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in her palm.

"Do you know why I wanted to do this?" she asked, her voice husky. "Why I approached your magazine?"

Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Fleur's smile turned predatory. "Because I 'eard rumours. About a cock so magnificent that witches were lining up to be ruined by it. About a wizard who could make even the proudest pure-blood beg to be bred." She licked a long stripe up his shaft. "I 'ad to see for myself if the rumours were true."

"And?" Harry managed.

"The rumours," Fleur said, her eyes gleaming, "did not do you justice."

She sat back on her heels, and for a moment, Harry thought she might stand. Instead, she cupped her magnificent tits in both hands, lifting them, pressing them together. The resulting cleavage was obscene, a deep valley of pale flesh that made Harry's cock twitch with anticipation.

"I think," Fleur murmured, "that this deserves special attention."

She leaned forward and enveloped his cock between her breasts.

Harry groaned as soft, warm flesh surrounded his shaft. Fleur pressed her tits together around him, creating a tight channel that swallowed his shaft whole. The sensation was incredible, all that yielding softness wrapped around his hardness, the slight friction of skin against skin.

Fleur began to move, stroking him with her tits, sliding them up and down his length in a steady rhythm. Each stroke pressed her soft flesh against him from every angle, the valley between her breasts perfectly fitted to accommodate his girth. When she pushed down, the head of his cock emerged from her cleavage, purple and swollen, glistening with her saliva, and Fleur craned her neck to lap at it before it disappeared again.

"You like that?" she purred, looking up at him through her lashes. "You like fucking my tits?"

"Fuck yes," Harry groaned, his hips rocking forward to meet her strokes.

Fleur smiled and spat on his cock, the warm saliva adding slickness to her strokes. She worked it into her cleavage with her tits, the wet sounds mixing with her soft moans of pleasure. The head kept pushing up between her breasts with each stroke, and each time it did, Fleur was there to worship it with her tongue.

The camera floated in close, capturing the sight of Harry's massive cock buried between Fleur's magnificent tits. The contrast was stunning, his dark, veined shaft against her pale, luminescent flesh, his mushroom head pushing up through her cleavage, her tongue darting out to tease it. Harry knew this image alone would sell thousands of copies.

"Your cock feels so good between my breasts," Fleur moaned, picking up the pace. "So 'ard. So 'ot. I could do this all night."

But even as she said it, Harry could see the flush spreading down her chest, the way her thighs pressed together as she knelt before him. She was getting off on this, her pussy growing wetter with each stroke, her arousal perfuming the air. Her nipples were rock hard now, stiff little points riding the tops of her breasts as she worked him.

After what felt like an eternity of exquisite torture, Fleur released him from her cleavage. She rose gracefully to her feet, her body unfolding like a flower blooming, and turned to face the chaise longue.

She walked away from him with deliberate slowness, giving him a perfect view of her arse as it swayed hypnotically with each step. The way her cheeks bounced slightly, the way the candlelight caught the curves, the tantalising glimpse of her pussy between her thighs, it was almost too much to bear.

Fleur reached the chaise and knelt upon it, facing away from him. She placed her hands on the crimson velvet, her back arching, her magnificent arse thrust toward him in unmistakable invitation. Her thighs parted slightly, revealing the glistening pink of her pussy, the delicate folds practically dripping with arousal.

She looked back over her shoulder, silver-blonde hair cascading down her back, those pale eyes burning with need.

"I am done waiting, 'Arry," she said. "Come and fuck me."

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

He crossed the distance between them in three quick strides, his cock bobbing before him, still wet with her saliva. He positioned himself behind her, his hands going to her hips, marvelling at the way his fingers sank into her soft flesh. The Veela glow intensified at his touch, pulsing like a heartbeat, warming his palms.

He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, feeling the wet heat of her pussy kissing his tip. Fleur pushed back against him impatiently, but Harry held her still, savouring the moment.

"Please," Fleur breathed, her composure cracking for the first time. "'Arry, please..."

Harry pushed forward, sinking into her with one long, slow stroke.

Fleur's moan filled the parlour, deep and unashamed. Her pussy clenched and fluttered around him, impossibly tight despite how wet she was, her walls squeezing every inch of his invading shaft. Harry groaned at the sensation, his fingers tightening on her hips as he buried himself to the hilt.

She was incredible. Hot and wet and tight, her inner muscles rippling along his length as if trying to draw him even deeper. He could feel every ridge and fold of her pussy wrapped around him, could feel the way her body trembled beneath his hands.

"Mon Dieu," Fleur gasped, her head falling forward between her shoulders. "You are so big... stretching me so wide..."

Harry pulled back slowly, watching as his cock emerged inch by inch from her gripping heat, the shaft glistening with her juices. When only the head remained inside, he paused, letting her feel the emptiness, letting the anticipation build.

Then he pushed back in, a bit harder this time, and Fleur cried out in pleasure.

They fell into a rhythm, each stroke deliberate and deep. Harry's hips met her arse with a soft slap on every thrust, the sound mixing with Fleur's breathy moans and the wet noise of their joining. Her pussy clung to him with each withdrawal, as if reluctant to let him go, before welcoming him back with a fresh flood of arousal.

"Oui," Fleur gasped, pushing her arse back to meet his thrusts. "Just like that... don't stop... feels so good..."

Harry watched, entranced, as his cock disappeared into her over and over. The sight of her pussy stretched around his girth was hypnotic, her pink lips clinging to his shaft, her arousal coating his length in a slick sheen that caught the candlelight. Below, her magnificent tits swayed with each thrust.

He released one hip to reach beneath her, cupping one of those swaying breasts in his palm. The flesh was warm and heavy, spilling through his fingers as he squeezed. Fleur moaned at the added sensation, arching her back to press more firmly into his hand.

"Harder," she demanded, her voice thick with need. "Fuck me 'arder, 'Arry..."

Harry obliged, picking up the pace. His hips snapped forward with more force, driving his cock deep into her clutching heat, the slap of flesh against flesh growing louder, more insistent. Fleur's moans escalated in pitch, her French accent growing thicker as coherent words began to fail her.

"Oui! Oui! Just like that! Don't stop!"

The camera floated around them, capturing every angle of their coupling. Harry from behind, his muscular body driving into her soft curves. A side view that showed his cock pistoning in and out of her stretched pussy. Fleur's face, twisted in ecstasy, her mouth open in a continuous moan of pleasure.

Harry's hands moved to her arse, gripping those perfect cheeks, spreading them as he fucked her. The new angle let him drive even deeper, and Fleur screamed, her body going rigid as the first orgasm crashed over her.

Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, her walls rippling and clenching in waves of pleasure. Harry groaned at the sensation, gritting his teeth as he fought to maintain his rhythm, fucking her through her climax, extending it until she was sobbing into the velvet beneath her.

"Fuck! Fuck! Mon Dieu, yes!"

Her composure was gone now, shattered by the force of her orgasm, replaced by raw, desperate need. The cool, confident Veela had been reduced to a writhing, moaning mess on his cock, and the sight only drove Harry's arousal higher.

He picked up the pace even further, his hips a blur as he pounded into her. The sound of flesh meeting flesh was nearly deafening now, accompanied by Fleur's continuous stream of French and English expletives, her pussy still clenching around him in aftershocks.

"'Arry! Yes! Fuck me! Use me! Make me yours!"

Her arse bounced with every thrust, those perfect cheeks rippling from the impact of his hips. Harry watched, mesmerised, as he drove himself into her over and over, his cock coated in her cream, her juices dripping down her thighs to pool on the velvet beneath them.

He could feel his own orgasm building, the pressure in his balls reaching critical mass. His thrusts became erratic, more forceful, driving into her with everything he had.

"I'm going to cum," Harry warned, his voice strained. "Going to fill you up, Fleur..."

"Oui! Do it! Fill me with your cum! I want to feel it inside me!"

Harry gripped her hips hard and buried himself to the hilt. His cock pulsed as he came, thick ropes of seed flooding her womb, filling her to overflowing. Fleur screamed as a second orgasm tore through her, triggered by the sensation of his hot cum painting her insides.

"YESSS! I CAN FEEL IT! SO MUCH! FILL ME!"

Harry's hips jerked with each pulse, pumping more and more of his seed into her willing body. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through him as he emptied himself inside her.

When it finally subsided, he slumped over her back, both of them breathing hard. His cock remained buried inside her, still twitching with the aftershocks, his cum already beginning to leak out around his shaft.

Slowly, Harry pulled out, and a flood of his seed followed, dripping from her well-used pussy in thick globs. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork, the way her cunt gaped slightly, the way his cum oozed from her in a steady stream.

Fleur collapsed forward onto the chaise, her silver-blonde hair fanned out around her, her body still trembling. After a long moment, she gathered herself enough to look back over her shoulder at the camera, a satisfied smile curving her swollen lips.

"I trust," she purred, her voice wrecked, "that this will make a suitable feature?"

The camera captured everything. Her flushed face. Her satisfied smile. The river of cum leaking from her ruined pussy. It was, without question, the most erotic image Harry had ever captured.

"I think," Harry said, grinning, "this might be our best issue yet."

Disclaimer: This story is set in a period of time after the war, where Harry and his friends return to Hogwarts to complete their studies. All featured characters are 18 years of age or older.