Lily Luna's Naughty Friends (Ch. 4 - Are You Coming?) (Patreon)

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are consenting adults (18+), and none of the characters are related to Harry Potter.

Harry climbed the stairs with a singular purpose burning through every nerve in his body, his hand gripping the banister tight, each step bringing him closer to the blessed sanctuary of the bathroom where he could finally, finally take himself in hand and deal with the absolute fucking disaster that had been his entire day.

The girls had mentioned the jacuzzi earlier. He had overheard them in the kitchen, huddled together and giggling about their plans for the evening, and he had caught just enough of the conversation to know they would be occupied for at least an hour, maybe two. That was his window. One hour of peace. One hour alone in his bathroom with his cock in his fist and his eyes closed and the memory of everything they had done to him playing on loop behind his eyelids until he exploded into the most desperate orgasm of his life.

Just need to get to the bathroom, he told himself, taking the stairs two at a time. Just need to get behind a locked door and handle this before I lose my fucking mind.

But even as he climbed, even as the bathroom drew closer, the day came flooding back. Every torturous second of it, replaying through his head in vivid, cock-throbbing detail, and by the time he reached the landing his erection was straining so hard against his trousers that walking had become an exercise in agony.

It had started that morning at breakfast.

Lily had kissed him.

On the cheek, technically, but so close to the corner of his mouth that he could feel the warmth of her lips ghost across his skin, could smell the sweetness of her perfume filling his head as she leaned in. She had lingered there for just a heartbeat too long, her body pressed against his side, her tits soft and warm through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"Thank you for being such a good Daddy," she had whispered, her breath warm against his cheek, and then she had bounced away to join the others at the table, leaving Harry standing there with his heart hammering in his chest and his cock already stirring in his trousers.

Fuck, Harry thought, pausing on the landing to adjust himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That had only been the beginning.

Rose had been next, innocent little Rose who had swallowed his cock down her throat just last night and looked up at him with those green eyes like he was the best thing she had ever tasted. She had been sitting across from him at breakfast, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, and she had reached across the table for the jam, leaning forward with deliberate slowness, and her blouse had fallen open.

Harry's breath had caught in his throat as he found himself staring straight down her top at two of the most magnificent tits he had ever seen in his life. Rose had forgone a bra entirely, which meant there was nothing between him and her bare breasts but a few inches of empty air and the loose fabric of her blouse gaping wide. They hung there, heavy and full, swaying gently with her movement, her pink nipples stiff in the morning air, and Harry had sat there paralysed, unable to look away as they swung like pendulums, soft and round and absolutely fucking perfect, and all he could think about was burying his face between them and never coming up for air.

She had taken her time with the jam. She had taken forever with the bloody jam, reaching and stretching and letting those gorgeous tits sway back and forth, and by the time she sat back down with a demure little smile Harry had been harder than he had ever been in his entire life.

That little minx knew exactly what she was doing, Harry thought, climbing the last few stairs to the landing. She knew I could see everything and she drew it out on purpose.

But even Rose's brazen display had paled in comparison to what Victoire had done to him.

It had been mid-afternoon, and Harry had been in the kitchen trying to focus on making lunch, trying very hard not to think about tits or arses or the three gorgeous women currently occupying his house, when Victoire had wandered in wearing a skirt so short it barely qualified as clothing. She had asked him something, he couldn't even remember what, and then she had turned to rummage through one of the low cupboards, bending over at the waist, her legs straight.

Her skirt had ridden up.

Harry had nearly dropped the knife he was holding.

The skirt had slid up over the round cheeks of her arse like a curtain being drawn back to reveal the main event, rising higher and higher until he could see everything, absolutely everything she had to offer. She was wearing a thong so tiny it might as well have been nothing at all, a thin string that disappeared between her magnificent cheeks and left her bare arse on full display. Harry had stared at those two perfect cheeks, round and firm and golden-skinned, watching them shift and flex as she rummaged through the cupboard, and his cock had throbbed so hard it ached.

He could see the string of her thong vanishing between her cheeks, could see the soft pucker of her arsehole peeking out on either side of the fabric, could see her pussy lips swelling around the thin strip of material. She had stayed bent over for what felt like hours, searching for something she had probably never intended to find, giving him an eyeful of the most obscene view he had ever witnessed in his kitchen, and by the time she straightened up and wandered away Harry had been gripping the counter so hard his fingers had cramped.

A full day of teasing. A full day of tits in his face and arses shaking at him and lips brushing the corner of his mouth. A full day of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen parading themselves in front of him like they were begging to be fucked, and not a single opportunity to touch, not a single moment alone to deal with the ache that had been building in his balls since he woke up.

But now, Harry thought, finally reaching the bathroom door. Now I get my chance.

He pushed the door open.

And stopped dead.

Victoire was bent over in front of him, her legs perfectly straight, her arse thrust out behind her, and she was in the process of peeling a tiny white thong down her thighs.

Every coherent thought fled Harry's mind.

She was completely naked, her clothes already discarded somewhere out of sight, and the thong was halfway down her thighs, stretched between her legs like a banner of surrender. Her arse was on full display, two round, perfect cheeks of golden flesh presented to him at eye level, and she was swaying her hips from side to side as she worked the underwear lower, making that magnificent flesh ripple and shift with every movement.

Oh fuck. Oh fucking Merlin.

Harry couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stand there in the doorway and stare at the most obscene sight he had ever witnessed, his cock lurching to full, painful hardness so fast the blood pounded in his ears.

She was bent completely at the waist, her silvery-blonde hair cascading down to brush the tiles, and her arse was the highest point of her body, thrust back at him like an offering. Her cheeks were parted just enough by her position that he could see the dark crease between them, could see the tight pink pucker of her arsehole winking at him in the bathroom light. And below that, Merlin help him, her pussy. Her fucking gorgeous pussy, puffy lips parted slightly by her position, glistening with arousal in the warm light.

The thong continued its torturous descent, sliding down her thighs with agonising slowness, and Victoire kept swaying her hips, kept making her arse dance for him like she had been born to do exactly this. Left, right, left again, each movement sending ripples through that perfect flesh, each sway giving him a new angle on her exposed holes.

Close the door, some distant part of Harry's brain screamed at him. Turn around. Walk away. Don't just stand here staring at your niece's pussy like a man dying of thirst.

But his body refused to obey. His feet were rooted to the floor, his eyes were glued to her swaying arse, and his cock was straining so hard against his trousers that he was genuinely concerned something might tear.

The thong slipped lower, sliding past her knees, and Victoire stepped out of it gracefully, one foot and then the other, still bent over, still presenting herself to him. She kicked the underwear aside with one dainty foot, and then she looked back over her shoulder with those brilliant green eyes and smiled.

"Uncle Harry," she purred, and her voice was pure sex, honey and sin wrapped around his name. "I didn't hear you come in."

Liar, Harry thought, but the word wouldn't form on his tongue. Nothing would. His mouth had gone completely dry, his throat had closed up, and all he could manage was a strangled sound that might have been her name.

Victoire straightened slowly, unfurling her body like a flower blooming in reverse, and turned to face him. Harry's gaze travelled up her body without his permission, drinking in every inch of her naked form. Her legs were long and toned, her hips flaring out into full curves, her stomach flat and golden. And her tits. Merlin, her tits. They sat high and proud on her chest, heavy and round, her pink nipples already stiff, the most perfect pair of breasts Harry had ever seen.

She looked like Fleur. She looked so much like Fleur it made his head spin, and suddenly he was back in Shell Cottage during the war, Fleur riding him on that narrow bed while Bill was away, her veela blood singing through her as she bounced on his cock and begged him to fill her up. Had they made Victoire that night? Had he planted his seed in Fleur's fertile womb and created this goddess now standing before him, naked and willing and looking at him like she wanted to devour him whole?

Fuck. Don't think about that. Don't think about—

But it was too late. The thought was there, pulsing through his skull in time with his heartbeat, and it only made him harder.

Victoire crossed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps, her tits swaying with each step, her hips rolling in a rhythm that seemed designed specifically to drive him insane. She stopped in front of him, so close he could feel the heat radiating off her naked body, so close he could smell the arousal on her, the thick musk of a wet cunt that made his balls ache.

"You've been suffering all day, haven't you?" Victoire murmured, her eyes dropping to the obvious bulge in his trousers. "I've seen the way you look at us. The way you try to hide how hard we make you." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, pink and glistening. "Poor uncle Harry. All pent up with nowhere to go."

She reached out, and Harry's breath caught in his throat as her fingers found his belt buckle. She worked the leather open with practised ease, her green eyes never leaving his face, and then she was tugging down his zipper, her knuckles brushing against his straining shaft through the fabric.

"Let me help you," she whispered, and before Harry could respond, before he could find the words to tell her they shouldn't, that this was wrong, that she was his niece for fuck's sake, she had reached inside his trousers and wrapped her fingers around his bare cock.

"Oh, fuck," Harry groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily into her grip.

Victoire's eyes went wide, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she felt the size of him, and then a slow, wicked smile spread across her face.

"Merlin," she breathed, pulling him free of his trousers. "Rose wasn't exaggerating."

His cock sprang up between them, thick and hard and throbbing with need, the head flushed dark with blood and already glistening with moisture. Victoire stared at it with undisguised hunger, her fingers still wrapped around the base, nowhere close to meeting around his girth.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, and she sounded genuinely reverent, like she was admiring a work of art. "I've been dreaming about this cock since I was old enough to dream about cocks. Wondering what it would look like. What it would feel like." Her thumb traced a slow circle over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of pre-cum she found there. "What it would taste like."

And then she dropped to her knees.

Harry watched, his chest heaving, as Victoire knelt before him on the bathroom tiles, his cock bobbing inches from her face. She looked up at him through her lashes, and her tongue darted out to trace a slow, wet line up the underside of his shaft.

"Fuck!" Harry's knees buckled at the sensation, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the door frame.

Victoire giggled, the sound vibrating against his sensitive flesh, and then she did it again, licking him from base to tip with agonising slowness. Her tongue was hot and wet and soft, and every stroke of it against his cock sent jolts of pleasure rocketing through his body.

"You taste even better than I imagined," Victoire purred, her breath warm against his spit-slick shaft. "I used to touch myself thinking about this, you know. Lying in bed at night, imagining what it would be like to have uncle Harry's big cock in my mouth."

She took him into her mouth then, her lips stretching wide around his girth, and Harry's groan echoed off the bathroom tiles. Her mouth was hot and wet and fucking perfect, her tongue swirling around his head as she sucked, and she took him deeper with every bob of her head, her eyes locked on his face the entire time.

But then she pulled back, releasing him with a wet pop, and before Harry could protest she was pressing his cock down, guiding it towards her chest.

"I want to feel you here first," she said, her voice husky with need. "I've imagined this so many times."

She sandwiched his cock between her tits, pressing them together around his shaft, and Harry's mind went blank.

Her breasts were soft and warm, enveloping him in a heaven of yielding flesh, and when she started to move, sliding them up and down his length, Harry had to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. The head of his cock emerged from her cleavage with every upstroke, glistening with pre-cum and saliva, and Victoire dipped her head to swirl her tongue around it before it disappeared back between her tits.

"Fuck, Victoire," Harry groaned, his hips starting to thrust of their own accord. "That's... that's..."

"I know," she murmured against his tip, her words vibrating through his cock. "Your cock feels so good between my tits, uncle Harry. So big and hard and hot." She squeezed her breasts tighter around him, creating a channel of soft flesh that gripped him on every stroke. "I want you to fuck them. Use me."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. His hands found her shoulders, steadying himself as he began to thrust, sliding his cock through her cleavage. Her tits bounced with every stroke, her nipples dragging against his shaft, and every time his head emerged she caught it with her tongue.

"That's it," she encouraged, her eyes blazing with lust as she looked up at him. "Fuck my tits, Uncle Harry. Use them like you've always wanted to."

Harry was lost. Lost in the sensation of her soft breasts wrapped around his cock, lost in the sight of her looking up at him with those green eyes, lost in the sheer fucking depravity of what they were doing. His thrusts grew faster, harder, and Victoire matched his rhythm, bouncing her tits along his length, suckling at his tip every time it emerged.

"I've dreamed about this," she gasped between mouthfuls of his cock. "Dreamed about you using me like this. Taking what you want. Making me your little veela slut."

"Fuck," Harry groaned, feeling his orgasm building. "Victoire, I'm going to—"

"Victoire!"

The voice floated down the hallway, and Harry's heart seized in his chest.

"Are you coming? The water's getting cold!"

Lily. It was Lily's voice.

Victoire's mouth left his cock, her tits falling away from his shaft, and Harry was left standing there, his cock throbbing desperately in the empty air, so close to release he could taste it.

"Coming!" Victoire called back, her voice perfectly steady despite having had his cock between her lips mere seconds ago. She looked up at Harry, a wicked smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and she pressed one last lingering kiss to the head of his cock, her lips leaving a glistening print on his sensitive flesh.

"I'll make it up to you later," she whispered, and then she was rising to her feet, grabbing a towel from the rack, and sweeping out of the bathroom like she hadn't just brought him to the very edge of sanity and left him there.

Harry stood frozen in the doorway, his cock jutting out obscenely from his trousers, still wet with her saliva, still throbbing with desperate need. He could hear their voices now, Victoire joining the others in the hallway, their footsteps and giggles fading towards the garden where the jacuzzi waited.

His balls ached. His cock ached. Everything fucking ached.

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are consenting adults (18+), and none of the characters are related to Harry Potter.