Harry Potter: Seducing Destiny

Amelia pushed her wet form against Harry, her breasts now bereft of her bra's protection, and her nipples brushing against his solid chest. She grabbed him by his neck and sucked his earlobe, grabbing his right hand and placing it on her cheek, shivering as his fingers crawled down her cheek, down the hollow of her neck and fell in between her heaving breasts. She felt his cock, thick and veiny and definitely larger than James, pulse angrily against her abdomen. It brushed against her panties and she shuddered again, her own wetness separated only by a flimsy piece of cloth didn't look at all enough to keep that raging cock from tearing a new one into her.

It scared her.

Harry grabbed her by her neck and pulled her to his lips. She allowed her own arms to flow backwards and snake around his neck and pull his face to meet hers. Their lips met instantly and parted seconds later. His tongue darted straight into her mouth and met her own tongue, probing hard and fast against him. She kissed him passionately, their mouths never quite leaving each other, even for air. Instead, she pushed herself further into him, his cock slipping all over her legs and abdomen every single time, water splashing all over the floor as they made out.

And then Harry pushed back.

Amelia left his lips and panted for air as he pushed her back, splashing even more water, until he was now pressing her against the other end of the tub. Their positions were now reversed, with him over her. His calloused, Quidditch-playing hands slid up and grabbed her mounds of tit flesh and with all and mauled them, squeezing them hard without abandon, all the while scouring the insides of her mouth with his tongue. She could sense the unrest within him, knew that he wanted to fuck her and she wanted to get fucked by him. She squealed as she felt his hand crawl beneath her and grab her arse and maul them, while his other hand squeezed her left tit, his cock probing against her panties.

And then she felt him grab the thin thread of her panties and pull them down and insert a single finger into her wetness.

Yes! Yes James! Finally! Just a little deeper.

She pulled him closer and stared into her emerald eyes —

And froze.

Emerald eyes, not brown. Emerald. Like Lily. This — This wasn't James. This was Harry, James's son, and she had just—

Her eyes widened, and her jaw fell open.

What have I done?

She gasped as she stared at him as if she had never seen him before. He looked so much like James, from the unruly hair to the intense, pussy-clenching gaze to that lopsided grin. It was all James. The Casanova outlook, James. That devil-may-care attitude, James. That intensely sharp mind hiding behind a brawn Gryffindor, James.

But he wasn't James. He was his son.

Harry. Harry James Potter.

"What the fuck have I done?" She asked, her pent-up sexual demands evaporating on the fly. "I — I — I need to get out of here!"

She tried to get off the bath, spilling more water all over the floor, but Harry grabbed her waist and pulled her down. She spun around and whacked his hand away with hers, but he didn't let her. He spun her around until her back was facing him and pulled her into the water with him, his hands mauling her breasts without mercy.

"Leave — let me — let me go!" She demanded between moans. "This is — is wrong! We shouldn't have done this! Harry — Mr. Potter—"

"We did what we wanted," said Harry. He was just trying to reassure her. No, he was just trying to fuck her. Obviously, he wanted her body after everything that had happened between them. Scoring with a sensual older woman was exactly how his teenage mind would work. There was no way she was going to —

Her thoughts died as she let out another long, soft moan as he pushed a finger into her folds.

"Please, stop! Harry! Stop! We can't do this."

He nibbled her ear. "Why?"

"Because — because this is wrong!"

The finger in her folds became two. "Why?"

Why? What why?

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I want to. You want to. We're both adults. You wouldn't have kissed me if you didn't want this."

Oh, how could she explain? She had gotten confused by her own emotions. Somewhere between talking to him and listening to him systematically tear down every single wall and reveal her true self to her with just words made her feel utterly naked before his gaze. Was it any surprise that her clothes had followed suit?

"It doesn't matter! I'm — I'm easily your mother's age."

Her words felt hollow, even to her. She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be kissed by him. She tried hard to stop her thoughts, to regain the ironclad will she had maintained over the past two decades. She tried to convince herself that she didn't want this, that she would tell him off and obliviate him of this memory.

But the truth still came to her, and she knew she wanted him to fuck her, and that she was going to enjoy every minute, even though she wanted to deny it to herself. She knew that deep down, not only did she want him to fuck her, but she wanted to fuck him back and love all of it.

Slowly, her histrionics ceased, and she lay in the water, right above him, his erect cock between her legs and his hands on her stomach and breasts. Butterflies the size of houses fluttered in her belly. How had this started? When had she turned from the Iron Lady DMLE Director to this repressed slut craving for the touch of a young man half her age?

"It's okay," she murmured at last. "I'm not going anywhere."

She turned her head and met his emerald gaze. There was concern in his eyes, concern and affection and a finality that she just couldn't look away from. Just what was it he did to her? There she was, DMLE Director, war-veteran Hit-Witch, the bane of criminals. So why was this young man looking at her like she needed his protection? Their gaze extended, and Amelia felt a little worried, a little nervous too, and horny like hell. She wanted him and wanted him badly, yet she knew it was wrong. She was a woman in the prime of her life and he — he was still a teenager. A teenager with a lust so intense that it sent her fluids racing downward.

Amelia stared into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity until finally she thought perhaps she had been all wrong; perhaps nothing was going to happen. The sad thing was, she couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad about it.

"I'm not James Potter," he said out of nowhere.

Amelia flinched. She knew that, but somewhere along the line, the lines between reality and delusion had faded for her. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek. Unconsciously, she twisted her body until she was on top again.

"James Potter did not reciprocate your feelings," he said. "He never had eyes for anyone but Lily Evans. I don't know if she tricked him or if it was just the way things turned out. I don't know if the pregnancy was unwanted or if James would have the betrothal. But what I know is this."

He reached around her waist and pulled her to him, his lips touching hers and their mouths separating and tongues dancing, softly this time. She put both hands on his chest as their kiss deepened.

Merlin, how was he so good at this?

And then he broke the kiss and smiled at her once again, a cocky grin on his face. "None of that matters. You know why? Because I will give you what James Potter couldn't."

His tongue licked her neck.

"I'll worship every part of you."

One hand went to her folds.

"I'll make love to you. Every single night."

His hand went up to her tit and squeezed it. Tight.

"I'll fuck you like you've always desired. I'll take this cock and drill it into you so deep that those hit-wizards you have out there will hear you scream. I'll make you cum so many times that you'll forget that there was ever any James Potter."

He grabbed her throat. "I will own you, Amelia. And I'll make you mine."

Amelia looked at him and nodded. It was a good thing that they were in a tub. Trying to hide the thrill of the lust and electricity shooting through her pussy as he said those words would have been difficult. She wanted him and wanted him now. Right or wrong, this was what she wanted, and she was going to get it.

His eyes roamed all over her body. Amelia blushed, but wanted him to look.

"Tell me," he whispered, "what do you want?"

"I want…" she whispered. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."

"No."

"WHAT?" she yelled, only to be silenced by his look. "Why?"

"You've rejected my advances, Amelia. And for that, you need to be punished. Isn't that the law, DMLE Director?"

This man… he was absolutely impossible, wasn't he? But as strange as it was, Amelia looked forward to whatever he had in mind.

"I understand," she said, resigning herself to his mercy. "Punish me."

"I will," He said, and turned her around, until she was bending against the walls of the tub, her breasts falling out of it on the other side. She felt his erection growing, pressing against her back. He leaned down, so close that she could feel his weight over her, pushing her down against the tub walls, and heard him sniff.

He was inhaling her scent.

Then his fingers reached down to her panties. He grabbed the thread and slowly, sensually, pulled it down, leaving her wetness on display.

Amelia bit her lip, feeling his impressive cock against her folds. Her fingers itched to reach back and stroke him, but she stayed where she was, obeying him like a good little slave should.

Slave? Wow. Where had that thought come from? She was the highest military authority in wizarding Britain. She couldn't have gotten off on being forced into submission. Could she?

I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm letting him do this to me. Is this what I am now? A woman that lets herself on display for her —

For her master?

She felt his hand slowly caress her arse. There was a cold, spidery touch to them. Amelia almost whimpered, her body already responding as the moment stretched, the anticipation pure agony.

Smack!

When his palm connected with her arse, she made a noise that was half a sigh of relief and half a shriek. There was a sharp sting of pain, and then he hit her again, his hand smacking against her other cheek so hard that tears burned behind her eyes. The pain flared out, burning as she waited for the next blow. Instead, his fingers began rubbing her, caressing her, stroking the pain away.

It was almost worse than the spanking, because she mewled against the tub walls, unable to help herself, arching back into his touch.

Smack!

His hand came down again, making her cry out, the pain redoubled as he hit the bruised flesh, still tender from before. Again, his cruel palm landed a blow, then again, and then those dreadful, evil, sweet, wonderful hands were on her again, touching her like no man had ever touched her before, smoothing away the hurt.

Her pussy was aching, and she was aroused, painfully so. The way he was stroking her, his fingers were just inches away from her delicate folds. His cock, thick and pulsing, lay just within reach. If she arched a little further, maybe that weapon would slip into her wetness, teasing her, exploring until she cried out beneath him.

His hand came down again and again, and she screamed, her body so tense, she thought she might burst.

"Relax, Amelia!" he breathed into her ear. "Relax, or it will hurt more."

She let the tension out of her muscles as he commanded, and he spanked her again, harder and harder, his blows coming faster now, building to a crescendo. She moaned, the pain slowly changing into something strange — the fuzzy warmth flowing through his every hit, and the pleasure arising out of every slap on her arse.

And to think he had yet to fuck her.

Was this what he did with the other girls? She suspected he was in a polyamorous relationship with multiple girls, including, but not limited to, Hannah Abbott and perhaps Hermione Granger. He had Hestia Jones as his assistant, and given the way he maintained a leash on her behaviour, she wouldn't put it beyond him to have turned that young woman into his plaything.

He was a devil spawn. A sexual predator.

And she was his prey.

But despite that, Amelia found she didn't quite dislike her current situation.

And then his hands landed on her again, and all thoughts vanished from her head. Harry Potter kneaded her arse until she felt tears roll down her cheek, and then he was holding her, collapsed over her so she could feel his cock pressed against her folds. She rubbed against it, like a cat in heat, but he didn't even try to push it into her pussy. This… this impossible man that was playing with her, but would not give her what she wanted — the feeling of that cock deep into her wetness. This was the man she had given herself to.

And then he pulled away.

"That's enough for now."

"What?" she all but yelled, turning back. "Why?"

Harry stood up and stepped out of the tub. He gave her a look from her head to toe, and then casually squeezed her left tit before giving it a light smack.

"Because," he said, a damnable smirk forming on his lips. "Good things come to those who wait for it. And I'm here for the entire weekend. Aren't I? So show me who's a good girl."

With that, he turned around and raised his hand. Amelia watched as his clothes shot upwards, completely dry. She watched at his casual display of wandless magic, mentally tying it with that awe-inspiring performance she had seen earlier.

She watched as he dressed himself and closed the bathroom door behind him. Amelia rose, shaky and feeling a tighter wound than a suspension coil. She wanted to cry. She was so damned horny, and yet he had just dismissed her like that and walked out.

No. She corrected herself. Harry Potter wasn't the spawn of the devil. He was the devil himself.

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