The Good Old Writing Desk

'Such behaviour needs to be punished.'

With a slight smack, the snakehead of my cane makes contact with your delicious bum. I'm not hitting you hard, of course. I'd hate to see bruisings on your smooth ivory skin. No, dearest heart, I'm just hitting hard enough for a tiny yelp to escape your lips.

I lean forward. 'Another stroke, I think,' I whisper into your ear. 'For good measures.'

I stand up again and am just about to take another swing when an all too familiar voice carries over from the fireplace.

'Lucius, dear. Don't be too hard on the poor girl.'

I freeze in mid-movement and crane my neck. I can just about see the fireplace and make out my dearest wife's face. She, however, cannot see me.

'Narcissa, I will deal with this matter in a way I judge appropriate.'

'The girl is just a simple desk clerk, Lucius,' Narcissa insists. 'Surely, she is neither worth your time nor your energy. And what will the Minister say?'

'Trust me, Narcissa. None of this will reach the Minister's ears.'

Of course it won't. Your lips will not utter a single sound about this to the Minister, just like you didn't utter a sound when I finger fucked you right there in his office.

I cannot see the expression on my wife's face from this angle, but I can just imagine her wrinkling her cute little nose, as she so often does when she disagrees with me. But good wife as she is, she does not argue with me while there is someone else present in the room.

I take advantage of her silence and dismiss her: 'Narcissa, dearest, I will join you shortly. As soon as this insolence has been dealt with, I will Floo directly to Meubles Magiques.'

I wait a couple of moments, and when I am certain that the flames in the grate have died and my wife is out of earshot, I swing back and let my cane swish through the air. You arch your back, and this time, you moan deeply. I think you're rather enjoying this. Aren't you, dearest heart?

I place my cane on the desk beside you and carefully rub your poor little butt cheek. It's red and a bit hot, but I am certain there hasn't been any damage done. I know how to handle my cane.

'Are you sure your wife couldn't see us?' you ask, pushing backwards and grinding yourself against my hand.

'Do you really think she would have reacted as calmly as she did had she seen you bent over my writing desk, naked and with your arse up in the air?'

You giggle. 'What do I know? Maybe she enjoys watching.'

You cheeky little thing! I playfully slap your bum with the palm of my hand. You giggle again, and I cannot help but smirk.

'Just imagine that I could be in Diagon Alley shopping for a new writing desk right now.'

'What's wrong with this one?' you ask, spreading your arms and pressing your upper body against the polished surface of the desk. And I feel myself harden at the mere thought of your naked breasts pressing against the smooth wood.

'Nothing, dearest heart,' I declare. 'For the moment, at least. When I am done with you, however, there might not be much more left of this desk than a pile of firewood.'

~ ~ ~

I must say, this Saturday did not start too well. I had taken a lie-in to recover from Avery's birthday party and was just about to enjoy a late breakfast in the privacy of my study when Narcissa had burst in.

'Lucius, I am not putting up with this anymore.'

I put on my most innocent face. Surely, she could not have found out about the three tarts I had spent the better part of the night with. I am always very careful not to leave any trace.

'What exactly are you not putting up with anymore, dearest?' I inquired.

'This!' she exclaimed, pointing at the very desk you are lying on right now and on top of which I was having my breakfast. 'It needs to be replaced.'

'And why is that, love of my life?' I asked, feigning interest.

'Because it doesn't match the new curtains.'

'Ah.'

To be quite honest, I had not even noticed that she had replaced the curtains in my study. And I had not noticed the new rug either. Or the new chairs, which – according to Narcissa – are the reason why she had to replace the curtains and the rug in the first place. And now, it seemed, my beloved writing desk was next on her list.

And then the owl arrived. I must admit, dearest heart, that I was a bit annoyed. Firstly, because it was disturbing my breakfast. I hate getting owl feathers all over my croissants. And secondly, because I had no idea what the letter was about. I didn't recognise the signature, and I was most certain that I had not promised to sponsor dancing classes for young witches. Furthermore, I had no intentions whatsoever of discussing my donation with the Ministry employee who – according to the letter – would Floo in at eleven-thirty. Instead, I planned to give that Ministry employee a piece of my mind and a couple of hexes for good measures. I did, however, change my mind when you stepped out of the fireplace. Dancing classes! Ha!

I hope you will forgive me, dearest heart, for telling you off like a little school girl and ranting that I very much did not appreciate being disturbed with such petty business on a Saturday morning. I would much rather have charmed the piano to play and asked you to dance, but I couldn't do that in front of my wife. So I had to put on my angry face, scowl and hiss. And you, dear heart, played along brilliantly, flinching every time I banged my snake cane against the surface of my desk. Merlin, I think you even managed to squeeze forth a petrified tear. I will have to kiss that away later.

My dear wife, of course, understood that I had to deal with this matter of insolence promptly and dutifully suggested that she leave me to my business and Floo to Diagon Alley herself in order to purchase a new desk for me. I thanked her for her understanding and escorted her to her own room from where she would Floo directly to Meubles Magiques. I kissed her goodbye and promised not to be long. Then I returned to my study and was greeted by a sight I could not have imagined in my wettest dreams. There you were, dearest heart, bent over my writing desk, stark-naked and with your delicious bum up in the air, awaiting your punishment.

You have already tasted the cane, and as much as I enjoyed your little whimpers, this form of punishment doesn't seem appropriate for you. Let's see what else we can come up with. Ah!

I reach over the desk for my quill, and you, you cheeky little thing, take a step to the side so your bum makes contact with my crotch. This sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I feel my cock twitch in my pants. I consider for a moment to plunge right into you and pound you until the desk drawers rattle and the table top breaks, but I will have to restrain myself. You will not get away that easily.

Already missing the physical contact with you, I take a step back and let the exquisite goose quill glide through my hand. Now, where to start? Your ear, I think.

You giggle at first. I imagine the touch of the quill tickles. But when I have circled your ear three times, you seem to get used to the sensation, and as I let the quill wander down your neck, your eyes flutter shut and your lips curl into a smile. You like this, don't you?

I trace elaborate patterns on your back, sometimes just with the tip of the quill and sometimes with its side. Now and then I lift it from your body and breathe softly onto your skin instead. I hear you sigh contently and see you shift your weight from one leg to the other, furtively rubbing your thighs together. And when I let the quill glide over your bum and in between your legs, you squirm and mew like a little kitten. Could it be that this excites you, dearest heart?

It doesn't take more than a soft brush against your inner thigh for you to step your legs wider apart, and I fall to my knees behind you with my free hand on your left butt cheek and my right still holding firmly onto the quill. Now, where to place it?

I tease you entrance first, eliciting the sweetest sounds from your lips, and I cannot resist bringing my face closer to your core. Your scent is delicious.

I trace your glistening lips with the tip of the quill and then let it circle your most sensitive spot. Slowly at first, and barely touching you. Then quicker, rubbing the shaft of the quill against your nub. I hear you moan and whimper with pleasure, and as I plunge my tongue into you, you scream my name and I have to hold on to your waist to keep you from tumbling. You didn't anticipate reaching your climax that quickly, did you, dearest heart?

Dropping the quill to the floor and grabbing onto your butt cheeks with both my hands, I let my tongue dance lightly over your swollen lips and your pulsating nub, gently easing you down from your peak. You taste like Honeydukes' finest. Did you know?

When your breathing has calmed down and you seem to be able to stand on your legs quite steadily again, I start to kiss my way upwards over your butt, your lower back and your spine, all the while unbuttoning my crisp silk shirt. When I reach your neck, my upper body is pressed against your back, and there isn't an inch of air between your hot skin and mine. All I need to do now is reach between your bum and my crotch to free my awaiting cock and plunge into you.

'Take me, Lucius!'

Now, now, dearest heart. Don't you know that Malfoys don't respond too well to being given orders in their own house? Tut, tut. Now I will have to punish you again.

I unbutton my trousers, as I have planned, pausing after each button to flick my fingers lightly against your clit. I can feel you buckling under me and trying to push backwards, but I press you down firmly onto the smooth surface of my writing desk. You will have to wait.

When the last button is undone, I wrap my hand firmly around my shaft. Oh, I am ready. I could take you now and make you come so hard you would beg me to show mercy and stop shagging you. But I won't. Not yet. You are far too eager, and I am the one in charge. Never forget that, dearest heart.

I latch on to your neck, biting and suckling, while I rub the tip of my cock against your core. You moan, and you quiver. And I know that you wish for nothing more than for me to fill you. But still, you'll have to wait.

As I close my lips around your earlobe, I direct my cock towards your entrance and carefully glide and inch or two inside you. You're so hot and tight, and I have to use every ounce of self-control I can muster to not penetrate you fully. Trust me when I tell you that this is as agonising for me as it is for you.

'Do you want me?' I whisper into your ear.

'Yes, yes!' You whimper. 'I want you. I need you! Take me, Lucius!'

You still haven't learnt, have you, dearest heart? You mustn't give me orders.

Still refusing to fill you, I start circling your clit with my fingertips, feeling you shudder under me every time I apply more pressure. I can taste the sweat on your neck and hear your breathing become more laboured by the second. I hate doing this to you, dearest heart. But I do have my principles.

'Lucius, please. Please!'

Ah! You do know the magic word. Thank Merlin for that!

Steadying myself against the desk with both my hands, I thrust into you up to the hilt. You scream and I keep pounding you, hard and quickly, relishing the sensations of your muscles contracting around my cock as you come undone under me.

Normally, I would give you time to recover, but not today. Deeper and deeper I thrust, sinking my teeth into your neck and chasing you from one orgasm to the next. I entwine my fingers in your silky red hair and press you against the desk with the weight of my upper body. I hear the desk groan under our combined weight, and as I thrust into you especially hard, the breakfast tray slides over the edge and crashes to the floor. The lamp, I think, will be history soon as well.

'Lucius, please. Please ...'

You have used those words before, dearest heart, but now you are not urging me on anymore. You're begging me to slow down, just as I have predicted. Your whole body is on fire, and you cannot take any more. Merciful as I am, I oblige.

I cover your neck with tender kisses as I slowly ease in and out of you, carefully avoiding sliding into you too deeply in order to keep my balls from pushing against your overstimulated clit. I know it won't be pleasurable now, and I can't have you tell your friends that I, Lucius Malfoy, have been rough. What I want you to remember from this Saturday is a chain of orgasms that made your knees buckle and your whole body shake. And no one can claim that you have been given anything but.

You have stopped shaking now, and your breathing has calmed down, and I slide out of you and turn you over. You look quite dishevelled as you lie there on my desk. Your hair is a mess, and the smudged mascara says more than a thousand words. I'm sorry, dearest heart. I might have let myself get carried away a bit. Let me make it up to you.

I pull you up into a sitting position and step between your thighs, placing a soft kiss on your lips, a second one, and a third. For the forth, I let my lips linger on yours and bring my hand to the back of your neck to pull your head closer. Your lips part, and you grant me access. And our tongues entwine, dancing around each other like two young lovestruck birds in the springtime.

My free hand finds your breast, and I caress it ever so carefully. It must be hurting, as it has been pressed against the surface of the desk for quite a while. But my touch makes the pain go away, and as I caress your nipple, it hardens at my touch, and I know that you're ready for me once more.

I break our kiss and look into your blue eyes. 'May I come to you?' I ask, my voice not much more than a whisper.

You do not answer, but pull me back into a passionate kiss. And when your legs wrap themselves around my hips, I slide in once more up to the hilt.

We move slowly now, in perfect unison, and I nibble at you lower lip and caress your breasts while gently easing in and out of you, exploring every inch of your heavenly tightness. I could make love to you like this forever, dearest heart.

As your eyes flutter shut, I know you're close, and I slide as deeply inside you as is humanly possible, waiting for you to reach your peak. As you do, I let myself get carried away with the sensation and spill myself deep inside you. My skin is prickling and my toes curling. This has certainly been worth the wait.

I hold you close for a while, caressing your back and murmuring sweet words into your ears. I bet you do not even notice me casting the spell that so far has sealed every one of our encounters.

As I help you down from the desk and hand you your robes, you smile up at me.

'I still do not see what is wrong with your writing desk.'

Neither do I. And I think I will save the dear piece of furniture from Narcissa's crusade and have an elf stow it away in the cellar before she returns home. Who knows? It might just come in handy one day.

A/N: Thanks go to my betas Apple Blossom and Neko Mata and Mistress of Sick for suggesting that Narcissa should be around.