OursIsTheDay

Hermione had pretended all was well. She had functioned with Ron. Until she could no longer pretend. Until she cracked.

Until she realised she could not be the girlfriend that Ron needs. So, Hermione went to Soho every other night. Sometimes she hooked up with girls, others with boys. The man she had never expected to meet in muggle joints like these, however, was Draco Malfoy.

It was anonymity that brought him there. He looked for places where his name and his blond hair, which had grown long after the war was done, wouldn’t be the synonyms of treason and Death Eater spawn.

Draco sat at the end of the bar, nursing impure whisky in a stained low glass.

Hermione had stood as further away from him as she could; she hadn’t left the club to avoid him altogether, as perhaps she could have done. But then her Gryffindor courage had returned -not that school houses meant anything anymore- and she had walked up to her old schoolmate, and she had poked him on the shoulder.

“Granger?” Draco’s eyebrows narrowed at the sight of her. His voice strived to be heard over the lively muggle songs. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“I should be asking you that,” Hermione shouted, close to his face, which Draco failed to hear because the music was so loud. Amidst the stifling atmosphere of people and of booze, Hermione had leaned close to Draco’s ear. She repeated her point, and Draco moved to look her in the eye.

His lips had come close to her lips then, and Hermione, whose blood was filled with whiskey and her heart was numb, had let her attention fixate on his thin, expressive mouth.

“You dance?” Hermione asked.

Draco’s brows wiggled upward; he seemed uncertain whether he had heard her question right. But then he looked into her eyes, and something clicked.

As if by magic, Draco understood.

“Why not,” he said, and downed the dregs of his Old Fashioned in one go.

Their bodies thrummed with the low quality beat of the pop songs. The bass hit them on their solar plexus, lulling them, pulling them close. Hermione let her body dance like there was no tomorrow and no past, and every time she looked at her once-peer, at the boy who had become the reason Dumbledore had died, it felt like all the pain of both their pasts had never truly come to pass.

“Bathroom?” Hermione had shouted in his ear.

“How can you be sure I won’t go to the Prophet with an exposé?” Draco had raised his brow. “’How Hermione Granger sounds when she shags’. Quite the title, right?”

The phantom of his breath still tingled Hermione’s ear, as she pulled him through the mass of muggle youths.

She felt his hands close around her waist, through the flimsy fabric of her mini dress. Hermione had hardly guided him through the entrance of the club’s WC, when Draco turned her around and pinned her against the dirty wall.

“Are you sure about this, Granger?” He asked. The timber of his voice was clearer now, when the hubbub of the club barely penetrated the bathroom’s door.

“Are you ever sure about anything?” Hermione asked, looking up to him through heavy-lidded eyes.

Draco was sure, though. He was sure about crowding her against the bathroom door. He was sure about burying his lips on her neck and sucking at the sensitive skin; Hermione breathed in his scent and wondered why she did any of this at all.

After the first one-night stands with strange muggles in clubs, she had stopped overcomplicating the things she needed. But this? Bumping on Malfoy here? This was not pure chance.

If Hermione believed in signs, she could have claimed that this was the first true step of moving toward a future that wasn’t so bleak. His body was lean and strong under her fingertips. His white shirt looked darker in the bathroom’s red lights. Hermione wormed her fingers under the hem, to feel the warmness of another’s body stuck to hers.

When Draco moved, she felt the outline of his cock, pressing onto her abdomen.

“I don’t want to think anymore,” Hermione whispered in his ear. She bit his earlobe and relished his surprise.

“Your bite,” he panted against her lips, “is actually much worse than your bark, Granger.”

She heard the clink of his belt over the sound system. Hermione rushed to pull her tightly-fitted mini skirt up to her navel. With one fervent touch of hasty magic, her lacey thong disappeared from around her hips. Draco traced his fingers up her stomach to her breasts, which spilled out of the loose neckline of her dress.

His cock felt hot when he slid it into her folds. Hermione looped one of her legs over his waist, opened herself to him and gasped when he found his way in.

Her core tightened around him, when he entered her.

“You’re quite the little slut, aren’t’ you?” He panted in her ear, as Hermione’s body turned limp against his. “Say it,” he ordered.

Hermione could only moan with every push of his hips.

“Say it,” Draco hissed against her lips, threading his fingers through her curls, gripping a fistful until Hermione gasped.

“I am a slut,” Hermione mumbled under her breath, her core becoming wetter with everyone of his thrusts.

“Louder,” Draco ordered against her mouth. His breath smelled of stale scotch and regret.

“I am your slut,” Hermione said, with eyes snapped shut. Her fingers encircled the nape of his neck, carding through the roots of his blond hair.

Malfoy rewarded her by looping her other leg around his hips, hoisting her up and driving his cock deeper into her hole. He kept her flush against the dirty wall, pushing in and rapidly out again, until Hermione’s moans reverberated through the empty bathroom. Someone had started pounding on the door from the outside, because there were other patrons of the club who meant to use the room, but neither Hermione nor Malfoy cared. Their world had narrowed down to their joined hips, to Hermione’s clit being rubbed against his soft-haired pube, every time Draco pulled out of her and drove his steel-hard cock back into her wet, pliable hole.

“I am your slut—Ah!” Hermione gasped again, offering the demeaning term on her own accord. Draco just puffed against her lips, breathless by how her core squeezed him and drew him in.

********************

When Hermione awoke from her lustful dream, her knickers were so sodden, they had started to stain the bed sheets.

Ron snored beside her on their shared bed. Hermione tried to focus on the truth, and not the dream that had led her so close to orgasm without even touching herself.

When on earth had she begun dreaming about Draco Malfoy fucking her in dirty muggle clubs?

In her soft mattress and her cozy sheets, which were usually warmed by Ron’s steady presence in her life and home, Hermione fidgeted around while her core burned with need.

It wasn’t like her life with Ron wasn’t everything she had dreamt it to be; a breath of normalcy, after an adolescence filled with war and grief. A diamond ring glittered on Hermione’s fourth finger. Ron had just proposed the other night, and he had tried so hard to honour the muggle way of couples being wed.

Ron always tried so hard, and Hermione should be so grateful for that.

At 26, she was more than ready to start a family of her own. She had waited for years until Ron found the courage to finally pop the blessed question, “Will you marry me?”

Yes! Hermione had enthusiastically replied. And then, she’d fallen into Ron’s arms, and waited for his passionate love-making to take place.

So, why am I dreaming of Slytherin brats? Hermione asked the ceiling of her bedroom while Ron snored.

The truth was that Ron hadn’t made the passionate lascivious move Hermione had thought he would. He generally didn’t, ever since some man dared to make a pass at Hermione while she and Ron were in a cinema. 

After that, Ron made a jealous scene. After the scene, he stopped touching Hermione altogether.

Dream-Malfoy had been so possessive as he held her close. Hermione’s finger had been empty of any kind of ring, as she dug her fingers into his hips, urging him close every time he drove his strong cock into her, and trying to keep him in her every time he pulled away to thrust back in.

Now Hermione fidgeted in their soon-to-be marriage bed, feeling too hot to let her eagerness deflate.

Her sex life with Ron wasn’t everything she’d hoped it’d be, but that was no reason, surely, to abandon the safe heaven, the family she had been searching for so long. Ron was so sweet when they made love, even though as inexperienced as her.

Perhaps he needs one little push, Hermione thought, stealing a glance at Ron’s peacefully sleeping face.

The bed creaked a bit, when Hermione lowered her sodden knickers off her hips. Her dream of Draco Malfoy had clearly stated one thing: she needed to take more initiatives where her love life was involved.

Under the blankets, Hermione felt her abdomen and the undersides of her breasts. She imagined Ron’s fingers trailing over her flesh.

Not Malfoy’s, Hermione stressed to her lust-addled brain. Ron’s. My fiancé, Ron’s fingers. Her breath hitched when she shoved her fingers in her folds. Her core was wet, her clit was swollen from her dream.

Should she have gone to the bathroom to finish herself quickly and without much fuss?

No, Hermione thought. This was a test, both to herself and Ron, who kept on snoring as if he didn't care that his girlfriend was about to cum.

Circling her clit wasn’t something Hermione was unfamiliar with. But it was Ron’s cock he craved for, and not a fantasy. Draco’s had felt so tight when he slid inside her in her dreams, but Hermione had chosen Ron, and not Draco Malfoy.

She didn’t try too hard to swallow her moans, neither did she suppress the jerking of her hips. Hermione was as close to orgasming as she had been in the dream, when Ron finally fidgeted in his sleep.

Hermione brought her other hand into the fold, pinching her clit with one, sliding the other’s fingers in her quim. Ron just turned on his other side, and started snoring louder than he did before.

Her orgasm hit her with more frustration than enthusiasm. Hermione jerked silently on her fiancé’s bed, swallowing her moans and feeling so ashamed of her own dream.

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The next day, Hermione initiated one of her talks.

“I’m just…” Ron sighed and came to sit beside her on the couch. “I’m just not sure whether you are… You know. Enjoying it.”

“I am--!” Hermione hastened to reassure.

“Are you, though?” Ron asked. “It’s just… Well, you don’t cum, do you?”

“I do orgasm…!” Hermione rushed to say. “Well, not every time, perhaps, but I have had some very good orgasms—”

“See?” Ron exclaimed. “I don’t know how to make you cum! You’re my girlfriend, and I can’t even satisfy you in bed!”

“Ron,” Hermione pushed herself up to sit on her haunches on the couch. “It’s not like you need to try hard, or anything. You just need to be a bit more…”

“What?” Ron asked, looking like a dejected puppy.

“More assertive?” Hermione offered. “More confident, you know? You are the man I’m going to marry in two weeks. I’ve been in love with you for years! Just… Just have a bit more trust in yourself.”

“More assertive?” Ron repeated, looking doubtful but nevertheless willing to give it a go.

“Like…” Hermione reached out and took his hand. She brought Ron’s palm to rest over her breast. “Like you want to claim me—”

“Claim you?” Ron frowned.

“Or something…” Hermione muttered, red in the face.

Ron gave her breast an experimental squeeze.

“I’ll try,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

He seemed even more dejected now than he was before, as if Hermione should have been reduced to a lustful heap only by having Ron touch her breast.

We have a long road ahead of us, Hermione thought, and offered to cook for the evening, even while her vagina screamed to be entered by a long, firm shaft.

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“You had a wet dream about Draco Malfoy?!” Ginny repeated the next day.

“Shhh,” Hermione looked frantically around. “Do you want Harry to hear you?!”

“Hermione!” Ginny hissed. “This isn’t good!”

“No, it’s no big deal, truly,” Hermione insisted. “It’s just my subconscious telling me to reach out to Ron. The dream wasn’t really about Malfoy.”

“Then why would you be turned on by him crowding you in some muggle pub?” Ginny whispered in frantic disbelief.

“Don’t you understand?” Hermione asked. “Because that’s what I’m missing with Ron. My life is too… good.”

“How can your life be too good?”

“Look, Ginny, it doesn’t matter, okay?” Hermione turned to her cup of tea. “What matters is that I love Ron. I am marrying Ron. I’ve had wet dreams before, and they don’t matter, alright? They’re just my subconscious playing silly games that obviously don’t need to be taken seriously!”

“Have you seen Malfoy lately?” Ginny asked, even despite Hermione’s efforts to reassure her.

“Of course not!” Hermione replied. “Let alone how Malfoy is married to Astoria Greengrass.”

“Don’t tell me you’re attracted to her as well?” Ginny asked, and tried to shield herself when Hermione sent a stinging hex her way.

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“Oy, bro,” Ginny called out from the kitchen window.

Ron was grinning to something Charlie was saying on the yard, so he didn’t immediately turn to his sister. “What?”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Ginny asked. Only half of her face was visible through the narrow window.

“Can’t it wait?” Ron asked, and groaned as his sister insisted that it could not. He sat up from the family dinner table, dragging his bottle of butterbeer with him. “What?” He asked again, when he entered the house.

“Right,” Ginny threw a privacy ward around them, in case any other member of the family happened to enter the kitchen while they spoke. “I’ll try to be gentle about this, but you must understand that it’s not that easy.”

“You’re scaring me,” Ron’s eyes became gradually wider.

“Do you want to lose Hermione?” Ginny asked bluntly.

“The fuck—” Ron scoffed, panic spreading through his limbs. “Of course not!”

“Good,” Ginny intoned. “In that case, you need to do something about your sex life.”

“Ginny!” Ron blushed.

“Have you ever considered a threesome?” Ginny pressed on.

“Have you?!” Ron asked back defensively.

“I’m being serious.” Ginny gritted out.

“So am I!” Ron exclaimed. “What even makes you think that Hermione would be interested in a threesome? She’s a prude, Ginny! We all know she’s a prude!”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked. “Because if you’re wrong, then you’re not giving Hermione what she needs. If you’re not giving Hermione what she needs, it’s either because you think she’s a prude, or because you think you aren’t good enough to keep her satisfied. In either case, you’re well underway to ruining this relationship before it even starts.”

Ron tried to find a counter argument, but failed. “To be honest,” he said, “she has been telling me some weird things lately. About how I should try to claim her more.”

“See?” Ginny pointed at him. “That’s why a threesome is such a good idea. Perfect to get the blood running again.”

“But where do I even find someone to have a threesome?” Ron leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Well, you’ve always fancied Astoria Greengrass.” Ginny shrugged.

“That’s not true,” Ron became even more flustered. “I didn’t fancy her exactly—she’s just… not the normal Slytherin, you know, and she’s kind of cool and I… Well, anyone can see that she is beautiful—”

Ginny stared at him with an unimpressed brow ticked up.

“She’s married to the Ferret!” Ron exclaimed.

“And I hear,” Ginny replied, “that they have an open marriage.”

“You’re not saying I should share my wife with the Ferret?”

“Ron,” Ginny intoned. “It’s not a matter of sharing your wife. It’s a matter of keeping your fiancé.”

Ron seemed to chew his words for a moment. Then he asked, more thoughtful than before, “Do you really think Hermione will be open to a threesome?”

“Sometimes I think we all are,” Ginny muttered under her breath, looking through the kitchen window, where Harry was seated with the rest of her family.

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“I don’t know,” Hermione frowned at her boyfriend’s unprecedented question. “Where are you getting all this talk of threesomes from?”

Ron pretended to shrug in nonchalance. “You’re the one who keeps saying I should claim you more.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “Claim me, not share me with Astoria Greengrass.”

“Look, it was Ginny’s idea, alright?” Ron defended himself.

“Oh my God!” Hermione articulated toward the ceiling, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in the tidy living room of their small cottage. “I can’t believe Ginny told you--!”

“Told me what?”

“Look, Ron,” Hermione returned to her seat beside him and took his hand. “It was just a dream, okay? It didn’t really mean anything.”

“What…” Ron asked in a very earnest tone, “dream?”

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“She wants to to fuck the Ferret,” Ron slurred drunkenly. “Can you believe that?! She’s attracted to Malfoy the Ferret!!!”

“Hermione and Malfoy?” Harry double-checked. “Ahr you sayin’ about Hermione and Malfoy?”

“She had a dream about him and everything!” Ron exclaimed. Fire whisky sloshed out of the glasses, as he tried to pour more to both him and his friend.

“What will you do now, mate?” Harry asked, his face still a grimace of disbelief.

“Apparently, I have to accept it,” Ron sniffed, “if I don’t want to lose her. That’s-that-that’s what Ginny says, anyway.”

“Well, Ginny is usually right about most things,” Harry argued.

“Can you believe this, mate?” Ron asked. “I’m going to have a foursome with Hermione, Greengrass and the Ferret.”

“You’ll ask,” Harry corrected him. “You’ll ask both Greengrass and the Ferret whether they want to have a foursome with you and ‘Mione.”

“That’s what our lives have become,” Ron muttered hoarsely.

“D’you think Ginny wants a threesome too?” Harry asked blearily.

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“Tori?” Draco shouted from the enchanted billiard room.

“What?” Astoria answered from her study.

“You aren’t going to believe this,” Draco intoned, still reading the letter that had just arrived by owl.

“I’ve always said I’m far more trusting than you give me credit for,” Astoria appeared on the doorcase of the billiard room.

Draco showed her Ron’s letter. “We have a dinner invitation. By bloody Weasley and his soon to be Mrs Weasley-Granger.”

“I’m not that trusting,” Astoria dead-panned.

“I’m not even kidding you.” Draco insisted. “They truly want us to go over for dinner on Friday.”

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“I don’t really want to have sex with Draco Malfoy!” Hermione repeated for the umpteenth time.

She had just taken the Sunday roast out of the oven, and she was putting on her apron to slice it into thin, even pieces.

“Then why are we doing all this?” Ron asked, pouring his second whisky of the night.

“Because you told me you’d break up with me unless I agreed,” Hermione reminded him.

“Ah, right.” Ron nodded. “But I only said that because you’d break up with me if I didn’t agree.”

“You know, Ron,” Hermione furrowed her brows. “I don’t truly know who wants this orgy more in the end; me or you.”

“Do you think he has a big cock?” Ron asked, while a frown dominated the spot between his eyebrows.

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“Weasley,” Draco greeted tersely.

“Ferret,” Ron greeted him back.

“Behave!” Cried both Hermione, who had just arrived to the door, still wearing her apron, and Astoria, whose arm was interlaced with her husband’s. Draco’s mouth was already slanting into his usual sneer.

“I didn’t truly expect you’d accept our invitation,” Hermione smiled in a very flustered way, later, when they were seated around the table.

The way his girlfriend was systematically avoiding Malfoy’s eyes had started to grate on Ron’s nerves.

“Well,” Draco picked up his glass of wine, “I never thought I’d accept your invitation either, so I suppose we’re square.”

“Draco?” Astoria warned him subtly.

“Well,” Hermione giggled nervously. “Extreme situations call for extreme measures.”

“Will you get to the point already?” Ron mumbled in boiling irritation.

“Ron!” Hermione warned him, less subtly.

“What is this point?” Draco asked in growing suspicion.

“Nothing,” Hermione threw a pointed glance at Ron. “We just want to get to know you better.”

“Do you?” Draco ticked up his brow.

“You know, Ron,” Hermione continued, her fork hovering over her plate. “I think that’s what this is all about, really. A subconscious attempt to heal the wounds inflicted by our shared past. An olive branch of sorts.”

“Is that why you’re turning me into a cuckholder?” Ron asked, while his cock twitched in his pants.

“I am not!” Hermione intoned fiercely, while Draco and Astoria looked at each other.

“You’ve even made a roast for his sake,” Ron nodded at Malfoy.

“I made the roast for your sake,” Hermione insisted. “You asked for this, as you kept asking me about the measurements of his peins! All in all, I’d say you’re far more interested in him than I am!”

“That’s hardly likely,” Ron exclaimed, “since you’re the one who had a wet dream with him fucking you in a dirty bathroom of a muggle club!”

“What in merlin’s name,” Draco intervened calmly, “was I doing in a muggle club?”

“What you’ll be doing tonight, if you agree,” Ron replied gruffly.

“Meaning?” Draco drawled impatiently.

“Me,” Hermione squeaked, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “You’ll be doing me. That’s what Ron means.”

“My, my,” Astoria muttered into her wine glass. “And here I thought that the Golden Trio was a boring bunch of prudes.”

Nobody in the table moved, while Astoria met Draco’s eyes. Draco waited for her reaction without haste. His eyes went left and right between her eyes from across the narrow kitchen table, and Draco didn’t look away from his wife until the wordless communication between them seemed to reach a unanimous conclusion.

“Just to be clear,” Draco pushed his chair away as he stood on his two long legs. “You,” he pointed at Ron, “will be merely looking, while I fuck your wife-to-be. I don’t want your Weasley cocklet anywhere near me.”

“Say one more word about my cock and I’ll—"

“You should let me worry about the cocklet,” Astoria winked at Ron, making him immediately look to the floor.

“I don’t have a cocklet.” Ron muttered weakly, because no one seemed to care anymore.

Malfoy’s wife stood up as well. With a flick of her wand, she extinguished half the candles around the table, submerging them in the dimmest possible light. She then circled the table and took Ron by the hand. “Come on, Ron. Let’s find somewhere comfy to sit, shall we?”

Ron watched over his shoulder as Draco Malfoy leaned against the table in front of Hermione. He took Hermione’s chin between his fingers and let his eyes roam over the features of her face.

Over the features of Ron’s fiancé, while Ron, like the useless dolt he was, allowed Astoria to lead him out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. He let her sit him down on the couch, while she took the spot beside him, and liberated her tumble of dark hair from the pins that held them in a chignon at the back of her head.

“Do you have any fire whisky?” Astoria asked in her soft, melodic voice, while her hair framed her oval, elegant face.

“Eh—” Ron pointed in the direction of the liquor cabinet, while he stretched his neck to see what was going on in the kitchen.

“Have you ever participated in a couple swap, Ron?” Astoria asked, calm while she poured drinks for both of them.

“N—” Ron cleared his throat. “Not as such.”

A strange wet sound came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Excited,” Astoria’s eyes landed on Ron’s crotch, “are you?”

She had a charming swing while she walked, making her ample hips gallivant left and right. She brought those hips to sit back next to Ron, whose face had turned a bright pink and his hands tried to hide the rather prominent bulge that had formed under his pants.

“Ready for us, Tori?” Draco called from the next room.

“Take your time,” Astoria answered, her eyes never leaving Ron’s as she sipped from her tumbler. “I’m quite entertained as I am.”

When Draco led Hermione to the living room, she was completely undressed.

Butt naked like the day she was born, her dark nipples stood out from her small breasts, and her waist gave way to her narrow hips.

The bloody Ferret had put his hands on Hermione’s buttons and Hermione’s zippers, he had unclasped her bra and pushed her panties down. he had also kissed her thoroughly, judging from Hermione’s swollen lips, and looked quite at home as he paraded Ron’s fiancé through Ron’s living room.

But it was all worth it, because Ron had failed to keep her satiated when he had the chance. He was dead asleep, while Hermione had wet dreams about other man; when she had woken up aroused, and had brought herself to a silent completion, because average Ron with his average cock were not enough to make her scream the most intense orgasm.

“Let’s stop,” Hermione said, while standing naked in front of all three of them. She hadn’t had eyes for anyone else, but Ron, and Ron was a right mess.

With three servings of fire whisky already running in his bloodstream, Ron didn’t want to want this but he wanted this.

And he did not deserve those eyes; Hermione’s eyes who were looking at him with pity, instead of respect.

“Ron, we can stop.” Hermione insisted. “You can stop this.”

“I don’t want to stop it,” Ron muttered back.

“I want you.” Hermione whispered. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“Let’s prove it, shall we?” Draco intervened, pulling off his shirt, and then his pants and boxers.

“Are you wet for him?” Ron asked his fiancé, while Draco’s impressive erection bounced free.

Hermione just tilted her head at him. “I’m wet,” she said in a breathless voice. “But not for h—"

“Is his cock better than mine?” Ron asked, while Astoria’s fingers trailed over his arm.

“No,” Hermione answered, even while Draco circled her, tugging at his foreskin in a languid pace.

“But you dreamt of him,” Ron said.

“I just want sex to be fun, Ron,” Hermione’s eyes implored him. “That’s all I want. I want us to have fun. And that’s why I love you. Because you’re not him,” she nodded her head to Draco, while her eyes remained fixed on his. “He doesn’t matter to me. Nobody matters to me, like you do.”

“Do you believe her?” Draco asked Ron.

 “No,” Ron replied.

“Tell her to bend over.” Draco said.

Astoria’s hands now passed down Ron’s neck, spreading goosebumps on their wake.

“Bend over,” Ron said to his fiancé.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully before she complied. The first slap Malfoy landed on her arse cheeks reverberated hollowly through the small living room.

“Could you imagine there was such drama going on amidst the Golden Trio, Tori?” Draco asked, bringing his hand down again on Hermione’s arse.

“Do you remember us when we first hooked up?” Astoria answered, who had leaned on Ron’s shoulder. Her fingers had climbed lower, drawing patterns in Ron’s chest and abdomen. “We were quite the possessive mess, Draco.”

Thwack, landed another slap on Hermione’s arse. Her breasts hung downwards as she was bent in two, and her eyes never left Ron’s.

“We weren’t the Saviours of the Land, though,” Draco muttered, coming to stand directly behind Hermione’s folded form. “Tell your girlfriend to spread her legs for me,” he addressed Ron, while his grey eyes followed his hands, that were massaging the red marks he had left on Hermione’s arse.

“You heard him,” Ron told Hermione, staring at her dishevelled face.

Hermione spread her legs a bit.

“More,” Draco demanded, landing another slap on her arse.

Hermione waited for Ron’s nod. For every second she didn’t comply, Draco landed another slap, alternating between her arse cheeks and the back of her thighs. When the slaps started sounding like they were becoming really painful, Ron nodded to his girlfriend to spread her legs even more.

Malfoy’s fingers were in her the moment she complied. A gasp escaped her, her body swaying forwards by his force.

“She’s wet, isn’t she?” Ron asked, while Astoria’s fingers travelled lower still, reaching the hem of his jeans.

“Quite wet,” Draco muttered back. “Do you want to see?”

“Sure,” Ron nodded. His breath hitched when Astoria’s hand closed traced the outline of his cock, through the stiff fabric of his jeans.

In the meantime, Draco guided Hermione to pivot in place, so she could serve her boyfriend with the sight of her reddened arse. Still bent over as she was, Draco slid in two fingers in Hermione’s hole; she stretched her neck, so she could still look Ron over her shoulder, while Draco Malfoy fucked her pussy slowly with his hand.

“Let’s take this off, shall we?” Astoria asked, unbuckling Ron’s belt.

“Why not,” Ron muttered, his gaze not straying away from Hermione’s.

“Will you suck him?” Draco asked his wife, while positioning himself between Hermione’s arse and Ron. Ron could only see Draco’s firm arse now, and his balls, hanging heavily between his legs.

“If he cums for me, I might,” Astoria replied, looking up at Ron from where she had nestled on the carpet, between his jeans-clad legs.

“Ah—” Hermione’s exhale was heard, when Draco pushed his cock into her wetness.

Ron rose his hips so Astoria could pull his jeans off, while Hermione’s lips parted around a silent gasp every time Draco pushed into her. His girlfriend’s eyes had grown heavy-lidded and dark, but still Hermione stretched her neck to look at him, hidden behind the man who was now using her hole.

The hole Ron should be wanting only for himself. But there was a strange kind of thrill in watching his Hermione getting shagged by an arrogant brat with blond hair and a bigoted past; everything that Ron could never be.

She was so wet, Ron could hear her juices splash every time Malfoy’s cock drove into her.

When Astoria went down on his dick, Ron placed his hand over her head; not pushing her, just finding purchase there, holding her hair back from her mouth, as she hollowed her cheeks and slowly took him further in than Hermione had ever taken him before.

“Is she good?” Hermione asked. It was audible how much she tried not to sound as breathless as she felt.

“Is he good?” Ron asked back.

“Not as good as you are,” she replied. To test her words, Malfoy gripped her hips with both hands and pistoned into her with force, making her whole body tremble as he bottomed in.

Hermione’s head had started to become too heavy for her shoulders; still she endeavoured to keep Ron’s eyes, even while small voices escaped her mouth unbidden. Draco picked up his pace impossibly more, slapping his crotch against her hips with violent speed. He gave her a few seconds to rest before he returned to his savage pace, all the while pulling Hermione hips down on his crotch. His big balls swayed in rhythm, slapping against Hermione’s clit.

“Ohh—Oh-OH--!” Came Hermione’s first open moans. Ron seized a handful of Astoria’s hair and pulled her up.

“Oh, he’s got claws this one,” Astoria panted, her dark brown eyes glistening in the candle light. She wiped the corner of her full-lipped mouth, where a mix of her saliva and Ron’s precum had leaked through to her chin.

“Can I put it in you?” Ron asked Astoria, while Hermione screamed her high-pitch moans which meant that she would soon have an orgasm.

Astoria smirked. “Lay back,” she guided him, straddling his seated form.

While Astoria took Ron’s cock in her fist and slid it into her already wet hole, Draco had made Hermione turn around again and kneel down on the carpet, facing Ron. Draco kneeled too, nestling his pelvis against her arse, and his hand landed on Hermione’s breast, massaging it while her boyfriend looked over Astoria’s shoulder. Astoria rode Ron, pulling her hips up and slapping them back down, while Draco brought Hermione’s arm around his neck, stretching her body, making her erect nipples protrude. Ron knew the exact moment Malfoy entered her, because Hermione’s expression crumpled despite herself.

The wet sounds of Astoria’s hot, welcoming quim blended into the harsh slap of Draco’s hips into Hermione’s core, and Ron just watched it all.

He should hate, but right then and there, he wasn’t sure how. In fact, for the first time in his life, someone could argue that Ron was in fact King of the World.

He had no obligations, but to lay back and play with Astoria’s ample tits. They weren’t irregularly big or especially pert, but they had a mother’s feel to them. She was also quite talented in riding cocks, so Ron was being served the full menu of the house tonight: Hermione being fucked better by another man, him enjoying her eyes that always returned to his face, and another woman’s pussy to warm his dick.

Honestly, why were people so negative when it came to couple swaps? Right then and there, Ron couldn’t truly understand.

“Ron—Oh, fu--” Hermione’s head had fallen back against Draco’s shoulder, while Draco had buried his fingers in Hermione’s folds and vibrated his fingers against her clit. With long, drawling moans, Hermione came. Her orgasm made her muscles tense up and relax again, made her hand close around Draco’s hand which still played with her clit. It made her bite down on the base of Draco’s neck, as her hips jerked irregularly, and her moans turned into desperate groans.

“She’s good,” Astoria grinned, pulling herself off Ron’s hips, so she would crawl across the carpet. Her pussy left Ron’s cock twitching by the sudden emptiness, but also by the sight of Astoria climbing up the front of Hermione’s body to reach over her shoulder and kiss her husband on the mouth. While their tongues battled, Astoria’s hands raved over Hermione’s breasts, who was nestled between them, still panting from the orgasm Malfoy had granted her. Astoria’s painted nails cupped Hermione’s neck and, with her husband’s saliva still on her lips, she plundered Hermione’s mouth with her tongue.

Somehow Hermione managed to untangle herself. Leaving the married couple behind, Hermione climbed onto Ron’s lap and cupped his face with both her hands.

“Did you enjoy it?” She whispered to him.

“Did you?” Ron asked back.

“Only if you did,” Hermione muttered against his lips, her eyes shut as if in hope that she had not ruined their relationship forever.

Ron couldn’t help but scoff a quiet laugh. “Are you really asking me whether I,” he whispered in her ear, “an immature, sexually starved jerk, enjoyed an orgy?”

Hermione blurted out half a chuckle and half a sob, before dissolving completely into laughter.

“Honestly,” Ron wrapped his hands around her waist. “You were always supposed to disapprove of all this.”

“Why would I disapprove?” Hermione asked, grinning still as she wrapped arms and legs around his seated form.

“Because you’re a prude,” Malfoy intervened from behind them. “You’ve always been a prude, Granger, it’s part of your job description.”

“The Ferret kind of has a point,” Ron grimaced.

“Oy!” Draco sounded properly angry for once. “Stop calling me Ferret.”

“Or what?” Ron asked dismissively, feeling quite ready to enter his girlfriend’s tight, wet hole himself.

“Or,” Malfoy intoned, “this session will cost you double the usual rates… And if you’ve somehow reached the stupid conclusion that I’m cheap, you’re in for quite the safe-emptying disappointment.”

“What usual rates?” Asked both Ron and Hermione in a single breath. “What session?”

“We offer couple’s therapy?” Malfoy replied as if they were missing something obvious.

“You did know that,” Astoria asked with a frown. “Didn’t you? Isn’t that why you asked us here for a so-called dinner and then spilled your beans?”

“No,” Ron and Hermione muttered, again in sync.

“You asked us here to have a foursome without even knowing we’re therapists?” Draco repeated, looking at them like they were the worst kinds of idiots on earth.

“You call this -what we just did here- therapy?” Hermione asked.

“Why shouldn’t we have called you?” Ron challenged. “We are adults, we can call whomever we want to do whatever we want.”

“Because I am your mortal enemy, Weasley, you half-witted idiot,” Draco exclaimed in growing irritation. “I am your arch-enemy, your nemesis, the opposite of everything you hold dear and sacred.”

“Not anymore, surely,” Hermione replied after a bit of thought.

“What the hell is an arch-enemy?” Ron scrunched up his long nose. “People don’t have arch-enemies.”

“You know what,” Draco huffed after a moment. “I don’t need to hear this. We’re leaving. We will send you the bill by owl in the next couple of days. Tori?”

Astoria took her time straightening her dress and fixing her hair, while her husband fumed, half-dressed, by the archway that led to the kitchen and ultimately out of the house.

“I do hope we may meet again,” Astoria smiled. “This was all quite interesting. You aren’t at all how Draco described you to be.”

----------------------------------

Hermione collapsed, sweat dripping from her body, near Ron’s prostrate body.

“Was that your third orgasm?” Ron asked arrogantly. “I think it was. In fact, I’m sure it was. I counted them. That was your third orgasm. Your third orgasm in 2 hours and 36 min—”

“For months now, you keep counting my orgasms!” Hermione chuckled, grinning widely as she covered Ron’s mouth with her hand, which Ron took into his own and squeezed it.

“I can’t help it, can I?” Ron grinned. “Three months ago, it would have been a miracle if I even made you cum once!”

“Well,” Hermione sighed in happy contentment, “and I would have died rather than accept my more… kinky aspects.”

“Thank you for recognizing that,” Ron nodded gracefully.

“My kinky aspects?” Hermione asked playfully, even though she knew what he meant.

“That too,” Ron whispered against her mouth, before he kissed her deeply.