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Perfect Lullaby

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Ron claps Harry on the back and takes another shot, biting back a grimace as the burning liquor travels down his throat. He stumbles into a chair and Dean lets out a low whistle as the stripper Seamus hired for Harry’s stag party enters the private bar.

Ron does his best to keep his mouth shut but is certain he is failing miserably. The woman saunters over, shiny black corset squeezing two perfect plump breasts towards her chin. Her legs are long and adorned in sheer stockings, tall pointed heels clicking loudly on the bar floor.

“Where is the lucky man?” the woman murmurs, voice low and seductive.

Harry shakes his head vigorously, laughing as he points to Ron.

“Harry—” Ron protests.

“No thanks, mate. She’s all yours.”

The woman smirks beneath her long, dark hair and moves to Ron’s chair, artfully swinging her leg over his lap until she is straddling him.

“Hey there big boy,” she purrs.

Merlin. Ron feels his prick perk up as she starts to slowly gyrate her hips, glorious breasts pressing up into his face. She flips her hair over her shoulder and Ron let’s out a little squeal.


“Hello Weasley,” Pansy laughs, adjusting herself gracefully until she is sitting on his lap, back flush against his chest.

“Uh, what… how—” Ron stutters out inelegantly.

“Why don’t you just enjoy the ride,” she whispers softly.

Ron can see Seamus openly gaping and Harry snickering into his pint out of the corner of his eye but he ignores them all the same. All of his attention is captured by the woman grinding against him, her tight arse rubbing against his growing erection.

"Bloody hell," he whimpers as she rocks back and forth, hips swaying in time with the music playing in the bar.

Ron can hardly believe he's sitting here, prick throbbing in desperation as Pansy bloody Parkinson grinds against him. She sets an achingly slow pace, her lacy knicker clad arse sliding against his crotch. It doesn't really matter how slow she is going, Ron thinks to himself, as long as she doesn't stop. He can feel the tension building in his bollocks, just on the verge of release and he's certain he's about to come in his pants, sitting in a dim bar with all his friends mere feet away. He's really not sure he cares.

The music fades and an upbeat song takes its place as Pansy stills her movements and climbs off of Ron.

"Where are you going," Ron cries, too gone to care about how he sounds.

Pansy turns around and favors him with a devilish smirk.

"Songs over darling, I was only paid for one dance."

She turns around and starts to walk away when Ron calls out to her.

"Can I see you again?" He croaks out desperately.

"Of course love," she looks over her shoulder, eyes shining with amusement. "You can see me in your dreams."

Ron sits there, stunned, as she leaves the private room, head buzzing and deaf to whatever Dean's saying as he laughs heartily and squeezes Ron's shoulder. Harry walks over and gives him a sympathetic look, handing him another shot.

When Ron wakes up the next morning, hungover as all hell, sticky pajama bottoms clinging to his half hard prick, and memories of a fantastic dream featuring a certain former Slytherin on her knees, sucking him dry, he can only laugh. It seems Parkinson, that wickedly gorgeous woman, was true to her word.