Chapter 2: Waxed Raw and Pussy-Smothered
The sharp, sweet scent of firewhisky filled Harry’s nostrils as Ginny pressed the glass to his lips. “Drink,” she commanded, her voice husky. He swallowed, the liquid burning a path down his throat, a welcome distraction from the deep, throbbing ache in his core and the sticky evidence of his own release drying on his stomach. The magical restraints still held him, but they’d loosened slightly, allowing a faint tremor to run through his limbs.
“See? All better,” Ginny crooned, setting the empty glass aside with a soft click. Her eyes, dark and hungry, roamed over his spent body. “You’re not done yet. We’ve just warmed you up.”
Before he could form a protest, she moved with that quicksilver grace of hers. She climbed onto the sturdy wooden table, straddling his chest, her knees pinning his arms to his sides. The rough fabric of her jeans brushed against his bare skin. Then, with deliberate slowness, she unbuttoned her trousers and pushed them, along with her knickers, down her thighs. The earthy, musky scent of her arousal, thick and unmistakable, washed over him.
“You’ve had your fun,” she murmured, leaning forward, her hands gripping the table on either side of his head. “Now it’s my turn. Open up, Harry.”
She lowered herself, positioning her dripping cunt directly over his mouth. He could see the glistening pink folds, the neat thatch of red hair, smell the intense, primal aroma of her. His cock, impossibly, gave a weak, interested twitch against his stomach.
“Lick me,” she ordered, her voice a low thrum of power. “Make me cum. You’re my fucking pillow prince tonight.”
He obeyed, his tongue tentatively finding her slit. She tasted salty, musky, alive. He licked a slow, experimental stripe, and she groaned above him, her hips pressing down, grinding against his face. “That’s it,” she panted. “Use that tongue. Don’t you dare stop.”
As his world narrowed to the taste and feel of Ginny, he became aware of other movements in the room. Hermione was rummaging in a bag, the clink of glass and metal faintly audible over Ginny’s ragged breathing and the wet sounds of his mouth on her.
“Hold still, Potter,” Hermione’s voice cut through the haze, crisp and unnervingly calm. “Unless you want third-degree burns on your precious cock.”
His eyes, wide with sudden alarm, flicked to the side. Hermione stood beside the table, holding a long, red candle she’d lit with a whisper of magic. It wasn’t a tallow candle; this was beeswax, dripping slowly, the molten drops pooling in a small, shimmering puddle at the base of the wick. She tilted it.
A single, fat drop of crimson wax fell through the air. It landed on the hypersensitive head of his cock.
“FUCK!” he screamed against Ginny’s flesh, his body arching, his cry muffled by her pussy. The pain was instantaneous and searing—a sharp, bright sting that melted immediately into a deep, radiating heat. His cock jumped violently.
“I said hold still,” Hermione chided, her expression one of focused interest. She poured another slow, deliberate ribbon of wax down his shaft. The sensation was unbearable, a line of fire tracing the most vulnerable part of him. He writhed, torn between the overwhelming need to escape the pain and the driving need to please Ginny, who was now fucking his face in earnest, her moans growing louder.
“Oh, look at the colors,” Luna’s dreamy voice floated from behind him. He felt her small, cool hand spread his ass cheeks apart, exposing his stretched, tender hole to the air. He flinched, anticipating another assault. “The red and the gold. It’s just like a Nargle mating display. So vibrant.”
He felt a new, distinct heat, lower and more terrifying. Luna was dripping golden wax from a second candle directly onto his exposed pucker. The sensation was alien and shocking. The scalding droplet hit his nerve-rich rim and he screamed again, a raw, guttural sound of pure, overwhelmed sensation. The heat was immense, a branding iron on his most private, violated place.
“Shhh, Harry,” Luna murmured, her breath ghosting over his heated skin. “It’s just a little heat. It makes the skin so sensitive for later.”
He was trapped in a vortex of sensation. Ginny’s weight on his chest, her taste flooding his mouth, her hips grinding relentlessly against his face. The alternating sear of red and gold wax on his cock and his hole, each drop a tiny explosion of agony that somehow, perversely, fed the embers of his arousal. His body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming.
Hermione watched his cock twitch and leak under the trails of crimson wax, a small, smug smile on her lips. “He’s still hard,” she observed clinically. “Even through this. Pathetic.”
“He’s always been a glutton for punishment,” Ginny moaned, her movements becoming jerky, frantic. “Come on, Harry, make me come! Fucking eat me!”
He redoubled his efforts, his tongue plunging deep, lapping at her clit, sucking her folds. The wax kept falling. A red drop on his balls made him yelp. A golden trickle down his perineum made him sob. The pain and the pleasure were merging into one incomprehensible, white-hot continuum of feeling.
Ginny’s thighs clamped around his head, her whole body stiffening. A long, shuddering cry was torn from her throat as she came, her release flooding his mouth, bitter and sweet. She collapsed forward, her weight heavy on his chest, breathing in great, ragged gasps.
For a moment, there was silence except for the crackle of the fire and the ragged sound of their breathing. The wax on his skin began to cool, forming hard, shiny shells of red and gold.
Hermione blew out her candle. “Well,” she said, brushing a speck of wax from her sleeve. “That was educational.”
Luna gently peeled a flake of golden wax from his asshole, making him jolt. “The display is complete,” she announced with satisfaction.
Ginny slowly pushed herself up, her face flushed and satiated. She looked down at Harry, his face glistening with her, his body painted in streaks of colored wax, his cock still standing tall and painfully erect amidst the carnage.
She smiled, a slow, wicked thing.
“Now,” she said, her finger tracing a line through the wax on his abdomen. “Let’s see how many times we can make you come before you break.”