The Unfulfilled Wife - Chapter 06

Harry knelt on the pantry floor, face buried between Molly’s thighs. His shoulders dug into her soft inner thighs, forcing her legs wider. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he devoured her with intensity. The pantry door stood ajar, each second risking discovery. Arthur’s snores from upstairs were their only protection.

Molly’s dress was bunched around her waist, revealing stockinged legs that quivered uncontrollably. Her breasts heaved beneath the thin cotton, nipples straining against the fabric, areolas visible through the worn material. Perspiration dampened her dress, making it cling to her freckled skin. One hand clutched a shelf for balance, the other was tangled in Harry’s hair, nails digging into his scalp as she ground against his mouth.

“Right there,” Molly hissed, yanking his hair as his tongue slid up her slit. “Harder Harry. Deeper.”

Her soaking auburn curls rubbed against his face as he worked her folds. Her scent filled the small space—musky and sweet—the familiar perfume of the woman who had mothered him for years. Now she was spread before him, surrendering her pussy to his eager mouth. She tasted of salt and honey with a tang that made his cock throb against his jeans.

Her thighs shook against his head, stockings scratching against his stubbled cheeks as she widened her legs, begging for more.

Harry devoured her, his tongue taking broad strokes from her entrance to her clit. He parted her folds with his thumbs, the pink flesh submitting easily to his touch. The tight entrance clenched with each pass of his tongue, releasing juices that coated his mouth and dripped down his chin. Molly’s hips bucked against his face, grinding her pussy into him with increasing desperation.

A floorboard creaked overhead. Molly froze—mid-thrust—thighs clamping around Harry’s ears. His glasses sat askew, fogged and smeared with her heat. They held still, hearts hammering as Arthur shifted in his sleep above them. Molly’s breasts rose with silent, terrified breaths.

When silence returned, Harry dove between her legs with renewed hunger. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the pillowy flesh, guiding her movements.

“We have to be quick,” Molly whispered, shoving herself into his face. Her weight shifted forward, nearly suffocating him between her thighs.

Harry’s tongue circled her swollen clit before flicking across the sensitive nerves. Her hand flew to her mouth, teeth sinking into her knuckles to stifle her cries. Harry locked his eyes on hers as he took her clit between his lips and sucked hard.

The sudden action made Molly’s knees buckle. Harry supported her with his arms, one hand sliding to her rear as he held her in place.

As his excitement grew, something primal shifted within him. An old magic stirred in response to his arousal. His tongue vibrated against her core, an otherworldly hissing emanating from his throat—Parseltongue, the serpent language awakening from its dormancy.

Molly’s body convulsed as though struck by lightning. A strangled scream escaped despite the hand covering her mouth. Her thighs clamped around his head with crushing force, and her fingers clawed his scalp as she shuddered against his vibrating tongue.

“Sweet Merlin, what was that?” she gasped, voice almost unrecognizable.

Harry pulled back, his face soaked with her arousal—chin, cheeks, and glasses glistening. He hadn’t realized what he’d done until he’d seen her reaction.

“Parseltongue,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t stop,” Molly commanded, breasts heaving beneath her soaked dress, nipples jutting through the fabric. “Please. Do it again.”

Heat surged through him. His cock strained against his jeans as he returned to her quivering mound. He channeled the serpent tongue deliberately, vibrating the tip of his tongue against her clit.

Molly’s hips bucked wildly, nearly breaking his nose. Harry’s hands gripped her thighs, fingers sinking into the flesh as he held her in place. Her body trembled, convulsions running through her as the supernatural sensation overwhelmed her.

“Oh Merlin,” she moaned, forgetting herself, voice echoing in the cramped space. “I’ve never—Harry!”

The floorboards groaned—Arthur stirring from sleep. They froze in terror, Harry’s mouth still pressed against her, both holding their breath. Footsteps moved across the ceiling, then stopped.

“Hurry,” Molly hissed, voice strained, body trembling with need. Her eyes were wild with fear and lust. “Before he comes down. Make me cum, Harry. Now.”

The danger heightened their arousal. Harry attacked with ferocity, his tongue vibrating with increasing intensity against her clit. Two fingers thrust into her dripping heat, the wet sounds audible even over his Parseltongue. His fingers curled upward, finding the ridged spot that made her shudder.

Molly tensed, her back arching sharply. Both of her hands were pressed against her mouth, barely containing her sounds. Her thighs spasmed around his head, muscles contracting with each flick of his tongue and thrust of his fingers.

“I’m close,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

Harry increased the intensity, his hissing growing louder. He slammed his fingers into her, abandoning precision for speed.

Molly’s climax hit with devastating force. Her body convulsed violently, muscles clamping around his fingers with crushing pressure. She bucked against his face, grinding against his mouth as waves of pleasure tore through her. Her muffled screams filled the pantry.

Warm fluid gushed down Harry’s chin. The unexpected release took him by surprise, but he maintained his position, drinking what he could as she painted his face with her juices.

Only when she pushed his head away did he relent.

Molly collapsed against the shelves, legs trembling. Her large breasts shook with each ragged breath, the soaked dress now transparent, her nipples visible through the clinging fabric. Her face was red from exertion, eyes unfocused, hair plastered to her forehead.

Harry rose to support her, his arousal painfully confined in his jeans as he steadied her shaking form. His face was a mess—chin, cheeks, and neck coated with her cum.

“That was...” she gasped, struggling for words. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”

“The Parseltongue?” Harry asked, pride in his voice.

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, breasts bouncing with the movement. “Like being touched everywhere at once, inside and out.” Her hands cupped his face, eyes filled with awe. “You’re full of surprises, Harry Potter.”

The toilet flushed overhead, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Arthur called out: “Molly? Where are you?”

Panic surged between them. Molly pushed her dress down, smoothing the wrinkled fabric while Harry wiped his face on his sleeve.

“In the pantry, Arthur!” she called, voice steady despite her debauched state. “Getting ready for lunch!”

She grabbed a jar, thrusting it into Harry’s hands. “Go,” she whispered urgently. “Act normal.”

Harry adjusted himself in his jeans and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. With a deep breath, Harry opened the pantry door.

Arthur stood in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, pajamas rumpled. His smile showed no suspicion. “Ah, Harry! Helping with lunch? Good lad.”

“Just grabbing this,” Harry replied, holding up the jar of pickled beets. “Molly asked me to reach it.”

Arthur’s eyes passed over Harry’s flushed face without concern, then looked at Molly as she emerged on unsteady legs. He gave no sign of noticing anything out of the ordinary. He kissed her forehead—the same wife whose cum still coated Harry’s tongue—before talking about Ministry business.

Harry placed the jar on the counter, catching Molly’s gaze. Her eyes still reflected the aftermath of her orgasm, pupils dilated with satisfaction. Their secret burned between them, a blaze that Arthur’s obliviousness only intensified.