Chapter 51X: The Return of Alejandro (Patreon)

DISCLAIMER:

The first half of this chapter contains Bas and Emma getting explicit. So, enjoy the plot and the real plot in the latter section. 

xxx

Chapter 51X: The Return of Alejandro

????. ????

Huh? What’s going on? I can’t see. Why? Oh, my eyes were closed…

The second thing I noticed when I opened them was that it was the middle of the day. Two questions may arise at that observation; first, why was I asleep during broad daylight? Second, what was my initial discovery?

The grunting girl grinding on my groin answered both. “H-had - Ooah - a nice nap?”

“Waking up is better.” Her name came unbidden to me as a moan. “Emma…” But I couldn’t even hear myself think any more beyond that. 

Emma’s sinful symphony was a performance I dared not miss. Every turn of her luscious hips eliciting a viscous squelch from her seeping core; followed by the, “Angh! Urgh!” guttural groans of primal lust.

Unconsciousness urged me to return to it; but forget rolling my eyes to the back of my head - nothing could steal my gaze away from the sight below. Her body was on full display - desire etched into every contour and shadow of her shuddering physique. 

She tilted back, her entire weight on outstretched arms resting entirely on my shins. 

Emma firmly planted her feet on the mattress on either side of my hips. My fingers crawled down her flexing calves until I shackled them around her ankles. The added support spurred her to spread her thighs wider, our messy union in full, unashamed view. That distinct sour musk of her arousal wafted up my nose. I almost came on the spot.

Her gyration grew as she squeezed my cock to eagerly churn her undulating tightness. My girl had equally sweaty insides as out. Soft, squishy, and sweltering - my throbbing shaft scraped against every bump, ridge, and groove of Emma’s silky flesh. 

“Hah! Hah! Hah!” Her laboured breaths came in short, sharp bursts. “I’m so close, so close!” 

“Let’s hurry you up then, shall we?” Tightening my hands around where they were, I trapped her in her seat. Lifting my hips, I thrust suddenly into her with all the force I had.

 “Aah!” She jolted up. My hips swayed in reverse - hovering just above the mattress. And before gravity or her flagging strength claimed her, I stroked back inside her, “plap!” again, “plap!” again, “plap!” and again.

Relentless despite the lactic burn surging at my lower back; the pleasure each piston brought outstripping my hip’s desperate plea for rest. The growing strain of my effort wasn’t something I allowed to even escape my mouth. Chapped lips were tucked between my teeth. The muscles in my jaw prickled, aching to clench with their full might to split open my already cracking lips, just so I could use the warm blood as a cool drink to ease my thirst. 

There were far better things to drink.

Emma’s own exertion was evident. Perspiration painted her petite figure. She bounced bonelessly on top of me. “ungh,” Her head fell back as her torso rocked, loosing a trickle of sweat from the well in her defined collar bone. I followed its path over her heaving breast, zig-zagging between the pebbles on her areola and hanging precariously off the tip of her hardened nipple. 

With bated breath, I waited a long, agonising moment, until I was sure it held as much for as long as it could. Then I lunged with all the strength left in my core. I latched on to her nipple, allowing the droplet of sweat to fall in my mouth. Warm, salty from her skin - the electrolytes almost electric on my tingling tongue. 

More. I needed more. My cheeks hollowed out, my tongue struck at her peaking flesh, lapping at it to coax anything and everything out. 

Her nails dug painfully into my nest of hair as she sought balance, as well as to bury me deeper into her bosom.

I sucked and fucked - but nothing came. At least until she did. “Bas!” Ah… that was my name, wasn’t it?

xxx

??? Shower, ???. ??? 200?

Emma didn’t let me keep it for long, though. 

My new girlfriend was proving kinkier than promised. I maybe should have expected it from a career actress, as roleplay featured as a prominent fetish of hers. Who was I to deny her that fantasy?

“There - oh, fuck-!” She wailed her thunder under the shower’s rain. Rivulets of water taunted me as they tickled every cleft and valley of her taut figure. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you? Starving beast, that you- ahn-!” I wanted to respond, to wick the flavour off her skin before the water washed it all away, but my mouth was too busy. “Alejandro!”

Kneeling beneath her and trapped between her shivering thighs, I buried my face deeper into Belinda’s weeping womanhood. I was getting a good taste of her - coppery, pungent in the best possible way, and uniquely her. My tongue lavished her clit, lathered her lips, and lubed her deeper inside. Each invasion drawing another dollop of her deliciousness. 

The tip of my nose was tangled in her moisture matted tresses. I inhaled until my lungs reached their limit. Sweet, sour, musky, and heady enough to make damn sure I knew my technique was working wonders. 

She was barely able to stand up anymore - to play pretend, either. Her upper back leaned on the wall behind her, as her upraised arms scrambled to find any nook to grip. No amount of floral soap undermined her own natural bouquet. Flowers had nothing on pheromones. 

My shoulders bore the brunt of her squirming, since her draped limbs lost all capability to hold her up. I was infinitely thankful I had the presence of mind to have clipped my nails earlier. My claws gouged her jutting, jiggling tush. Fingertips fondled the creases of her crinkled edge as the mass of her supple meat spilled out from between the gaps of my savage grip.

My legs were growing numb because the acrylic under me had no give. The pins and needles there served only to intensify the absence of my own satisfaction.

I erupted off my knees, transferring the burden of her writhing form on to my elbows instead. The back of her knees hooked within the crook of my arms. I lifted her and folded her practically in half. Thick strands of her sticky essence streaked over my engorged member. I hefted her in my arms; my biceps unbothered by her feathery lightness as adrenaline, blood, and hormones ravaged my veins. All I registered was pure pleasure as I lined her dripping hole to my twitching cock, and plunged in - her feverish, flowing welcome hot enough to render the steaming shower into a frigid drizzle.

“Come, my lady.” She did. 

xxx

Bas’s Bedroom, Leavesden. ???? 2009?

It was dark out now. I could tell despite the closed curtains because the only light streaming in was from the open bathroom door. 

But I still saw Emma as clear as day.

Wide, unseeing, bloodshot eyes, with the semi-dried residue of ruined, tear-stained mascara leaking down the sides.

Her philtrum - that kissable dip perched above her swollen, pouty lips pooled the mingled vestiges of our swapped fluids.

My sheets were in a right state, too. Soaked and soggy. Torn away from their tight corners and crumpled in Emma’s clenched fists. My pillows were piled under her hips, their usual post usurped by her fanned curls. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, lying as limp, lifeless, and drenched as she herself looked.

Emma was the ugliest I’d ever seen her. 

“God above, you’re beautiful.” I stared down into her unfocused eyes from where I loomed above her. I traced her sharp jawline with fluffy, fluttering kisses. 

Mmm. She deepened our embrace. Her nails glided across the furrows she’d rent into my skin in her prior passion. Her fingers intertwined, her svelte legs locked my waist, and she weakly tugged all of me on top of her. 

As my weight settled on her, the tantalisingly stiff peaks or her spongy nipples squashed against my chest. I felt them bump, graze, spring, and swell each time she shifted because of my continued pounding. Fumes were all I had left to power my languid, lazy pumping. Sluggish slurps and shlicks accompanied her quivered panting as I chased the pleasant friction of her swallowing pressure in slow insertions. 

That familiar sensation of pending release steadily climbed at the base of my spine. Rhythmic thrums of charged craving rippled up my vertebrae in waves of gooseflesh. Ducking down to swaddle myself beside her lolling neck, I whispered into her ear. “Where?”

“You’re already where you belong.” She sounded raspy but resolute.

I chuckled. “Discreet it is.” Together, I let myself go, and she yelled in approval.

–

Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire UK. November 2009.

[Emma’s screams echoed again, this time as she roleplayed Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy manor. “You’re lying, filthy mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth! Where did you get this sword? Where!?” 

“Please, Stop! We found it - we found it!” Hermione sobbed her misery to match Bellatrix’s spitting madness. Working together in tandem, they inadvertently revealed the clue for the Hufflepuff horcrux.

“Har-Ghk!” I watched dispassionately as Timothy Spall used Pettigrew’s silver hand to choke himself into a curious shade of purple. I stayed and stared unblinking until he let out a final defeated gurgle.

Another pained shout shook the walls.

Ron swiped the dead rat’s wand and raced up the stairs. Bellowing “Hermione!” I followed in his wake until we reached the manor’s main hall, which also did double duty as a torture chamber. “Expelliarmus!” Ron disarmed Bellatrix before she could carve into either Hermione or Griphook. 

Bellatrix snarled in surprise and rage as her wand went flying. It’s arc perfect this take, as the near invisible string that tugged it whipped right over the crash mat. 

Seeker's reflexes kicked in. I leapt, snatched it mid-air, angled it at Lucius Malfoy jabbing his own wand, and roared, “Rrah!” a wordless stupefy that sent him crashing through breakaway furniture before he could get his curse off. 

My landing was crunchy and substituted grace with rage. Ron and I slashed our wands as we hammered away at Draco and Narcissa’s crumbling defence. 

Despite being related, though, Bellatrix was a different breed. Disarmed didn’t mean unarmed to her. “Stop or she dies!” 

The camera flew over my shoulder, in the same direction as my trembling wand, until it zoomed in on Bellatrix, handling Hermione roughly by the hair, and keeping her knife pressed at her fully bared neck. Hermione’s arm hung limp and shivering, the word mudblood carved into her forearm as prosthetic blood trickled out. 

Helena made a character choice and bubbled out an echoing cackle once the room stilled. “Itty-bitty baby Potter comes out to play!” she tutted in faux chastisement. “We can’t have that until the Dark Lord gets here, can we? He’d miss all the fun!” She immediately flipped from her playful demeanour and scowled at the Malfoys. “Draco, get their wands!”

The youngest Malfoy scuttled over at her command. Shaky hands lightly held my wand. The camera circled and dollied in on our juxtaposing side profiles. 

His face was haunted, hesitant, and riddled with anguish as his eyes pleaded with me to let go. My hands and jaws remained wood and tooth shatteringly clenched, glaring down at him with burning green eyes through my glasses.

Before either could say anything, the speakers interrupted the tense silence in the room abruptly blaring out metallic squeaking and glassy clattering SFX. All of us, and the camera whip panned to the ceiling - specifically the chandelier where Dobby would be digitally perched later.]

“Cut - and print that one!”

I slouched my shoulders, unpuckered my anus, and heaved out a last bit of heat as I eased out of Harry’s mind. “Glad to have you back, Bas.” Hm? 

“Do you need these prop glasses, Felton? I’ve been here with you all day.”

“No, mate. Harry Potter’s been with me all day, and he’s been apocalyptic the entire time. It’s nice to not need a change of pants every time you look in my direction anymore.” My my, was he trying to seduce me with these compliments? Sorry Tom, but this tank engine has left the station. Yours truly was a taken man, even if secretly.

Involuntarily, my eyes danced over to a scuffed Emma. Wincing as Helena apologetically brushed her hair back into place. “Yeah… I think I might’ve gotten a tad more into it than usual.”

“Disappeared into the role, huh? Say… I’d actually like to tal-!” Unfortunately, before Felton could start hugging along, someone yanked the emergency brakes.

“Gather round, everyone gather round. I know we’re all about ready to hit the hay.” Heyman cajoled the set to huddle around him. “Before we get going, however, I’ve an important announcement to share. As you are all aware, and no doubt still angry at me for it, earlier this year I sent out the mandate that we’d be extending our filming schedule by a few weeks.” Which was the reason I couldn’t commit to The Other Guys, now that I recall. “Today I shall tell you why.” Oh, I discovered that recently all by myself. The crew hadn’t, so they paid rapt attention. Heyman walked over to Yates and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Our dedicated director for the last three films, David Yates, has decided to end his fruitful stint with the Potter franchise. Hallows part one, will be the last film he does for us.”

Commiserative aws, and confused huhs spread amongst the crowd. Totally disparate from Yates’ absolutely beaming smile. 

I cupped my hands around my mouth to improve the acoustics and shouted out, “speech!”

He floundered out a hasty response. “I-I-I’m not packing up today itself!”

“Yes, thank you for that, Bas. As we finish closing out the last scenes, I’m certain Yates will have a few more words to say. In the meantime, to reassure you all that we remain on track, I’d like to introduce,” more accurately re-introduce, “the familiar face who’s taken the wheel to steer us to our checkered flag.” Heyman craned his neck, caught someone’s eye off to the side, and beckoned them over.

“Cuánto tiempo, everybody! It’s been a long time!” In walked Alfonso Cuarón.