Mrs Malfoy’s Finishing School For Young LadiesCharacters/pairings:
spanking, somewhat dubious consent, sort-of-underage (Pansy’s sixteen)Word count:
Pansy’s behaviour around Draco is thoroughly lacking in decorum. Narcissa needs to show her how to behave.Disclaimer:
The boys and girls belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
This was my September Daily Deviant fic, for the 'continuing education' theme.
Narcissa was already in a bad mood when she saw Pansy Parkinson. She’d had to stand on Platform Nine and Three Quarters while the insufferable Victoria Greengrass simpered about how sorry she was to hear of Lucius’ recent troubles, and how she was sure things would be resolved soon. Narcissa stood with her back rigidly straight, forcing her shoulders to stay relaxed and keeping her smile bright. The milling, muttering parents would see no hint of strain.
Mrs Parkinson kept her distance, Narcissa noted, but she offered a smile and wave. The new Mrs Gotha didn’t come over for a gossip, but then her new husband would probably expire of shock if he heard their gossip. She must remember to have the guest room by Draco’s bedroom aired out; if she was any judge, Blaise would be by very soon.
Mrs Nott passed and Narcissa smiled. Mrs Nott looked straight past her and walked by, cutting her dead. Narcissa flinched a little, shocked.
Her mouth tightened. She would get the reins back, grasp back control of her circle, and once she did she would make every witch who’d ignored her owls in the last few weeks pay
Narcissa stood by the train interminably while the platform emptied. Families found each other, there were were squeals and hugs and exclamations, and then the sound of a levitation charm for the trunks and off they went. Narcissa kept her smile fixed, her gloved hands clasped together. Where was Draco?
Her stomach tightened in dread. She had held back the pain and loneliness of Lucius’ absence by reminding herself that Draco would be home soon: her tall, beautiful boy, back where she could keep him safe. And now - had someone -
Pansy Parkinson burst off the train. She had her wand out and her face was flushed. “Mum! Mrs Malfoy!” she called. “Those horrible - Potter and his friends hexed Draco! And Vince and Greg! We need help, I can’t fix all the - ”
Narcissa didn’t hear the rest; she’d already drawn her wand. She brushed past Pansy and strode onto the train, leaving Pansy and Vincent and Gregory’s parents behind.
She saw Draco and bit the inside of her lip.
Narcissa had always found the idea of blood vengeance on a gawky adolescent ridiculous. Potter had proved long since that he had no special powers, no great dark talent that had preserved him against the Dark Lord’s curse. He was just lucky, and protected by Dumbledore no matter how he attacked his classmates.
But while Narcissa stood there and performed charm after spell after incantation, turning Draco back into himself and healing his hurts, she imagined endless feats of bloody vengeance. The Borgias would have nothing on her.
She promised herself too that she would apologise in her next letter to Lucius; she shouldn’t mocked his rage against the Potter boy so.
“Hello, Mum.” Draco levered himself off the floor of the carriage, his shirt rumpled, hair dishevelled, traces of slime and blood still lingering. But he was here
. He was blushing, thoroughly embarrassed. He was sixteen and Pansy was just behind them; Vincent and Gregory, still in rather slug-like shape, were watching.
Narcissa hugged him anyway. He held her back, just for a moment, and the new strength of his arms held her so tightly she was breathless. Then Draco dropped his arms and Narcissa let him go; he was here, under her eyes, and she still had her wand out. She didn’t need to keep touching him.
!” Pansy bumped past Narcissa rudely and hugged him herself. A very different sort of hug: Narcissa recognised that sort of hug, breasts pressed against his chest, hands slung around his neck in faux-damsel sweetness. Draco responded, his face lighting up under his mucky hair. Narcissa smiled to herself a little.
Pansy was rushing on, her voice too loud, making promises better kept for privacy. Narcissa couldn’t bring herself to mind too
much, though: merciless rumours about their relationship with Hagrid was just what Potter’s little crowd deserved.
“Let’s sit down, Draco,” Pansy said, “while Greg and Vince get sorted out.” Draco nodded and sat. Pansy dropped down next to him, practically in his lap. Their faces dropped close together and for a moment Pansy’s loud voice went soft. Pansy curled closer to Draco, her skirt sliding up her thighs, her hand coming to rest against his chest. The other was stroking over his shoulders.
And it only got worse from there.
Narcissa stared, appalled. What did the girl think she was doing
, pawing at Draco like that!
They were still cooing at each other; Draco’s laughing, mournful declaration that he required chocolate and a harem (he thought Narcissa wasn’t paying attention, which was foolish) was met with a mutter and a hand on his stomach. Narcissa gave it a very sharp look. If that was where the hands ended up in the same room as their mothers
who knew what Hogwarts had seen?
She caught Mrs Parkinson’s eye. The woman was blushing, as well she might. Draco pressed his face against Pansy’s bosom in supposed distress, a distinct twinkle in his eye that Pansy couldn’t see, and Narcissa and Mrs Parkinson shared a look of horror.
Narcissa leant over and murmured, “perhaps you might send Pansy over to me for a word about appropriate behaviour?”***
That was how Narcissa ended up agreeing to tutor Pansy in proper behaviour over the summer. It would be a distraction, if not a pleasure. And she would be sure to teach the girl a contraceptive charm or two - you had to go a little dark for ironclad effectiveness, and she wouldn’t have Draco sire a bastard.
She prepared her office - usually reserved for household accounts and a certain brand of Auror - for all eventualities and sent Draco to play Quidditch at the Goyle home. Narcissa wasn’t having him coming in and distracting her pupil.
Pansy had apparently hoped to drive Draco
to distraction. She Flooed in almost-promptly at four minutes past eleven in an expensive dress that made up for its low hemline with a bodice that had Pansy almost bursting out of it. Cosmo Parkinson and his nouveau-riche attitude had always believed in showing off one’s assets, but really
. A girl wearing that shade of lipstick did not say ‘long-term investment’.
Truly, Narcissa had become her mother.
“Hello, Mrs Malfoy!” Pansy was bright-eyed. She tripped up to Narcissa, bright-eyed, then stopped in apparent confusion when Narcissa didn’t react. “Thank you for tutoring me. I’m really excited to learn from you.”
“One wonders, then,” replied Narcissa, “why you are late.”
Pansy’s forehead creased and she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Am I late? Oh...”
“Your first lesson is apparently a remedial one,” Narcissa said crisply. “Don’t be late. It is disrespectful and impolite, two things which you should never be whoever
you are meeting. Particularly when you are meeting a tutor. Five minutes early is your rule of thumb.”
Pink bloomed in Pansy’s cheeks and she dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Was that a hint of resentment in her voice?
“Well. Come through into my office.” Narcissa gestured towards the door, then brought Pansy along with a hand against the small of her back. “Now, did your mother tell you why she wanted you to come to me?”
“She, er, she wants me to be more of a lady.”
“Correct. And what do you think a lady is like?”
“Like you!” Narcissa glanced down, surprised, and caught a soft snicker from a portrait further down the corridor. Pansy’s dark eyes were earnest. “You’re so pretty, and you’re married to Mr Malfoy, and you’re rich...”
“Ah.” They had reached Narcissa’s office. She opened the door with a tap of her wand and sent Pansy in.
“Stand in front of the desk, please.” Pansy obeyed. She was wearing ridiculous shoes with stiletto heels she could barely walk in, and Narcissa eyed the way they bit into her thick rug with disfavour. Never mind; Narcissa would keep her standing in front of the large desk for a while, long enough for Pansy to feel her mistake.
“Wealth or beauty is not what defines a lady,” Narcissa said. She closed and locked the door with another tap of her wand. Pansy watched her with gratifying attention; if only she could make Draco listen to her so hard. “The problem with you, my dear, is a lack of class. You’re not poised enough; you’re loud when you should be quiet; you lack elegance. Most of all, you lack discretion, and discretion is what will make or break you once you take your place in society as a woman.” Narcissa paused, watching her barbs hit home. She wondered if she could make Pansy cry. The girl certainly seemed vulnerable enough to Narcissa’s disapproval.
“And the way you hung all over Draco... slobbering is not for ladies, Pansy. It’s for dogs.”
Pansy’s dark eyes flashed a little.
“You may have thought this invitation was a sign you were being groomed as the next Mrs Malfoy,” Narcissa continued. “Well, unless you improve radically, that will not be happening. Draco deserves a real lady.”
Narcissa came forward and eyed her closely. Pansy was flushed; angry, with Narcissa and with herself for being unable to control her reaction. Narcissa waited, staring relentlessly into Pansy’s face, until a tear slipped down. She wiped it gently from Pansy’s face, then twisted the knife.
“He will have someone with a modicum of self-control.”
Pansy swallowed, then raised her head. “Of course, Mrs Malfoy.”
Better than she was expecting. Narcissa smiled. “Good girl.
“Now, let’s begin with this dress. Expensive is not the same as tasteful, my dear.” Testing the waters, she ran a finger down the neckline of Pansy’s dress, from the collarbone down over her breast. Pansy looked surprised but stayed in place. “Look at this.” She cupped both Pansy’s breasts in her hands, squeezing a little. Pansy gasped, flinching, but Narcissa simply squeezed again, unblushing.
Lust was tingling through her now. Pansy’s full lips were still parted in callow surprise.
“This dress shouts when it should whisper. It’s vulgar, my dear; it begs someone to come along and grab.” She stroked her thumbs over Pansy’s breasts, wondering if she could harden her nipples through the fabric. Pansy flushed, shifting again, but Narcissa refused to move, enjoying her two handfuls. Pansy went still, like a horse brought to bridle. She’d never been to finishing school; she was likely too worried that this was normal to make a fuss.
She smoothed her hands down to Pansy’s waist. “It’s also too tight. Truly valuable assets don’t need to be shouted about; that’s for the nouveau riche
Smiling a little to herself, Narcissa remembered Lucius’ bookshop brawl and the conversation they’d had afterwards, in this room.
“Now stand, looking straight ahead - shoulders back, that’s better - and let me look at you.”
She began to prowl, circling Pansy, taking in every detail. Knee-length, expensive dress. Low bodice. Lots of dark hair. Pert arse and round breasts and a rounded, dark-eyed face she wanted to see between her legs...
It had been too long since Lucius went away.
Pansy was shifting now; anxious at Narcissa’s silence, and probably in pain from those shoes. She glanced back, and Narcissa gave her a slap on the rump.
Pansy jerked her head straight with a little intake of breath, her body going taut. Narcissa felt an ache between her legs.
“You’re not hopeless, my dear. You’re pretty enough; nice figure, feminine airs. The sort of thing young men want. But you’re covered in ruffles and lace; elegance is not overblown. And you must control your urge to shout for what you want. It’s petulant and childish, and shouting about your desires only means they can be used against you.”
Pansy nodded. “Yes, Mrs Malfoy.” Her voice was nearly a whisper. But there was anger burning in her eyes; she wasn’t good enough to hide it. That was a problem. Narcissa’s success as Mrs Malfoy was largely built on artifice, on the fact that it was twenty past eleven and she had a private bet with herself that it would be half-past before Pansy realised Narcissa’s motives, whatever she said next.
She seated herself behind her desk. Narcissa wanted a good view of Pansy standing before her, awaiting her pleasure.
“Now, we’ve discussed the taste of your dress. Unbutton it; I wish to see your brassiere.”
Narcissa’s voice turned needle-sharp. “Pansy, I am intelligent enough to know that you hoped to see Draco today and that his bedroom is far from mine. I imagine your undergarments will give me an idea of what you think is appropriate for the bedroom. Unbutton your dress.”
Pansy’s mouth tightened. But shame had reddened her cheeks; perhaps she realised defiance would only garner her more humiliation. She obeyed, unbuttoning her dress all the way down. It gaped open, exposing her, including lacy knickers and a bra covered in ruffles. Both articles were sky-blue - a girl’s choice.
Narcissa’s mouth watered.
She shook her head. “Lingerie is only suitable for seduction, and seduction is not appropriate for your current relationship with Draco. You should be wearing undergarments that are plain and pretty, not stuff fit for French whores.”
Pansy looked pained, shutting her eyes in embarrassment and anger.
“Remove that bra, please.”
Pansy looked for a moment like she would laugh in shock. “But - I - ”
Narcissa raised an eyebrow and waited.
After a moment Pansy shrugged off her dress and laid it over a chair. Narcissa took in her flush, her pert breasts and rounded stomach, and promised herself she would tell Lucius all about it in her next letter.
“Just let your brassiere fall.”
Pansy paused for a moment, struggling. Then she reached behind herself, and shrugged her shoulders. The bra fell away.
Narcissa did nothing, watching in silence as Pansy’s nipples hardened in the cool of the room. They were rosy-pink; she imagined biting them, Pansy’s cries.
Pansy lost the battle to appear insouciant and adult, and lifted an arm to cover her breasts.
“But - ”
“Oh, we’re all girls here,” Narcissa said breezily. “It’ll be off with your knickers in a moment. Besides,” she added, her voice acid-sweet, “from what I hear, plenty of people have seen you topless.”
That was the last straw. “Shut up! Where have you heard that? I am not
easy - I’m a virgin! It’s all just jealous lies - ”
“Quiet,” Narcissa said, standing up.
“I won’t! You can’t just say that, you’re not - I’m not - ”
“Apparently,” Narcissa said, her voice soft but with no more give than an iron door, “we need to instill some discipline. You need to understand that shouting will not get you your way, and you are not in charge.” Pansy’s anger sputtered out, and she was left staring with big eyes. “If you behave like a child, you will be treated like a child. You will remove your knickers and bend over the desk.”
Pansy scowled blackly. “I won’t!”
“All right. I’ll spend the rest of the morning writing to your mother, to explain that you will be having no further lessons as you are beyond hope.”
Anxiety crumpled Pansy’s face, wiping the anger away. Narcissa thought there might even be something else there... but perhaps it was wishful thinking. Desire was warming her blood, clouding her mind. She wanted to laugh for delight as Pansy hooked her thumbs over the lace and slid her knickers down, then bent over the desk. “Bend further, Pansy.” Pansy obeyed, then hissed as her bare breasts brushed the cool wood.
Narcissa stood, and let her fingers brush over Pansy’s bare shoulder. She played with Pansy’s hair a little, brushing her fingers through it, while Pansy stayed in position and learnt obedience.
When Pansy’s hair was hanging around her face and she had shut her eyes, catlike, for the stroking, Narcissa moved round the desk. She stretched across its expanse as she moved, and managed to trail her fingertips down Pansy’s spine to the round bounty of her arse.
Narcissa stroked her fingertips across Pansy’s cheeks, and watched goosebumps shiver up her back. She smiled to herself, feeling want tighten her stomach. Pansy reacted well to short, sharp shocks; get her broken to the bit, and tomorrow Pansy could begin learning the importance of putting others first and pleasing one’s elders.
That tongue had to be useful for something.
Narcissa delivered a sharp slap. Pansy’s body snapped tense, but that was all. So she spanked her again. Narcissa didn’t keep to a rhythm, just steadily warmed Pansy’s arse and watched her try not to react.
“Self-control, remember,” Narcissa told her as she smacked Pansy’s thighs. Pansy had begun to make breathy sounds, near-gasping with every slap. Her arse was pinkening, and she rocked just a little with each smack; every time her arse rocked back, as if Pansy were presenting herself for Narcissa’s hand.
The humiliation of a spanking would be compounded if she reacted, of course. So Narcissa kept going, working her arm. Pansy’s skin was scarlet now, her arse marked with handprints. The meaty smack of every blow, Pansy’s gasps that were becoming little cries of pain, Narcissa’s own panting as her lust grew... it rang in Narcissa’s ears. Pansy’s legs were trembling a little; her stilettos were working against her. Her breasts bobbed with every rocking movement; her shoulders were starting to quake. Perhaps Narcissa could make her cry, beg for forgiveness... Narcissa had to shut her eyes for a moment, shuddering, overtaken by the image of Pansy on her knees.
Narcissa drew her nails along Pansy’s blazing arse, and Pansy cried out. But she didn’t protest. “That’s more like it,” Narcissa told her, hoping her voice was still breezy instead of drenched in lust. “I hope you’re going to behave from now on.”
“Please, I will,” Pansy said, her voice quivering. The first words she’d spoken since her spanking had begun, and that tone...
Hoping against hope, Narcissa ran two fingertips along Pansy’s pussy. She was wet. Triumph and lust thrilled through her. She repeated the motion, slowly, and tutted.
“Dear oh dear,” she murmured, quiet and smooth. Narcissa kept going, feeling the warmth of Pansy’s body; she wanted to smell it. “This isn’t good, is it? We spoke about the importance of controlling yourself. Spread your legs, dear.” Pansy obeyed, exposing the dark curls and reddened wetness there. Narcissa could feel her mortification; nothing so sweet as shame. “Didn’t you think I could tell? You’re not as subtle as you think you are, nor as you should be.” She slid two fingers inside Pansy to the second knuckle. The girl was tight: perhaps a virgin after all.
She worked her fingers inside; stretching and stroking and experimenting. Pansy clutched at the desk, and she pressed her thighs together as Narcissa worked a third finger inside. Narcissa wasn’t sure what had Pansy wriggling, her arse rolling against Narcissa’s hand; was she trying to mitigate pain or increase pleasure? Either way - Narcissa gave a little touch of sharp fingernail to it, and watched Pansy shudder - her reactions were delicious. Her face was pressed against the desk now; Narcissa would have liked to see it, but the shame was even better.
Narcissa fingered Pansy thoroughly, working her open, pushing her through helpless waves of desire. “I do hope you’ll learn some self-discipline,” she said, letting her voice - melodious though full of lust - meld for Pansy with being fucked, being naked and chastised in Narcissa’s office. “After all, if people know you desire, they may use it against you.”
She reached with her other hand and found Pansy’s swollen clit. Pansy moaned, her voice rough.
Power rushed through Narcissa, sweet and heady. It had been so long since she’d felt the intoxicant of control. She took her hand from Pansy’s clit, earning a protesting sound, and leant over Pansy’s back, to find one nipple and give it a vicious pinch. Pansy shrieked.
“These hysterical sounds are no good, my dear.” Narcissa went back to working Pansy’s clit while she finger-fucked her. Narcissa’s cunt ached; she was near desperate by now. But she wasn’t going to give in. She would have Pansy coming over her desk before she even touched herself.
“Stay still, Pansy. Control yourself.”
Pansy tried: the sweet earnestness of her attempts was clear. She trembled, squeaking as Narciss’s hands invaded her; but her sounds were muffled as she buried her face against the desk. Pansy tried to go limp, to lie trembling-still as if Narcissa’s hands made no difference. But Narcissa moved again, cradled one full breast in her hand, stroked and lightly pinched at her nipple over and over, until Pansy was writhing, long and slow and full-body. She was murmuring to herself.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Oh,” Pansy muttered, apparently unconsciously; her mouth was swollen, sweat slicking her face. “Oh, oh, fuck - ”
Narcissa slapped her arse hard, and felt Pansy tighten convulsively around her fingers. “That language is most certainly not ladylike,” she said sharply. Narcissa pinched Pansy’s inner thigh and got a loud squeal; she didn’t let go, letting her voice rise above Pansy’s cries and small struggles. “If you use such filthy language again, I shall have you cleaning my floors, without magic, during these sessions until I’m satisfied you’re less vulgar than a scullery maid.” She stopped pinching Pansy’s thighs, but delivered more steady, thumping smacks to Pansy’s arse to cement the message. Pansy cried out with each one, her reaction honest and unbridled and delicious. “I will not accept such vulgar language.”
Narcissa swore quite regularly in bed with Lucius; but then the pureblood edifice was built on do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do. And the only thing sweeter than Pansy’s untrained reactions ws her helpless attempt to control them.
Narcissa stroked and teased her, working her towards the edge. Pansy bucked up against Narcissa’s fingers, riding her hands, moaning continually. Her cunt grasped hotly at Narcissa’s hand, her hands clutched at the desk as she forced herself not to reach down. Narcissa’s heart was pounding; she was breathless and sweating. She would lose her own self-control soon if Pansy didn’t -
Pansy came, giving herself up to pleasure at Narcissa’s hands, shuddering and near-screaming her way through. Narcissa was transfixed, her own mind whited out by Pansy’s orgasm.
But she came back to herself faster; Narcissa’s body was still screaming for consummation. Pansy lay limp and panting on the desk. Narcissa waited for her to come back to herself; while she waited, she cleaned and dried her hands and got back behind the desk. She stroked Pansy’s tangled, sweaty hair.
Pansy raised her head after a few minutes, eyes bleary. Eyeliner was smeared everywhere and she was still flushed.
Narcissa kissed her. It was long and surprisingly sweet; when she pulled back, Narcissa could feel her own flush. But she retained her composure. “Dress, please.”
Pansy blinked at her. “Er. Yes. Of course, Mrs Malfoy.”
She fumbled her way back into her clothes, awkward as a baby gazelle. Narcissa reached over and untwisted a bra strap with one smooth finger. Pansy smiled at her - transparently attempting to gauge her state of mind. Narcissa stared back, incomprehensible as a Sphinx, and quietly watched come wetting Pansy’s inner thighs.
She wasn’t ready to watch Pansy regain her composure; Narcissa preferred her embarrassed. So once Pansy was smoothing her skirt, Narcissa said, “go and stand in that corner, please. Nose to the wall.”
Pansy’s eyes widened and she looked like she might defy Narcissa again. Tiresome.
“Go on, and then flip your skirt up.”
“Stand in the corner and hold your skirt up. Evidence of your punishment shouldn’t disappear so soon.”
Pansy swallowed. Narcissa stared at her with a look that quietly dared her to find out what defiance would bring her. Then Pansy obeyed.
Her walk was awkward; she would doubtless wear flat shoes tomorrow.
Narcissa went over after a moment and pulled Pansy’s knickers down around her knees. Then she patted Pansy’s punished arse and went back to her desk. There. That was a much better view.
Narcissa’s cunt was throbbing. She couldn’t have the girl lick her now; it would undermine today’s lesson, and Narcissa would turn out a poised young lady by the end of the summer if it killed her.
But Pansy couldn’t see her just now, and Narcissa could certainly see all of Pansy.
She began to unbutton her robes.
“What if a house-elf comes in?”
“Then a house-elf will see you, my dear. This is where they come for orders, you know. A witch rules the domestic sphere.”
Lucius never understood how Narcissa could be satisfied with that. He was so important in the world, until this recent trouble. But he never ruled
Narcissa slid a hand between her legs and smiled. A woman might be second in the workplace, but she was always queen of her own domain.This was originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html. Comment wherever you like :)