FIC: "Between Her Stocking Tops and Skin" for dandydevildog
Title: Between Her Stocking Tops and Skin
Author: ???
Recipient's name: dandydevildog
Characters/Pairings: Rita Skeeter/Marlene Mckinnon (Yes, Marlene's a canon character. Just)
Rating: NC17
Summary: Rita took a long drag on her cigarette and stifled a yawn against the back of one long hand. She'd known, just known, the second that she saw "RCSR" on an assignment that she was going to lose her will to live. Functions at the Royal College of Stratford Retiring were always, without question, dismal.
Notes: Marlene is something of a pet character of mine. I apologise for her.
Rita took a long drag on her cigarette and stifled a yawn against the back of one long hand. She’d known, just known, the second that she saw "RCSR" on an assignment that she was going to lose her will to live. Functions at the Royal College of Stratford Retiring were always, without question, dismal. She was being punished for something. Someone, somewhere, was laughing at her. The ceremony itself had been long and tedious, Lockhart speaking for hours on end about something which nobody cared about. Rita had let her quill run on without her and contented herself with face-spotting. Couple of Ministry luminaries? Check. Gossip Columnists? Check. Dreary academics? Check, check, check, and...
And who was that? Rita leant in a doorway and watched the girl on the other side of the room, the girl who could have been more than twenty three, drinking champagne in a scarlet dress with a full skirt, black stockings and a waist that had to be corseted (judging by the jut of her tits against the edge of red satin), a pencil twined in her long, dark hair. She was wearing long silver earrings. She was holding one side of her skirt in one hand, swirling it around her legs as she drank with the other, and talked. When the fabric pulled tight across the ripe curve of her arse, Rita gathered her quill to her and stalked across the room. The girl’s conversation was just ending. She turned aimlessly, glass in one hand, skirt in the other.
"Hello," said Rita, holding out her hand (her nails, talons, acid green).
"Rita Skeeter, for the Prophet." The automatic quirk of the girl’s straight dark eyebrow amused her. She had a nice, strong handshake. Rita held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary, turning it in hers. Pretty frock but bitten nails, chipped paint.
"Marlene McKinnon. Len." Rita smiled her best.
"Len. What a...pretty name."
"S'better than Marlene."
"True, true. Well, Len...what's a pretty young thing like you doing at a boring old party like this?"
Though her eyebrow arched higher, Len's spreading small was brilliant scarlet.
"I...lecture. Haven't been here very long. Expected to attend."
"Lecture? And what do you lecture, among all these dusty old things?"
"History of Magic...Recovery and Restoration." The dullness of Len's vowels when she spoke, pressed out between her lips, the thickness of her accent (Northern...Birmingham? Leeds?) was lovely. She gestured with her hands when she talked. "So you spend your life dealing with dusty old things?"
Len laughed. The low, rich sound made Rita suddenly aware of creeping wet heat. She found herself staring at Len's pale tits gathered in the cups of her gown, the beauty mark there. She looked up to find that Len was watching her stare. That smile wasn't as wide then, but it was darker and still there.
"Have you...had a chance to look around the College, Miss Skeeter? It's really...pretty." Rita shook her head, a platinum curl falling across her forehead.
"Perhaps you could give me a tour?"
Len smiled, one hand unconsciously brushing over one tit on the way up to brush through her hair. She found the pencil and gave it a small, puzzled look, a crease between her eyebrows.
"Huh."
"Let's go," said Rita, holding out her hand.
-
"And this," said Len, walking ahead, a pleasant Champagne looseness to her hips, "is my office." It wasn’t much of an office, a desk, a wall of books. All corners of the desk were piled high with papers. Len stood and stared at it for a minute, her Champagne glass held loosely in her hand. "I...am trying to write a book."
"I see."
Rita was staring at Len's arse under red satin. She was almost disappointed when Len turned around to perch on the edge of the desk. Oh, yes, Rita had seen that look before. She walked closer, enjoying the tight click of her heels on the wooden floor.
"And what's your book about?" Len ran her teeth across her lip, spreading one leg and then the other, letting Rita step between them in her hot pink. She leant back, her weight on her hands and Rita leant in, her mouth hovering over Len's.
"Vikings," said Len, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. "Spells for safe sailing."
"Fascinating," said Rita, and kissed her. The girl's mouth was tight and bitter with Champagne bubbles and the wax of her lipstick. She twined her fingers in Len's long dark hair and held her to the kiss hard, tilted her head to slip her tongue into her mouth. Rita had always been expert in reading the language of young girl's body, push and strain, rattle and hum. From the way Len strained into the kiss, the tightening of her thighs around Rita’s hips, the breathless moans which escaped the seal between their lips, it had been a long time for her. Rita pulled back from the kiss, Len's slightly smudged mouth, held Len's head in place with her fingers in her hair. Still holding Len's head, Rita looked around the office, books and papers and a photograph on the desk, a blond woman, a lot of red dust.
"What do you want?" Rita said, not looking at Len, still looking at her things.
"I want you to fuck me," said Len. Rita was pleased by her directness, by the slight pull of Len's hair in her hand.
"Pretty girls ought to ask nicer, I think," said Rita, grinning.
"Please?" said Len, a pretty flush in her pretty girl's cheeks.
Rita leant in and kissed her hard again, nipping at Len's bottom lip.
"What have you got on under that dress, pretty? Enquiring minds want to know."
"Knickers. A corset." Rita grinned, letting go off Len and stepping away.
"Take off your dress. Leave on your other things. And your shoes."
Rita sat down in Len's desk chair and watched as Len straightened up and walked towards the door.
"What're you doing?"
"Locking the door."
"Did I tell you to lock the door, lovely? Just close it and take...off...your...dress." Eyebrow firmly raised, Len arched to unzip under the left arm, the front of her scarlet dress gaping until she gathered it and lifted it over her head. Rita took a moment, as the dress hit the floor, to study the neat swell of hips and belly, black lace panties and the tight nip of her waist under the boned corset. She stood with her hands on her hips.
"Well?"
"Come here."
Len walked over to Rita in her desk chair, all legs and tits and pale skin. Without instruction, she slid across Rita’s lap, straddled her, hands on the back of the chair on either side of Rita's head. Rita pushed her hands up over stocking-clad thighs, over the curve of Len's arse, the barest wisp of lace. She reached into the corset and lifted Len's tits above the edge of the fabric. Rita made an appreciative sound in the back of her throat. Len shifted her weight.
"Such big, beautiful tits," murmured Rita, leaning into to brush her lips across one of Len's nipples, flicking her tongue to make the younger girl's back arch. With one hand palming one of the Len's tits, she tugged the lace panties high on the curve of Len's arse. She brought her hand down hard against Len's skin, a pleasing ripple, and a gasp from scarlet lips. Rita grinned. "Like that, do you?" Len nodded, but there was a haughty tilt to her chin. Looking into her face, smudged lipstick and dark, wide eyes, made Rita want to break something. She settled for slapping Len's arse again. Len surged forward against the skin, pressed her mouth hard against Rita’s. They kissed like that for a moment, both of Rita's hands on Len's arse, Len's hips rocking against hers.
"You've been with girls before." It wasn't a question. Len nodded, her long tousled hair falling across her face. Rita grinned. "Get down on the floor. Show me." Len paused, studying Rita's face for a moment before slithering down onto the floor in her heels and her stockings and her barely there underwear, her tits riding high over the edge of her corset. Rita unfastened her robes, spreading them around her body, rubbing her hands over her own tits through her bra, her legs wide apart. She looked at Len expectantly, until she shuffled forward on her knees and put her mouth on the lace between Rita's legs. She licked and sucked at the shape of Rita's cunt through her panties. When Rita heard her make a breathy sound, she yanked on a fistful of Len’s dark hair.
"Hands behind your back, precious. Don't make me spank you again." Len cast Rita a disdainful look upwards but didn't move her mouth, shifting to clasp her hands behind her back, which made her tits jut. Rita reached down and twitched the fabric of her panties aside. Len leant forward, licking and sucking as Rita spread her cunt with her fingers. Rita gathered Len's hair out of her face, out of the way, wrapping it around her fist to hold Len's head in place as she ground forward against her mouth, as Len's moans grew louder, as the movements of her mouth grew more erratic. Rita held Len's head between her thighs until she came shuddering under Len's mouth. She kept Len's house between her legs until the last shudder of her orgasm went through her. She let Len straighten up, her hands still clasped behind her back, a slick sheen on her mouth. She was breathing quickly, tits heaving, legs spread wide.
"You want to get off." Another non-question. She could see the answer in the ebb and flow of Len's body. She can see from the wide open look in Len's dark eyes.
Len ended up on her desk with her legs spread and her cheek against her research on Viking Spells for Fair Sailing, her hands underneath her to grasp at her tits as Rita fingered her cunt, rubbed the slippery fingers of her other hand over her clit.
"Do you want another?" Len nodded, and Rita bought a slippery hand down hard on her arse. "Ask for it nicely."
"Please. Please, fuck...oh, God, please." Rita grinned, and slipped another finger (three) into Len's cunt, fingering her hard to make her squirm, her panties rolled down around her thighs, the corset very dark against her pale skin. When she came, squeezing her own tits hard, she stuck out her hand, knocked a stack of papers flying to the floor with a whispery noise. Rita pulled her fingers out of Len's cunt, sitting back in the chair and sucking on them meditatively, observing the perfect handprint on Len's round arse. She summoned her quill, which had been twitching over the arm of the chair, and signed her name, right over the red, round shape that her palm had made.
After a minute, Len straighted up, still breathing heavily, reaching back to fumble her knickers up one handed. She stood up and pressed her tits into her corset, clearing her throat before she walked over to her dress, stepping into it. Rita leant forward and scrawled a Muggle telephone number with a Muggle pen on a sheet covered in scrawl which she presumed was Marlene's handwriting. It wouldn't hurt to leave it there. It wasn’t like she'd be waiting desperately for a call. She wouldn't.
"It's going to take me days to put those notes back into order," she said, as she pulled red satin up over the curve of her arse and Rita lost sight of her slightly smudged signature.
"It was surely worth it though?" said Rita, starting to reluctantly straighten her own clothes.
"Oh, for sure," said Len, turning and winking as she zipped up her frock.
Author: ???
Recipient's name: dandydevildog
Characters/Pairings: Rita Skeeter/Marlene Mckinnon (Yes, Marlene's a canon character. Just)
Rating: NC17
Summary: Rita took a long drag on her cigarette and stifled a yawn against the back of one long hand. She'd known, just known, the second that she saw "RCSR" on an assignment that she was going to lose her will to live. Functions at the Royal College of Stratford Retiring were always, without question, dismal.
Notes: Marlene is something of a pet character of mine. I apologise for her.
Rita took a long drag on her cigarette and stifled a yawn against the back of one long hand. She’d known, just known, the second that she saw "RCSR" on an assignment that she was going to lose her will to live. Functions at the Royal College of Stratford Retiring were always, without question, dismal. She was being punished for something. Someone, somewhere, was laughing at her. The ceremony itself had been long and tedious, Lockhart speaking for hours on end about something which nobody cared about. Rita had let her quill run on without her and contented herself with face-spotting. Couple of Ministry luminaries? Check. Gossip Columnists? Check. Dreary academics? Check, check, check, and...
And who was that? Rita leant in a doorway and watched the girl on the other side of the room, the girl who could have been more than twenty three, drinking champagne in a scarlet dress with a full skirt, black stockings and a waist that had to be corseted (judging by the jut of her tits against the edge of red satin), a pencil twined in her long, dark hair. She was wearing long silver earrings. She was holding one side of her skirt in one hand, swirling it around her legs as she drank with the other, and talked. When the fabric pulled tight across the ripe curve of her arse, Rita gathered her quill to her and stalked across the room. The girl’s conversation was just ending. She turned aimlessly, glass in one hand, skirt in the other.
"Hello," said Rita, holding out her hand (her nails, talons, acid green).
"Rita Skeeter, for the Prophet." The automatic quirk of the girl’s straight dark eyebrow amused her. She had a nice, strong handshake. Rita held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary, turning it in hers. Pretty frock but bitten nails, chipped paint.
"Marlene McKinnon. Len." Rita smiled her best.
"Len. What a...pretty name."
"S'better than Marlene."
"True, true. Well, Len...what's a pretty young thing like you doing at a boring old party like this?"
Though her eyebrow arched higher, Len's spreading small was brilliant scarlet.
"I...lecture. Haven't been here very long. Expected to attend."
"Lecture? And what do you lecture, among all these dusty old things?"
"History of Magic...Recovery and Restoration." The dullness of Len's vowels when she spoke, pressed out between her lips, the thickness of her accent (Northern...Birmingham? Leeds?) was lovely. She gestured with her hands when she talked. "So you spend your life dealing with dusty old things?"
Len laughed. The low, rich sound made Rita suddenly aware of creeping wet heat. She found herself staring at Len's pale tits gathered in the cups of her gown, the beauty mark there. She looked up to find that Len was watching her stare. That smile wasn't as wide then, but it was darker and still there.
"Have you...had a chance to look around the College, Miss Skeeter? It's really...pretty." Rita shook her head, a platinum curl falling across her forehead.
"Perhaps you could give me a tour?"
Len smiled, one hand unconsciously brushing over one tit on the way up to brush through her hair. She found the pencil and gave it a small, puzzled look, a crease between her eyebrows.
"Huh."
"Let's go," said Rita, holding out her hand.
-
"And this," said Len, walking ahead, a pleasant Champagne looseness to her hips, "is my office." It wasn’t much of an office, a desk, a wall of books. All corners of the desk were piled high with papers. Len stood and stared at it for a minute, her Champagne glass held loosely in her hand. "I...am trying to write a book."
"I see."
Rita was staring at Len's arse under red satin. She was almost disappointed when Len turned around to perch on the edge of the desk. Oh, yes, Rita had seen that look before. She walked closer, enjoying the tight click of her heels on the wooden floor.
"And what's your book about?" Len ran her teeth across her lip, spreading one leg and then the other, letting Rita step between them in her hot pink. She leant back, her weight on her hands and Rita leant in, her mouth hovering over Len's.
"Vikings," said Len, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. "Spells for safe sailing."
"Fascinating," said Rita, and kissed her. The girl's mouth was tight and bitter with Champagne bubbles and the wax of her lipstick. She twined her fingers in Len's long dark hair and held her to the kiss hard, tilted her head to slip her tongue into her mouth. Rita had always been expert in reading the language of young girl's body, push and strain, rattle and hum. From the way Len strained into the kiss, the tightening of her thighs around Rita’s hips, the breathless moans which escaped the seal between their lips, it had been a long time for her. Rita pulled back from the kiss, Len's slightly smudged mouth, held Len's head in place with her fingers in her hair. Still holding Len's head, Rita looked around the office, books and papers and a photograph on the desk, a blond woman, a lot of red dust.
"What do you want?" Rita said, not looking at Len, still looking at her things.
"I want you to fuck me," said Len. Rita was pleased by her directness, by the slight pull of Len's hair in her hand.
"Pretty girls ought to ask nicer, I think," said Rita, grinning.
"Please?" said Len, a pretty flush in her pretty girl's cheeks.
Rita leant in and kissed her hard again, nipping at Len's bottom lip.
"What have you got on under that dress, pretty? Enquiring minds want to know."
"Knickers. A corset." Rita grinned, letting go off Len and stepping away.
"Take off your dress. Leave on your other things. And your shoes."
Rita sat down in Len's desk chair and watched as Len straightened up and walked towards the door.
"What're you doing?"
"Locking the door."
"Did I tell you to lock the door, lovely? Just close it and take...off...your...dress." Eyebrow firmly raised, Len arched to unzip under the left arm, the front of her scarlet dress gaping until she gathered it and lifted it over her head. Rita took a moment, as the dress hit the floor, to study the neat swell of hips and belly, black lace panties and the tight nip of her waist under the boned corset. She stood with her hands on her hips.
"Well?"
"Come here."
Len walked over to Rita in her desk chair, all legs and tits and pale skin. Without instruction, she slid across Rita’s lap, straddled her, hands on the back of the chair on either side of Rita's head. Rita pushed her hands up over stocking-clad thighs, over the curve of Len's arse, the barest wisp of lace. She reached into the corset and lifted Len's tits above the edge of the fabric. Rita made an appreciative sound in the back of her throat. Len shifted her weight.
"Such big, beautiful tits," murmured Rita, leaning into to brush her lips across one of Len's nipples, flicking her tongue to make the younger girl's back arch. With one hand palming one of the Len's tits, she tugged the lace panties high on the curve of Len's arse. She brought her hand down hard against Len's skin, a pleasing ripple, and a gasp from scarlet lips. Rita grinned. "Like that, do you?" Len nodded, but there was a haughty tilt to her chin. Looking into her face, smudged lipstick and dark, wide eyes, made Rita want to break something. She settled for slapping Len's arse again. Len surged forward against the skin, pressed her mouth hard against Rita’s. They kissed like that for a moment, both of Rita's hands on Len's arse, Len's hips rocking against hers.
"You've been with girls before." It wasn't a question. Len nodded, her long tousled hair falling across her face. Rita grinned. "Get down on the floor. Show me." Len paused, studying Rita's face for a moment before slithering down onto the floor in her heels and her stockings and her barely there underwear, her tits riding high over the edge of her corset. Rita unfastened her robes, spreading them around her body, rubbing her hands over her own tits through her bra, her legs wide apart. She looked at Len expectantly, until she shuffled forward on her knees and put her mouth on the lace between Rita's legs. She licked and sucked at the shape of Rita's cunt through her panties. When Rita heard her make a breathy sound, she yanked on a fistful of Len’s dark hair.
"Hands behind your back, precious. Don't make me spank you again." Len cast Rita a disdainful look upwards but didn't move her mouth, shifting to clasp her hands behind her back, which made her tits jut. Rita reached down and twitched the fabric of her panties aside. Len leant forward, licking and sucking as Rita spread her cunt with her fingers. Rita gathered Len's hair out of her face, out of the way, wrapping it around her fist to hold Len's head in place as she ground forward against her mouth, as Len's moans grew louder, as the movements of her mouth grew more erratic. Rita held Len's head between her thighs until she came shuddering under Len's mouth. She kept Len's house between her legs until the last shudder of her orgasm went through her. She let Len straighten up, her hands still clasped behind her back, a slick sheen on her mouth. She was breathing quickly, tits heaving, legs spread wide.
"You want to get off." Another non-question. She could see the answer in the ebb and flow of Len's body. She can see from the wide open look in Len's dark eyes.
Len ended up on her desk with her legs spread and her cheek against her research on Viking Spells for Fair Sailing, her hands underneath her to grasp at her tits as Rita fingered her cunt, rubbed the slippery fingers of her other hand over her clit.
"Do you want another?" Len nodded, and Rita bought a slippery hand down hard on her arse. "Ask for it nicely."
"Please. Please, fuck...oh, God, please." Rita grinned, and slipped another finger (three) into Len's cunt, fingering her hard to make her squirm, her panties rolled down around her thighs, the corset very dark against her pale skin. When she came, squeezing her own tits hard, she stuck out her hand, knocked a stack of papers flying to the floor with a whispery noise. Rita pulled her fingers out of Len's cunt, sitting back in the chair and sucking on them meditatively, observing the perfect handprint on Len's round arse. She summoned her quill, which had been twitching over the arm of the chair, and signed her name, right over the red, round shape that her palm had made.
After a minute, Len straighted up, still breathing heavily, reaching back to fumble her knickers up one handed. She stood up and pressed her tits into her corset, clearing her throat before she walked over to her dress, stepping into it. Rita leant forward and scrawled a Muggle telephone number with a Muggle pen on a sheet covered in scrawl which she presumed was Marlene's handwriting. It wouldn't hurt to leave it there. It wasn’t like she'd be waiting desperately for a call. She wouldn't.
"It's going to take me days to put those notes back into order," she said, as she pulled red satin up over the curve of her arse and Rita lost sight of her slightly smudged signature.
"It was surely worth it though?" said Rita, starting to reluctantly straighten her own clothes.
"Oh, for sure," said Len, turning and winking as she zipped up her frock.