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Narcissa and Bellatrix had always liked to share. Dresses, jewellery, novels, husbands.
The sacred 28 had established the tradition of pineapple parties centuries ago, long before muggles caught on.
They didn’t even do it right. For a start, why hang their pineapples upside down? There seemed to be a shame around it in the muggle world, which the magic world lacked. Purebloods were taught shame for a lot of things, but never for expressing their sexuality. Arranged marriages were important, they kept bloodlines pure and kept families established, but one would be lying if they said the marriages were good for sexual pleasure.
No, just because the Notts and the Prewetts hadn’t formed a family connection in a few generations, that did not mean they were bound only to their partner.
The Black sisters were more than happy to carry on the tradition. With Andromeda gone, sisterly husband swapping was much easier - there were no logistic issues, no schedules, simply exchanging husbands for the evening, which, admittedly, made it sound much duller and less enjoyable than it really was.
On the third Friday of every month, the couples took turns in hosting their party.
Wine flowed, music played, and robes were shed - there was no pretence of propriety, the Black sisters were beautiful women.
Narcissa wore delicate silk nighties, always white or pale pink - Rodolphus liked the play of innocence, something he was never privy to with his wife, who came with experience rather than purity.
Bellatrix, on the other hand, had an impressive collection of lingerie, black and red and Slytherin green. Lucius, the pervert, could never keep his eyes off her, and his appreciation for her showed, through the bulge in his dress trousers.
They never fucked in their marital beds, so once they were sufficiently tipsy, the wizards were led into guest rooms by their sister-in-laws.
Bellatrix never much cared for Lucius, when he wasn’t trying to irritate her, he was terribly dull. But in the privacy of the guest room, she couldn’t get enough of him.
His rough treatment of her, pulling her hair, shoving her to the bed as if she meant nothing to him, her whimpering pleas muffled by the pillows. She craved it. She hadn’t expected it from him, and the first time his strong grip left bruises on her hips, she felt a flush of excitement each time she saw the marks for days afterwards.
Granted, he wasn’t as big as Rodolphus (few men were), but when he inched his cock into her, she instinctively spread her knees on the mattress, moaning out wantonly.
The Malfoys were rumoured to be selfish lovers, but the gossip was wrong. On their nights together, Lucius would ensure Bellatrix came at least three times, or he’d be disappointed with his performance; she was always left satisfied.
When they were finished, the husbands threw on their robes, and returned to their own wives. Rodolphus often found Bellatrix spent, absently toying with her clit, already desperate for more.