A Confession by Hermione G.

BY : Scarlett_Pimpernal
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Dragon prints: 40062
Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: This project is based on and features characters and content that I do not own, nor is the content monetized by me. I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Sixth Year: Served Up

Where Patience Finally Pays Off


 Another night at Lost Hope. It is the winter and somewhat chilly in the room. Thus, I am cuddled next to the Professor, who is his usual stoic self. My hand has come to rest on thigh, quite of its own accord, but I suddenly grow uncomfortably aware of the contact. Across from us, two beautiful fae women are entwined. They are nude and mirror opposites in coloring, tall and willowy. One is pale of skin with striking blonde hair. The other had skin the most beautiful shade of deep mahogany, her hair blue-to-black. They caress one another, their tongues touching. It is incredibly arousing, entrancing. We chat in low, conspiratorial tones in praise of them.

Then the Professor shifts and I feel a movement in his trousers. I slide my hand over. I can feel the erection, hot and unbelievably hard, like a piece of wood or metal. I press gently, but forcefully through the material of his trousers and I feel his body shift ever-to-slightly. His gaze remains fixed on the lesbianic floor show. Ever so slowly, I apply pressure in a circular motion of my hand. His body quickens ever-so-slightly, but he makes no attempt to stop me. I can feel my own heart pounding and that particular stirring deep in my groin.

I make bold to unfasten the top button of his trousers.

He does not stop me.

I continue to unbutton until I have freed his cock from the sheath of cloth. He sighs with relief as his length springs free and sinks down a bit into the upholstery of the booth. I have him now: hard and hot in my hand. In my mind’s eye, I see the images of his member from those hidden albums. It seems thicker in my hand than in pictures in my memory. But I have a firm grip. Small movement upward of his hips - I push slowly down on the shaft in compensation and begin to jerk him, slowly and steadily. The blonde woman looks at me from the corner of her eye; she apprehends what I am about. If I incite him to a climax, his clothing will be soiled.

I push the table back to provide room for me to slip onto my knees. I take him into my mouth. His flesh is salty and incredibly hot. I feel the throb of his blood through the penile veins. I work the shaft deep into my throat. The first tell-tale contraction pulses through the shaft, his climax is upon him. I continue to pump the shaft through his orgasm. The BLANK taste fills my senses. I rise back to my seat beside him, deeply satisfied.

Quote of Prof M on satisfaction

Then we kiss for the first time, sharing the lingering taste of his ejaculate between us.

At least that is how the encounter plays out in my mind as I toss about in my four poster, frustrated, frigging myself with fury. It is my sixth year. It has been three years since the initiation of my sexual tutelage. It became more difficult to maintain a wide-ranging dalliance among my fellow students. I had no interest in younger students. I had convinced myself of a growing romantic attachment to RW but was quite reluctant to consummate the romance for fear of complicating things. I continued to service AF on a regular basis out of habit and, I told myself, to keep in practice, and enjoyed the occasional ’tween-class-quickie with a certain 7th year. We would signal one another at breakfast, igniting a lust that would slowly build up through the morning classes. Then, in the afternoon, we would meet in one of the castle’s many nooks, for a swift liaison. No words were needed or exchanged as we pressed together, tongues aggressively probing before I went down on him. Then, hiking my robes and skirt, I would offer my fanny to him and he would take me from behind for a rigorous fuck. But this was not enough to keep me satisfied.

Using the combination of Time Turner and P-juice potion, I regularly visited Madame R’s coterie to add to the offering of fresh young whoredom. To us mundane folk, there are many bizarre traditions among the wizarding types. One of these was the tradition of visiting Madam R for the deflowering of virginal young wizards. These transactions were always popular among my fellow service providers, who had a tender regard for the young men.  They were quite sweet, always accommodating, and never protracted in their labors. Madame R herself even participated on a couple of occasions to provide the service to the children of special friends or influential folk. Because I was generally close in age to our virgin clients, Madame R often chose me to lie with them, leading to several memorable nights of carnality.    On one occasion, a  father wished to partake in pleasure along with his son. He was quite “hand’s on,” so-to-speak and directed the activities as they took turns fucking me. And there were some occasions that turned into family celebrations, with not only Dad, but siblings, uncles and even cousins in attendance. On these nights, they took over the entire lineup of girls and a good deal and fun was had; a veritable orgy.

When entertaining virginal fellows, I saw it as my responsibility to send them out into the world with at least a basic appreciation for the female erotic. Some of the lads even showed real promise as lovers. One in particular took to my instruction quite eagerly, bringing host of his own inquiries to bear, leading me to offer my quim to his eager tongue, to which we added a course of fingering that produced in me a powerful orgasm. I spent a good deal of time with a careful fellation, paying particular attention to the ball sack and then we proceeded to work or way through several positions before, finally, he gave up his measure of lust deep in my body. Immediately hard once more, we continued to fuck late into the night, his deep thrusts causing me to come over and over again. Thus, he became a regular client.

In quite a different encounter, I sat on the bed with a nervous young fellow who, I sat with him, doing my best to induced him to toy with my nude body However, it was clear that he was terribly conflicted about the whole business. Venturing a guess, I inquired if he would prefer the company of a boy instead. Blushing, he confirmed that this was the case, but had no wish to disappoint his father, being unready to venture out of the closet. Thanks to my handy ’travel kit’ in my purse, I was able to use the P-potion to transform into a young male body at which point his ardor shifted markedly. We proceeded to fuck one another in spirited fashion.

But even these prostitutional exercises were not enough to keep me satisfied. The lust for the Professor that had begun at my first days at school continues to plagued me. I had done everything the Professor has asked for - and more. Still, he had made no advances towards me. My desire reached a fevered pitch. I regularly masturbated in his class. A few of my mates already suspected what I am doing and I feared that eventually, my passion would betray me outright.

I can finally take it no more.

I decide to venture it all on the toss of the dice.

With an extra spin of the Turner, I have allotted myself more than the usual amount of time tonight. I use it to bathe, carefully, methodically washing soaping my body, my arm pits, my crack. I pull my hair back into a tight bun; I do not want it to distract, get in the way. I do not use any makeup - just blacken the rims of my eyes. I place a velvet choker around my neck. It bears an old cameo of a witch, long forgotten.

I hurry into my uniform and robes, scarcely bothering with all the buttons. I snatch up the velvet cords I have prepared and enchanted. I make my way down the beaten path of corridors, stairs, transoms and doorways. I have traveled it so many times, it seems, I should have worn a trail in the old stone. My mind is playing tricks with me - or perhaps it is the castle itself. I imagine I am trudging through a thick forest toward my destiny. The air seems heavy. I can feel my heart beating fast. My breasts ache.      

I arrive at the familiar door of heavy oak, the tarnished badge with his name engraved with the gothic script. I enter the room and set the fire ablaze in the fireplace with a quick spell. I pour two glasses of cordial and set the cut crystal vessels in their usual places. Then I continue to his bedroom, igniting the candles and small brazier with quick motions of my wand.

I remove all of my clothes. Everything but the choker. My nameless witch will be the witness of my conquest or humiliation, my rapture or my despair. I position the four cords of black velvet at each of the posters of the bed and I climb onto the mattress. I cannot resist rubbing myself. I am already incredibly moist. My vulva engorged, open like the petals of an exotic tropical flower. I throw myself down on the bed and stretch my limbs, spread eagle fashion. I direct my mind to the cords and they stir, rise and then wrap themselves around my wrists, ankles and posts with surprising celerity.

I am bound securely: a pagan offering.

I have only to wait.


The moments crawl by, but my excitement does not abate. And then I hear him. The creaking of the chamber door, its closing, the shooting of the heavy iron locks. He is taking in the scene. He knows I am here. He assumes I must be visiting the WC. There is a long pause. He is seated, sipping. Now he wonders where I am. He in vestiges the WC. Empty. Will he check the Dungeon? No. He is here, in the bedroom doorway.

Our eyes meet and my pulse pounds in my ears. My breath catches.

He says nothing as he steps into the room.

He approaches… Will he…?

He reaches out to touch my cheek - then his gaze sweeps over my body - almost palpable. My blood pounds, I can sense and even taste his desire. He finger traces the muscle of my neck - down to my breast - brushes the swollen nipple - I catch my breath.

Slowly, he squeezes it.


My eyelids flutter. Shall I come right here? Swoon with desire?

“I reckon we’ve had this date for some time.”

He begins to removes his clothes as his eyes remain locked on mine.

The candlelight reveals his pale body as it emerges from the black sheath of clothing.

He is fully erect, rampant, foreskin drawn back tightly. The cyclopean eye of his beautiful, shapely cock head staring at me. His body is tense, poised over me with his penis, hot and hard, pushing against my belly. I strain against the bonds to meet it, to achieve as much contact as possible. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, he moves his length against the skin of my belly. Small movements - rubbing against my skin. The monster leaks clear fluid onto my body. I am very wet and in spite of the size, he enters me easily, pushing deeply. I shift my mind for a moment, releasing the magical bonds. They have served their purpose and lured him into my web. I clutch at his back, pulling him to me, nails digging into his flesh. My mouth finds his and our tongues mash together.

My conquest is complete. I could perish happily here in his arms, his body inside mine.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I as well.”

He moves in and out of me slowly. We fuck in this manner for a long time, gazing into one another’s eyes. I want it to last forever, but the tension is mounting in my body, the familiar tension of belly and tight, the boost in frequency of the currents that pulse with each thrust, each brush of the firm cock head against that most sensitive part of me.

“Yes, - !”

He increases the pace of his thrusts as I squeeze his biceps.

The world begins to close in one me as the orgasm approaches.


I extricate myself from beneath and mount, facing away from him, toward the whirring old box of a camera. I want it to get a good vantage of me. I want my next climax to be captured fully in all its glory and enshrined in the pantheon of his lovers. I have practiced long and hard and now I have him right where I want him: long and hard under me. The second orgasm follows closely on the heels of the first.

Then he takes me from behind.

I know from my study of his magical scrapbooks that he particularly enjoys this position as a middle course in his lovemaking. And he often becomes quite intense, even violent. I am hoping to receive the full wrath of his erotic fury on this night. I want it all. I know what he sees as I feel my ass cheeks gently part rhythmically as he kneads and spreads them: the cyclopean eye of my asshole gazing up at him. He is massaging it now - that tight ring of muscles guarding my most intimate orifice. I feels l the pad of a thumb. The sheer splendor of the sensation causes me to laugh, deep in my throat, and melt into the bed.

Yes…..! So good…!

But the course starts off gently.

I want to tease him, wind him up.

He has a tight grasp of my hips, fully embedded. I reach back between my legs and find his sack. I gently weigh and massage its heavy contents,

For his part, he begins to stroke my buttocks and the sensitive flesh of my thighs. He knows it is a sweet spot for me and I shiver at the sensation; it feels divine. Now he is stroking my back with large sweeps of his hands, thumbs tracing the depression of my spine. I moan and begin to explore the hard bundle of muscles at the root of his sack with my fingertips, that hidden ground between his genitals and asshole. He begins to stir. He pulls my hair out of it bun, he grabs it, pulling my head back, my throat feels long and exposed and a delicious groan emerges from deep within me. Yes! I want it rough.

Fuck me hard, now!


He starts to pull back and thrust into me with small movements at first. I must steady myself with both hands. He is thrusting in earnest, now, stabbing straight into my vagina, driving his hard length home, pounding against the fleshy cul-de-sac. The lewd slapping as our flesh comes together with every thrust, the erotic tempo increasing along with the tension within me. The sexual spring ratcheted tighter and tighter and I can feel the exquisite trembling beginning in my thighs and up through my belly. My climax is coming on like that ruddy express train. My back is arched deeply. The muscles of my core tightly clenched, straining to both build the pressure and forestall the explosive release.

Hold on! Hold on! No! No!

Finally, suddenly, I am over the edge, falling, falling into a frenzy of ecstasy. Spasms wrack my loins as I claw my way off the rod of flesh that penetrates me, that has pummeled me - floating sensation… stars and motes flash in the darkness. Gasping for air.

Gradually I become aware of a new sensation: I feel his hands on my bottom cheeks, gently kneading and squeezing and then spreading. The air of the room caresses my bung. He mashes his face into my crack, whiskers scratching the moist, sensitive slopes of my buttocks as he lays his tongue against my hole. The sensation drives me to another primal plane of existence. My recent orgasm sparks anew: I am lost, entirely, low groan-moan, ragged and deep in my throat. My body is disconnected, semi-paralyzed. I am entirely at his mercy, entirely spent, but for the spastic ripples of the lingering orgasm cradling me in electric thrall. His tongue lovingly strokes at my hole, then slowly lifts away.

Those hands grasp and spread me wide once again.

I struggle for breath.

Then I feel it, the smooth, firm, round presence of his cock head kissing up against my hole.

Yes, fuck that hole Please! Stick it in…!

He begins to push.

My anus spreads wider and wider to accommodate the swollen head of his member. Then muscles close tightly around the shaft as the head penetrates me. I hold him now in a vice of flesh, a muscular ring of power. I have a strangle hold on that sensitive region: now I am the prospective conqueror, holding the high ground.

He begins to move. Ripples of pleasure.

“So tight,” I hear him groan as he embeds his entire length in me.

I try to form words, but he has fucked me to the point of near delirium and I crave his completion.

His brow furrows into a pained expression. His sweat drips onto my breasts, my belly. His dark eyes lock onto mine. I strain the tired muscles of my neck to lift my heavy head from the pillow. I want to see him penetrating me, the long strokes of his glistening cock sliding out and then strongly plunging in yet again, pinioned like one of those — pinned on the dusty cages, clogging the shelves of his classroom.

Climber, higher and higher, his body like a plank.

Yes…Come… come….come on me!

His expression shifts and then the rampant, ruddy weapon, wet with my fluids looms over me. With a mighty contraction, it jerks upward and belches forth a long pearly strand that seems to hang in the air for a magical moment. I open my mouth, my tongue stretched outward. I want it! The power of his ejaculation propels a line of sperm from my breasts across my chin, mouth, nose, eye, and into my hair. Then he continues to empty himself: painting my neck, breasts and finally, leaking its last onto my belly where it pools in the hollow of my navel.

With a groan, he sinks down onto my wet body, coming to rest beside me.

I slick with sweat and his silky seed, rubbing it over my body, tasting it. I drift off into slumber. During the oblivion of sleep the Time Turner runs its course, but the event was captured in magical film, another in a long, proud, lascivious line of conquests, stretching back through Lilly, Myrtle - all of us sisters, united in lust.

But my great and ecstatic joy in this affair is short lived. It will be the one and only time that we make love. The tyranny and the death of the headmaster, that clever ruse that solidified the Professor’s bonafides as a loyalist and severed our liaison as we were both forced or fucked by Fate to play our roles - to the end.


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