A Confession by Hermione G.

BY : Scarlett_Pimpernal
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Dragon prints: 40663
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.

Year Seven: The End?
Schooldays come to an abrupt ending. Can this really be the end? Raped, rescue and the dawn of womanhood

Our capture, torture and near demise at the hands of BL and FG has been described in the popular accounts in a fairly accurate manner. However, the details of my personal ordeal have not been disclosed. While I cannot say that I actively fantasized over rape, scenarios of forceful coitus did creep into imaginings from time-to-time. Obviously, to be a woman is on some level, to be conscious of the threat of rape: to own a hole whose purpose is to be violated – by any means necessary. In no way did I enjoy the ordeal of being raped. I did take some sort of perverse interest in the procedings via a certain detachment, viewing myself as a third party, similar to my experience assuming other forms via the P-juice potion. And, in that the experience marked the end –  the climax, so to speak – of my formative sexual adventures as a student, it looms large in my mind.

My comrades and I did not believe we would emerge from capture with our lives. My own goal became to prolong our captor’s games of intimidation, interrogation – and ultimately torture and rape – for as long as possible, both to seek out any clues regarding our search for magical items (which were indeed forthcoming from BL), as well as to create the possibility – however faint – of a rescue by confederates (which occurred as well, thanks to our doomed friend). Of course, I rejoice in the ultimate, well deserved doom that subsequently befell three of my tormentors, though the final reckoning with one was years away.

And so, I found myself at the mercy of BL, FG, their foul little goblin crony G and, my old nemesis cum sexual partner, DM. The complexity of the event was exacerbated by the previous experience I have described in which I attended the dark soirée in the skin of Stefanie Schnäggle, and not only engaged in a session of heavy petting with the lesbian BL, but followed it with frenzied fornication with the bestial FG – a frigging, I confess, I particularly enjoyed. Of course, DM and I had screwed dozens of times before, and, as I have related, my feelings for the fellow had grown quite entangled. Given those experiences, I had some sense of expectation as well as an undoubtedly odd sense of misplaced confidence since they would certainly treat a captive enemy much differently than one of their own. As I have said, I was determined to string things out as much as possble. The debilitory actions began with some old fashioned play acting and resistance.

Though I was quickly placed under the thrall of an unforgivable  curse that robbed me of physical resistance, laid out flat on my back over a table. They exulted in their domination and it was clear they would not be stopping at verbal abuse. BL, growing tired of beration, quickly escalated things. She unfastened her dress and let it fall.  The heavy black sheath of brocade and lace slumped to her feet and she emerged, snake-like, her pale flab constrained by lace brassiere, panties and garter belt. She wore panties – something to which I could relate. The nasty goblin made a faux show of averting his eyes.  FG’s nostrils flared, clearly turned on by her curvacesous form. Draco lurked nearby, the characteristic sour expression on his face. If he was nauseated over the exposure of his foul Auntie’s foul private parts, he did not betray it. (Dark wizards, being no strangers to incest, tend to take such stuff in stride.)

“Let’s have some fun!” proclaimed my tormentress.

She levitated herself in what I recall at the time as a rather elegant piece of magic, positioning herself above me, legs parted. I recall staring up into that hairy, lace-framed crotch and marvelling at the size of her labia, much larger than I remembered. The enormous, ruddy lips jiggled slightly as she hovered over me, quivering with excitement as she maintained the spell. She reached down to tug on her intimate flesh and then, suddenly, her stream of pee hit me in the face, instantly recalling that encounter with the three juvelile Slytherins; an eternity ago it seemed. (Authors note: What is it wth Slytherins and pee?) BL cackled with laughter as she emptied her bladder. My eyes stung, even as I clamped them shut against the incredibly hot stream and the taste of the acrid stuff drove me to the edge of nausea.

I felt myself flush with intense anger – rendered impotent by the curse under which I struggled. The snickering of the goblin and the rumbling mirth of my other tormenter became a symphony of shame. I called her a bitch; it felt expected and cliché, but I hoped it would entice her to gloat and perhaps buy me a few more moments of desperate survival. She claimed that next she would defecate on me, though, fortunately this never transpired. Instead, she remained poised magically in the air above me, vestigal drops of urine falling from her labia. I can tell that she is thinking of lowering herself onto my face to receive some sexual gratification. It is as if I can see the slow convulutions of the gears of her limited mind. But her sense of self-preservation convinced her to keep her distance. Quite right. If she had brought her peccant parts, those obscenely large labia within range, I would have gleefully chewed them off regardless of the cost.

“Strip her!” she orders.

A blade flashed in the hand of FG. In a trice, he had sliced my sweater and shirt apart. Then, sliding the blade under the fabric of my brassiere at the point of cleavage, he severed the undergarment with a sharp upward thrust and my torso was bare, In the meantime, the goblin had pulled off my pants and my panties. BL called me all sorts of names as she brandished her wand, rubbing it over my belly that trembled out of fear and excitement. She spread my legs, triggering an intense feeling of vulnerability. Though determined to present a brave face, I flushed in spite of myself. Of course I was afraid, but I also experienced a sort of out-of-body phenomonon in which I began to observe the events almost as a spectator.

“What a prim little cunny!” she teased as she stroked my imtimate flesh with her wand. Taking the belt from the goblin, the sadistic bitch began to whip my inner thighs and belly. The sound of the leather slapping my flesh was incredibly loud, the pain incredibly sharp. She whipped my breasts. Tears sprout from my eyes which must have produced a nice effect. Her hideous face loomed over me, all bad teeth and stale breath. (Why a whole group of practitioners of magic don’t bother to fix their horrid dental work is incomprehensible to me, but then again, I am the child of dentists.) She squeezed my breasts and pinched me. She ran her wand across my flesh and then reversed it as she probed lower toward my pubis. I could not help but squirm. I knew what was coming.

She stuck the wand in.

“Oh dear! Wrong hole?!” she cackled.

Draco looked on, nonplussed, as the others laughed. Apparently, poking me in the ass was just a jolly-old good time. I flushed with shame, the sense of powerlessness overwhelming me, finally. However, I could certainly handle a little wand-sticking. The nasty lycanthrope was the one whose attentions I was dreading, since I judged him to be the most likely to apply lethal force. He eyed my naked frame hungrily, rubbing himself through his pants. My recent servicing by him in the body of Stefanie Schnäggle complicated my emotions. That had proved to be a rather memorable and pleasurable experience, though his technique tended to the conventional. Under different circumstances, I would have relished ths notion of being fucked by him again; he had a lovely large cock and wielded it with a relative degree of competence. As I contemplated being raped by the bastard, part of me could reconcile the impending fuck as something other than violation.

As he pulled it from his trousers, his organ was larger and more menacing than I remembered. He grasped it by the base and came forward as if to stab me with it. I have had several lovers who took delight in “stabbing” my repeatedly with their cocks, withdrawing and penetrating my cunt over and over as if a creating a gaping wound. Now, it seemed the act of being impaled by his phallus signified an impending, literal stabbing from the knife he had stuck into the wood of the table beside my head. As he fucked me, I felt the waves of pleasure, proceeding up through the millions of nerve endings of my vagina.

Will being raped by this wolfish pizzle and infect me with lycanthropy as well?
He fucked me with long, powerful strokes. His bad breath assailed me and made it easy to recoil from him to the greatest extent possible. As he got closer to his orgasm, his pace became more frenzied, the look in his eyes wild. Then he came and I had the satisfaction of having conquered his lust, overmastered his thick, wolfish pizzle. In his eyes, I could see the draining of lust, the sapping of vigor. And that is what scared me. Men are most dangerous in the momoment of impotence following their spending.

He pulled out, in a final act of submission and cowardice. Then he pulled the knife from the table.

“What about me!” howled the foul little goblin, who, in so doing possibly saved my life. The cupidinous bastard shifted a crate on which to stand that he could fuck me. As he unfastened his trousers to release a remarkably large dong – goblins are notoriously well hung – the wizards and with exchanged befuddled glances before the dominatrix spoke loudly: “Hold!”

Then ensued a bizarre and most comical argument in which the propriety of inter-species rape was debated. Even though was a muggle, member of the enemy faction, etc., etc., I was still, nevertheless a witch, and thus it would be declassé, verbotten, or whatever to have a lesser race bone, and therefore define the superior race. The lust of the goblin, in neo-Marxist terms, the “subaltern” never stood a chance.

“Put that thing back in your pants,” ordered BL.

“You wizards always get to have all the fucking fun,” whined the goblin

“Yes we do! Put that away!”

“Alright, then,” muttered the stinking lycanthrope, pronouncing an end to the debate and bringing the knife to bear once more. The end of the debate heralded the end of yours truly.

And so it ends.

He brought the blade to my bare belly and scraped it upward, grinning down at me. I was determined to die with some dignity. I remember darting my eyes toward DM, but I am not sure what motivated me – whether a last ditch emotional ploy, a fleeting farewell, or just random imulse. It was but a glance, though as death reared its head, the duration of the gesture seemd to stretch on and on. Perhaps I was just bidding him a fond farewell. In any case, as my eyes tracked back to the blade posed above my neck, I heard a voice – foreceful and determined.


It was the voice of my old nemesis and schoolchum, my first fuck that halted the progress of the knife.

“It’s my turn,” he said, causing his auntie to cackle and the lycanthrope to step back, obediently.

Thank God for wizardly hierarchies, I thought.

DM, like BL were hemi-demi-semi wizardly royalty and FG, decidely propetarian at best. My would-be murdered stepped back as DM  assumed center stage, removing his jacket, eyes fixed on mine. I felt a flutter deep in my center. What was it about this bastard? What was it that caused my body to burn for his? Even as I pondered this question that had plagued me over the course of years, I realized I still had a role to play if I was to survive the night. My plan remained the same: to stretch things out.

“No, Draco, please!” I whispered.

Don’t throw me into the briar patch!

He unfastened his trousers and the familiar phallus fairly sprang forth, ruddy and angry.

“My, my!” said his auntie, approvingly. “My little nephew has grown up!”

Of course Draco and I had fucked countless times. It began to dawn on me, however, that was shaping up to be the last. The prosaic part of me recognized a certain symmetry: DM was fated to be my first and last fuck.

He penetrated me – that familiar log, smooth entry – pushing to my core. My body opened up to him in spite of the circumstances.

“Oh Draco, no,” I moaned, though I fear not so convincingly. The truth was, I loved being fucked by him. And if this is the last time, I  wanted a fuck I could  smoke it right down to the filter. My legs wrapped around his trunk convulsively and I heard the fucking goblin scream, “She likes it!”

His face was quite close to mine. I could see the wildness in his eyes. I wanted to say something to soothe him. For whatever deep, primal, misguided reason, I felt a comradeship with him. He was my first lover. I had savored his cock in my mouth so many times, relished bringing him pleasure. I had catalogued his little quircks, the little grunts and whines that presaged his orgasm. But I had a role to play. I shut my eyes tightly and turned my head to the side as he continued to fuck me, urged on by his partners in crime. I summoned a wimper or two as well as I flailed my legs around, hopefully to cover for my ecstasy.

“Take your time, Draco!” coached his foul relative.

He fucked me – smooth and deep.

I taught you well…

“Damn nephew,” cooed his auntie admiringly. “Do they teach fucking at Hogwarts, now?”

He fucked me – harder and harder.

Then he suddenly pulled out.

Having fallen under the spell of the fuck, I sputtered there, befuddled entirely.

“Release the spell,” he commanded.

‘What,” replied his aunt.

“Just do it.”

When his aunt complied, DM flipped me over onto my stomach. He had grown surprisingly strong just in the last eighteen months or so – much stronger than I. And as I flopped over, I spat out a rather surprised guffaw, causing the dominatrix to howl, yet again at my suffering. She had no way of knowing at the time that the releasing of the spell would provide the avenue to my salvation. But I was not yet out of the woods.

“Draco, no,” I said, feeling that some dialogue from the Victim to be called for at this time. I felt his hands on my butt cheeks, squeezing hard.

“Give me that belt,” he said.

I heard more laughter and then the belt cracked down onto my buttocks. It stung like hell and there was no faking my grunt of pain. Again and again he hit my bare ass. My tears leaked onto the oak of the table. Then, he pried my ass cheeks apart and spit into the crack.

“Yes, brilliant, Draco!” cackled his autnie. “Fuck her in the ass!”

Then DM reamed me.

It was only the second penetration of the ass of HG – the first being that oh-so menorable night of love with Professor S. I had, of course been penetrated two-fold by the hemi-penises of that foul reptilaian familair of TMR –  but that had been in the body of Schnäggle – a more accomodating frame. My body tensed and convulsed as he buttfucked me with as much lust and power as I had even known him to muster. The blood pounded in my throat. My mouth gaped, though no sound escaped. My bung burned as he pounded home again and again.
And then suddenly, he was gone. I could feel my hole gaping as I slid from the table onto the floor, all strength purged from my body. I lsat there on the floor, dumfounded, as my friends bursting into the room, setting in motion the chain of events that resulted in our escape and the death of our elf friend.

Spirited away to Shell Cottage, I arrived, of course, in quite a horrible state. My shirt and jumper hung around my arms. I was soaked with piss. Bright red welts decorated my front and back. I tugged the shreds of clothing around my torso to hide my modesty, and luckily the shirt tail covered my crotch (barely), but the lycanthropic semen of dripped down my inner thighs. However, the mortal wounding of our rescuer upstaged my modesty. I did not realizethe horror of my state until LL placed an arm around me and offered me her sweater. I tied it around my waist, she escorted me into the cottage where I was able to sequester myself in the peace of the WC and spend a long, long time in the shower. My burning cunt and ass recalled the vivid image of DM, etched into my psyche.  My days as a school girl, began and concluded under his cock. As he pummeled my ass hole, wringing tears from my eyes, removing all manner of speech from me, he had ushered me into womanhood. He had indeed killed HG the child even as he conceived the woman.

Following the climax of the struggle against TMR and his spectacular demise, my days as a concupiscent school child came to an end. I had no desire to return to that hoary old school and the gloss of the magic world began to dim more and more with each passing year. This did not  keep me from pursuing the ultimately ill-fated union with RW. However, my sexual and intellectual yearnings, would not be contained by the wizarding world, nor my mild-mannered mate. My fate, I believe, lies in bestriding the two worlds, never fully situated in either. As my childhood ended, so opened a whole new door into a wider world of sexuality and perversion. I stepped through it willingly as the further account of my adventures sexuelle shall attest.


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