A Confession by Hermione G.

BY : Scarlett-Pimpernel
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Dragon prints: 37167
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 Four: Filched in Four

Wherein I must strategically screw a most loathsome man

“If you are to continue your nocturnal proclivities,” said the Professor one night, “we must look to safe passage through the castle after hours. “It may be helpful for you to borrow a certain magical garment from a certain friend,” he adds, referring, of course to the invisibility cloak of HP. I reply that it would be out of the question and invite undesired curiosity on the part of the lender.

“I had rather maintain a rather predictable reputation as a teacher’s pet,” I say. “The Time Turner is about all I can manage as far as subterfuge and even there, H and R seem so suspect that I am up to something.”

“Very well,” he replies, fingers steepled before him in his habitual pose. “Then the next best plan would be to offer amelioration to a certain warden of the castle.”

“You mean the one with the shaggy pussy.”

“The same. I have in the past for the purposes of liaisons, brokered a deal as such.“

“I had not suspected he could be bought off,” I say. “And I don’t really have a lot of coin lying around.”

“Oh, I suspect you possess ample currency for a suitable arrangement of free passage.”

I catch his drift.

“You mean I am to offer to fuck Filch?”

“Just so.”

Can he be serious?

He remains deadpan as he sips his cordial.

He is serious.

“Right, let’s get it over with, then.”

In no time, it seems, I am eavesdropping upon a conversation between the Professor and the Caretaker down in our private little dungeon.

“Don’t be tedious, man,” chides the Professor. “You know of what I speak.”

“Oh, indeed I do, indeed I do!”

“The same rights of free passage would apply as in previous cases.”

“Along with the same service arrangement.”

“Monthly, by appointment.”

“But not when it’s that time of the month. Can’t abide a f’ing bleeding cunny.“

Overhearing this exchange, I am even more repulsed to learn that I will be servicing him on a regular basis.

“Alright, master,” I hear him spit, presumably into his hand to seal the bargain with a shake like some movie show pirate.

“Been months of Sundays since I’ve had a piece. And spying all this fresh coozy flitting about the halls day-in, day-out, drives a fella distract, it does. Now I’m all a-flutter with curiosity. Who have you in mind, Professor? ‘Cor, I hope it’s that big-tittied Ravenclaw seventh year! Or maybe that curvy little blond haired Slytherin bitch! She makes me hard every time she flits by, f’in’ cunt!”

I present myself from behind the curtain, expecting his enthusiasm to instantly wane. However, he seems quite pleased with the prospect of boning me.

“Oh, surprise, surprise! If it isn’t our little Gryffindor bookworm! Life is full of surprises, I always say. Not expected, but welcome all the same. A bit on the young side for such tricks, are we not? But never-you-mind, Argus prefers ‘em young and fresh. Good evening, my lovely!”

I feel inclined to apologize for the meagre size of my bosom and curves.

“Oh, never mind about that,” he says. “Quite the little beauty you are. Yes, nice tight little package.”

“How very gallant of you,” interrupts the Professor.

“Known far and wide for my gallantry, I am, Right, let’s get to the shagging!”

Professor produces wand and the rack transforms into a rich, four-poster and AF quickly sheds his clothes and flops upon the coverlet, cock flapping. As I strip for him, he strokes himself to a handsome erection.

“Now, let’s have a gander at that quim. Oh, that’s as pretty a sight as I seen in many-a-day. Quite prim and proper. But not for long, young missy. Argus will show yon tight little quim a thing or two. First things first, you toddle over and stow your gob on ol’ Argus’ knob, eh?”

I have never been overly fond of ‘narrators’ or sex-talk during my activity. However, Filch was a glaring exception; his banter and running coital commentary — frequently flattering and sometimes outrageously so - reduces me to tears of laughter on more than one occasion, requiring a pause in the action.

“‘Cor, blimey get a gander there of the old in-and-out,” he said as he worked my pussy.

Of course, a part of me was quite mortified. I had on these and many other occasions a sort of split-personality, out-of-body sensation. While I loathed the horrid fellow on one plane of consideration, another part of me was simply too libidinous to care, simply hungering to be fucked. Then, of course, was the Professor, my tutor and object of constant lust and fantasy; it was his bed I longed to share, but here he stood patiently by, gazing on nonplussed as if observing the boring parts of a long Quidditch match. How I longed to impress him, and so, another part of me became a conscious performer, showing off, attempting to somehow fuck him through the object of the other man.

“There” he said proudly, having filled my quim with spunk. “I reckon you are good and truly Filched!”

As I struggled to catch my breath, I had to admit that this was true. The thought of actually fucking this repulsive fellow that would have repulsed me days or even hours before, had somehow become not only normalized, but enjoyable as well. His lust intoxicated me. In spite of my preconceived notions, I was quite gratified to find in Argus Filch a facile and spirited cocksmith and I received much pleasure from his erotical company. His appreciation and even deference to me increased over time in direct relation to the growth of my skills. I remember one night in particular in the following year. By this time in my career, I had developed a certain skill - the ’torture blow’  whereby, with a firm grip around the base of the erection, I could hold my partner on the verge of climax - and then take him over the edge - via the most subtle manipulation of the frenulum with the fingertip, pad of the thumb or even the pressure from lips or tongue. Such was the technique that I deployed when, having been fucked with surprising vigor from above, below and behind by Filch I was ordered to ’suck him off that he may fill my gullet with spunk ’til it choked me.’

I resumed the felation in - but gradually — until I held him poised, his body had grown quite rigid, eyes bulging, fists clenching the bed sheets.

“Cor, blimey, what are you about, you tricksy minx?”

I had decided to turn the tables somewhat, and riposte with banter of my own. The application of pressure from my tongue, brought him closer and closer to the edge until - with a powerful spasm - I took the glans into my mouth and received the full brunt of his pent-up lust.

And so, I gathered another sexual feather, a rather singular one, for my cap. And the collection of plumage was about to expand dramatically.

           

 



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