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A Confession by Hermione G.	By : Scarlett_Pimpernal Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 45323 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Year Five: The Iron Maiden
The conjuncture of the faerie King. My first epic orgy and my first supernatural screw.

“So, how was your first orgy?” asked the professor.
The question followed a week after one of the more remarkable chapters of my sexual adventures. One became inured to a plethora of oddities and eccentricities at wizardry school. For example, I always wondered why Professor S., my particular tutor in sexual studies and the object of a passionate crush, chose to include in his chamber’s decoration a rather large and forbidding iron maiden torture device. I would have thought it would suffice to have one’s apartment secretly connected to a musty old torture chamber without having to actually install a device in one’s living space. But such as the things we take for granted in the perverse wizarding world. However, I was to discover the true nature of the forbidding iron maiden which was to play a significant role in my life.
The previous week, we settled in for another session, cordial having been poured, fire stoked and sexual anticipation stirring my soul, when a sudden interruption occurred: just as the mantle clock softly chimed nine bells, the door of the Iron Maiden, that forbidding piece of sadistic decoration swung open, accompanied by a jarring nails-on-chalkboard squeak of ancient, rusted metal. The innards of the horrific lady were revealed: rows and rows of spikes; some had rusted away or broken over the many, many, years of its solitary existence, but many more remained to promise the horrid suffering of anyone unfortunate enough to come within her cold embrace. As it swung open, I perceived a subtle shift in the air of the room as a candle fluttered and the unmistakable waft of magical energy swept through the room accompanied by a faint, distant twinkling of music: haunting, chiming full of hope and despair at the same time.
“Right on time,” said the Professor, steepling his hands in his oh-so-familiar manner. “I must remember to oil those hinges.”
After a pregnant pause ensued and, curiosity once again goading me, I found it necessary to break the silence.
“Care to share, Professor?”
“A very special occasion.”
“What do you know of the Faerie realm?’ he asked.
I slipped easily into my ‘teacher’s pet’ persona: “The land of Faerie is a dimension parallel to our own, composed entirely of magic, some, including Blackburn, Wolfenstein and McMaster, posit that the magic of our own world is indeed wholly borrowed from theirs. Faerie is accessible through various magical roads, portals or paths, generally quite secret, though associated with cites of pagan worship or burial, Stonehenge being the most famous example.”
“Very good,” he said. “And it’s people?”
“The so-called ‘fae’ are not one race, but many, some quite horrible and lethal while others nearly overwhelming in their beauty. One should never enter into a bargain with one of their kind, nor dance in one of their circles. One should never eat or drink while visiting their realm, lest one become trapped therein. Alluring, seductive, intelligent, capricious, vain, vindictive. Quite dangerous, actually, and to be generally avoided.”
“Yes, well done,” he replied. “But you left out something very important: they are absolute fanatics when it comes to sex - in all its varieties.”
“Oh, cheers!”
“Care to come along?” he said, rising from his chair.
“To Faerie?!?”
“Yes. To the King’s nuptial celebration, to be precise. Leopold the 27^th, King of Lost Hope, though technically he is only an Archduke, but whatever you do, make sure you always address him as a King. It is rude to refuse such an invitation and I am curious to see how he is getting along in his house arrest.”
“House arrest?”
“Yes, he formed an unfortunate alliance with a certain dark wizard and suffered for it, accordingly.
“Come,” he said stepping toward the iron maiden.
“We’re getting inside that?”
“Just so,” he said. “Oh, you must always leave some possession behind when venturing to Faerie, it is instrumental in finding one’s way back.”
I removed an earring, he his pinkie ring, and we set the items on the silver tray beside the decanter of cordial. Then, taking my hand he stepped into the horrid chamber of the Iron Maiden, a spider web fouling his hair. As he pulled me close to him and I felt his body against mine, I flushed, heart racing, oh-so-aware of the pressure of my breasts against this chest, aching to be touched, squeezed, fondled, licked. Did I dare press my groin to his? An immediate and familiar electric-erotic sensation charged my frame. I tried to steel my nerves and project calm as he pulled the door, lined with spikes closed upon us!
Instead of perforation by a plethora of rusty spikes, I felt a familiar pulse of magic and then the door swung open to reveal a room quite different from the one we had departed.
“Welcome to Lost Hope,” said the Professor, leading me out of the Iron Maiden and into what could best be described a vast, decrepit chamber of horrors.
The walls - such as they were - stacked from floor to ceiling in a mosaic of bones, arranged in careful rows and columns, filling entire archways. How far back these bone-clogged passages stretched one could only guess. Rusted cages were suspended from the ceiling far overhead, many containing skeletons. In the middle of the room the unmistakable frame of a guillotine - it’s oblique blade hanging, rusted. But in contrast to their ominous shapes, the guillotine, the rack and the other implements were hung with garlands of flower and ribbon. For the most part, the chamber was filled with many other iron maidens, each a variation on the horrible theme, some deeply burnished with age, some bright and embellished of more recent construction. As we stepped out of our portal and I struggled to take in the wondrous horrible spectacle, I noticed other arriving through their own maidens, each apparently a passage to another dimension. Their fashions ranged from the 18^th century to indeterminate Victorian or more modern dress like my own (thought school uniform had not changed in fifty years, I expect).
A large, steep set of stone stairs climbed out of the vast chamber of torture and the Professor led me up them.
“Actually, faerie weddings - especially the royal variety - are rather drawn out affairs,” he clarified as we climbed. “The events have been going on all year and we’ve reached the final chapter.”
“Which is?”
“Why the bedding of the Queen, of course.”
The passage narrowed as we climbed until we emerged through a portal disguised as unassuming masonry into a large hall. Up ahead where it joined a wider hall, we could see more bodies, festooned in a fabulous array of costumes bustling about.
Stepping into the hall yielded a stupendous spectacle. The large space recalled Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors, only of at least twice the scale. One side of the long chamber was made up of mirrored doors which, as I would come to know, opened into various chambers, salons, bedrooms. The opposite side was made up of a long line of french doors opening onto a collonade and from thence, I could not tell. I was, or course, quite anxious to look upon the land of Faerie itself, but the reflections from the myriad candles and the pitch darkness of the night prevented this. And, then, the splendor of the creatures swirling about quite stole my attention. But the spectacle on the floor paled to the view above.
The ceiling stretched up four or even five stories above our head, Twinkling with magical lights and lined with elaborate balconies and transoms, the space was alive with the rapid flight and flitter of all sorts of wonderous creatures. Large, brightlly colored butterflies and insects of remarkable size were quite impressive, but the sight of the svelte winged human bodies took my breath away. I reflexively graped the arm of my mentor as I gaped in wonder. The true or “garden” faerie perhaps represents the idealized example of the fae - and a score of them flitted about above me, racing about in play. Though intimately in tune with varieties of botanicals from which they frequently derived their nicknames, these faeries were in truth all descendent from royal bloodlines. With impish features of great beauty, their gorgeous bodies resembled those of prepubescent humans. Sadly, upon maturation, they would shed those delicate wings, becoming earthbound like the rest of us.
Recovering from this sight as the Professor led me deeper into the grand chamber, I was once again dumfounded as a nimble fawn scampered by pinching my bottom as he passed. He resembled a human child of about ten years of age, though the semi-erect phallus that dangled and swung about as he capered hardly seemed childlike. Tiny horns sprouteed from his curly-haired head and his loins were clothed in coarse fur and his hoofed feet clacked musically on the marble floor. My eye caught his as he passed and he seemed to wink at me.
“Cheeky!”
A regal woman with a tall, tall wig right out of Versailles circa 1650, featuring a model sailing ship. She was willowy and quite elegant, and beautiful. Her heavily powedered face was a haughty mask of beauty, with crimson lips and a large, heart-shaped beauty mark applique such as the members of the upper crust wore to hide their defects or scars. She wore a heavily embroidered bustier of shimmery-silk, with many frills, ribbons and rosettes, which pushed up her bare breasts into a brazen display of creamy, plump, cherry-topped flesh. An elaborate train of fabric flowed and followed behind, but she was nude below but for stockings to sheath her long legs. So much frilly fabric hung about her that I almost completely overlooked her nudity. A prominent crop of golden pubic hair decorated her crotch. She held a fan in one hand that hovered decorously at her jaw-line and in the other, the held leashes that trailed to the necks of her footmen. In contrast to their mistress, these fellows were quite naked but for their wigs, short stockings and buckled shoes. Similar figures circulated up and down the hall, seeing and being seen, some masked, some not. This was my first inkling of the presence of faeries in our mundane world. Though by no means common, they may typically be found in the milieux such as fashion modeling, where their extreme and sometimes freakish beauty, long limbs, and aloof attitudes sort quite well. In fact, if you have ever encountered a rather enigmatic, quite androgynously beautiful creature, generally running in sophisticated circles, there is a high likelihood that they are indeed refugees or emigres from the land of Faerie (but more on that at a future point in my sexual chronicles).
We joined in the circulation, and though we did not necessarily stand out in our sober robes, we certainly counted as some of the more completely clothed guests. As we reached the end of the chamber, the Professor led us into an adjoining salon, a cavernous space with elaborate wood panellling and vast painted ceiling depicting a war of some sort. Various bewigged footmen floated about. A cadre of musicians tuned busily. A veritable feast was laid out on tables at the periphery. All seemed to be a flurry of controlled chaos. In the calm of this storm, a solitary figure posed by the fireplace, a massive and ornately carved affair of almost supernatural workmanship that recalled Rodin’s Gates of Hell with its composition of intertwined bodies. Before the fireplace, a cadre of courtiers stood around a handsome man who regaled them in animated declamation.
“Let us pay our respects to the King.”
As we approached, the man caught the professor out of the corner of his eye and immediately called out and ambraced the professor.
“Ah, Snape,” replied the King, turning to us. “So glad you could make it.”
The so-called King of Lost Hope, Leopold was a strikingly handsome creature, dressed in subdued yet elaborate brocade. His hair streaked with grey, his age indeterminate as typical of this long-lived race. He was probably hundreds of years old when I met him. His eyes seemed to flash as their focus turned to me and a felt a curious stir in the pit of my gut, so magnetic was the force fo his charisma. Little did I know at the time, still quite green and inexperienced, the role he would come to play in my adult life.
“And, who is this lovely young creature?”
“My…neice, Miss Grey.”
I curtsied for lack of a better idea.
“Charmed,” he said, taking my hand and kising it. The chivalric gesture as he gazed deeply into my eyes caused me to blush. “There is something so incredibly alluring about the schoolgirl, don’t you find? First loves and experiments.”
Having enthralled me with his gaze and lascivious scrutiny, he turned suddenly to the Professor.
“A regrettable business,” he said gravely. “I’m still mewed up here, but I am deteremined to move on, and my new wife’s connections should help in easing my restraints. You managed to land on your feet with the grace of a cat!”
Snape just nodded his head gravely in reply.
The King, then took hold of his arm and took him aside. I was, however, able to overhear their brief sxchange.
“One hears rumors,” began the King. “Of a return.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Snape.
“And what are we to make of them?”
“What is your highness’ inclination?”
“I have always found that fortune favors the bold.”
“But your present state of house arrest may belie that theory.”
“Indeed..and to the wise man would be advised to…” he seemed to be trying to intuit the Professor’s mind as he constructed his sentence. “Play it safe.”
“Indeed,” nodded the Professor. “That would be the prudent choice - for as long as possible.”
“We understand.”
“You majesty,” replied the Professor, bowing his head and stepping back to allow a pair of hovering well-wishers their moment with the King.
The Professor grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and one for me
“It’s quite alright. The stuff about abjuring of Faerie food is naught but an old wives tale.”
We sipped for a moment and enjoyed the spectacle before a peal of bells and horns echoed through the vast halls and a buzz of excitement sewpt through the already electrified gathering.
I heard the lord of Lost Hope proclaim, “Come, let us greet our queen!” and then the Professor led me back into the hall of mirrors where we took our place in the audience along the periphery of the room.
The procession began with heralds in elaborate livery, and a trio of trumpeters. At the head of this honor guard strode a magnificent drum major / major domo in a long tailcoat, carrying a tall mace. He was a handsome fellow with waxed mustachios. The feathers of his tall bicorn fluttered and he bowed and nodded politely yet gravely to the throng. Reaching the King at the end of the hall, he bowed elaborately, seeming almost to touch his nose to the floor. “Your Highness, Leopld, the 27^th of that name, potentate of Lost Hope and all its divers satellites and environs high and low. I come, charged by the House of Throckmorton to deliver unto thee, she whose heart you have wooed, whose bond you enjoy, and to whose body thou mayst now stake thy claim. Let all behold at wonder at this night of your solemnities!” He accompanied his words with formal gestures of the hand, carving and caressing the air as he spoke.
With that, he stepped aside and from the opposite end of the room, a host of acrobats burst upon the - causing the collective audience to gasp in wonder. Their nude bodies, painted in bright colors and adorned with crystals, shimmered in a blur as they cartwheeled and twirled down the gallery to the deep thrum of drums. Fire breathers sent plumes of flame into tha air. Then, as suddenly as the theatrical display began, it muted. The performers all crouching low in superlative unison, heads bowed in reverence as an even more fantastic sight appeared. Then, as a peal of belle resonated through the palace, a pristine, white unicorn appeared at the entrance of the gallery. Upon its back, riding sidesaddle and naked as a babe, perched a vision of beauty such as I have rarely beheld. Her features and form could have been sculpted by a genius. Beneath a crown of flowers, her golden hair spilled down to her loins, discretely covering her modesty and shimmering with the reflected glow of the hundreds of candles that twinkled throughout the ornate hall. The magical equine halted and bowed its head, dipping the long, smooth horn in deference to the fairy king who stood at the opposite end of the hall and returned the courtesy. Then the creature began a slow procession down the hall.
There’s some style, I thought. If I ever get married, I’m entering in that manner. Though, of course, my wedding ceremony when it came to pass was a rather shabby, mundane affair.
As the Queen passed, spectators bowed their head in reverance and, I suspect, no small degree of awe. She returned the gestures with a demure bow of her own head, first to one side of the gallery and then to another. As she passed, I fancied her eyes connected briefly with my own and in that instant, I felt a quickening of desire such as I had never quite experiences, an instant infatuation, as deep swoon of the soul. So powerful was the instantaneous sensation that I felt compelled to break the contact and bow my head - thrilled, aroused and a bit of ashamed as well. I’m sure I blushed. As I recoverd, I became aware of a fellow standing behind and beside me. A handsome, regal fellow of a certain age with a pointed grey goatee, and fine tailored, pinstriped tailcoat. His eyes twinkled as they met mine, and then I felt his hand rest upon and gently fondle my left ass-cheek.
A retinue of household members followed behind the magical mount, beaing satchels, bumpers and boxes containing the Queen’s moveables. As the unicorn reached its destination before the lord of Lost Hope, a small squad of footmen and handmaidens appeared as if out of nowhere, bearing various objects and garments. One placed a small mounting stool so as to allow the queen to gently dismount. No sooner had this celestial creature alighted, then a servant girl, a beauty in her own right, was ther to place a gossamer robe about her shoulders and another placing dainty, embroidered slippers upon her feet. There was a blare of horns and a great deal of fanfare and the King announced a procession through the house to welcome his nwe mate.
And so, we fell in line behind his cadre of courtiers. The long and winding procession weaved through one magnificant chamber after another, hung with massive, ancient tapestries with gilded carvings and elaborately painted ceilings recalling the seasons and themes of love and war. Finally, the destination led to the royal bed chamber wherein the royal retinue of attendants, which seemed to include the professor and myself, assembled aroung a large, elaborate four-poster, hung with flower garlands and brightly colored ribbons. We waited impatiently as the King and Queen bathed in a satellite chamber. Decorum apparently prevented anything more then hushed exchanges. I caught the eye of Grey Goatee who acknowledged me with a slight bow of the head and a twinkling smile. I felt as though I could feel his lust through the little crowd of bodies - a discrete yet palpable force.
The King and Queen then returned, wearing elaborate robes, freashly bathed, followed by their handmaidens. As in our own age of monarchs, the coupling of kings and queens was a public affair, entailing as it would, the future of the state. But the Faerie version of this custom would take things to a whole other level as I was soon to discover. First, a sort of master of ceremonies in a tall wig and an elaborate frock warmed things up with a rather long and involved recitation of the pedigrees of the man and woman before us - a long list of their sexual conquests, affairs and coital sport. Then, finally, with a chaste kiss the robe was removed from the shoulders of the Queen, once again baring her superlative body to us, the awe-filled onlookers. Shirking his own robe, and taking her by the hand, the King pulled his mate onto the satin sheets of the regal bed, cock already springign to attention. They began to make love as a quartet of minstrels serenaded them.
I had enjoyed and studied hours of pornography, of course, and at this point in my career had accumulated a fairly respectable resume of sexual activity between my regular fuck club with DM and the goons, the rendez vous with the insatiable AF, not to mention my second career as a whore at the Three Broomsticks in the alter ego of the sexy Veronica. However, any and all of my exploits and those of the most accomplished porn stars in my collecton paled in comparison to what I beheld in the bed of the faerie King and Queen. Singing in some ancient version of gallic from an aged book - ostensibly a Faerie version of the Kama Sutra - the master of ceremonies narrated the couple through a series of formal attitudes and positions, from a long, extended anf fluid sequence of body adoration and foreplay to the most extreme and athletic modes of intercourse that would hav ebeen laughably awkward in a mere mortal, but in these regal persons amounted to art in motion.
I was, of course, highly aroused, having begun the evening keyed-up as usual for my regular meeting with the professor, half mad with desire for my tutor. Then, the splendor of Faerie land ratcheted up my desires. The extended spectacle of the faerie King and Queen fucking like gods had taken me to the edge of a swoon. As I watched the coupling, spellbound, Grey Goatee maneuvered behind me. I did not notice until he once again placed a hand on my buttock. But the act was old hat at this point in the evening and I wanted a great deal more. My body and libido seemed to verge on outright combustion. I gathered the edge of my school robe so as to allow the gentleman a greater degree of access to myself. Following the cue, he managed to slip his hand under my skirt so as to fondle my bare ass. Finally, thankfully, his fingers delved deeper and he slipped a finger inside me. My knees nearly buckled, but I managed to maintain my stability, so desperate was I for the fingering.
Finally, the King, triumphant, gave up his offering of seed to his Queen. The room hushed and the Master of Ceremonies leaned in to verify that the act had been completed and to proclaim the Faerie Queen well and truly fucked, at which point a peal of magical bells rang out and those of us watching offered a polite round of applause that seemed quite ridiculous given what we had just witnessed. The King and Queen, bathed in perspiration, sank back into the comfort of the bed. The naughty courtier slipped his finger from my vagina and we began to process out of the room. That, I assumed, would be that - enough excitement for one evening. But I was quite mistaken.
As we descended the main staircase that overlooked the Hall of Mirrors, a pair of faeries, joined in mid-air coitus flew by. But this remarkable sight was surpassed by the spectacle of the hall below. Strewn with odd an odd assortment of furniture and cushions, a massive orgy was in progress, the likes of which I had never dared to imagine. A vast tangle of svelte limbs and lush genitalia unfolded before us. Many sported elaborate fetishistic garments or lingerie and some elaborate masks. Minstrels and concupiscent satryr musicians frolicked about and in the air, naughty aerial nudists flitted about. Some had lodged themselves into sconces and amid the sculptures high above the floor to fuck.
We moved across the floor as if in a dream, beautiful bodies to the left and right struggled, stroked and seethed in sexual sport. Then, a pair of nude, masked women rose from the crowd and took the professor by the arm. I felt a sudden, profound stab of jealous indignation, mixed with the fear of being abandoned in the middle of ginormous faerie orgy. But before I could gather my wits. I was taken by the hand and spirited down the hall toward the fireplace chamber where we had first met the Faerie King. The creature on grasping my hand was none other that that roguish scamp, the frisky young satyr who had pinched my ass and caught my eye earlier in the evening. I had to jog to keep up with the nimble fellow who skipped along. In the chamber, lit by the roaring fire, more bodies writhed and convulsed in hedonistic pleasure. Beautiful boobies bounced on phallus-striding femme faeries. Tense-buttocked young bucks tools inside their partners - male, female and ambiguous. The satyr delivered me into the company of three other, gentlemanlike faeries - Grey Goatee and his cohort from the retinue of the King who were arranging themselves in chairs before the fire. Grey Goatee magnanimously presented Frisky Satyr Lad with a large gold coin which disappeared into the satchel he had slung over the shoulder of his otherwise naked body. His phallus, proud and quite impressive dangled in a state of semi erection. He seated himself on a cushion and gazed up at me, cock in hand, as Grey Goatee helped me up, onto a low table. I was, it appeared to be the center of attention. He helped me out of my school robe and there I stood on display in my school uniform.
With one hand on my bottom, he presented me to his brethren who clapped and smiled. Strip tease was never my thing, though I did find a certain license to show off, strut and disrobe in my persona as Veronica of the Three Broomsticks. But, here in the midst of a faerie orgy was not place to play the prude. I was hungry for fucking. I tugged my tie loose and started unbuttoning my blouse straightaway. The admiring nod of Grey Goatee at my side led me to believe I was on the right track. Flashing the onlookers some tit, I switched tack and slowly drew up the hem of my skirt, exposing my bare pussy, before turning around and bending over to give them a full view of fanny. I pulled my cheeks apart and then felt the hands of Grey Goatee, fingering my moist pussy. My little display had caused the spectators to begin loosening their trousers. I then disrobed entirely before addressing myself to the men, taking turns, working my way from one to the next as they lounged in their seats, servicing them with my mouth and fingers, beginning with Grey Goatee.
When I finished going down the line, there were four fine erections, standing tall and proud, glistening in the firelight, lubed with my saliva. I was hungry to ride a cock at this point, so the next course of action naturally presented itself. I walked slowly back up to the head of the line, where sat Grey Goatee, stroking his member, admiring my handiwork. Based on the attention he had shown to my posterior, I chose to present my fanny to this fine gentleman, who put his hands on my flesh and fingered my in a most pleasing manner. Little by little, I snuggled my fanny onto his pal and he guided the head of his cock into my breach. Having achieved a pleasing penetration, I slipped into my wet pussy onto that rod and seated myself fully. As the cock rammed home, a wave of relief washed over me. So tightly wound was the spring of my sexual desire that I feared I would swoon there and then on is cock. The long moan that escaped me seemed to belong to another being. When I finally regained my composure, I placed my hands on his knees so as to balance and so began to ride him until I felt his body twitch under me and a lovely flood of moisture suffused my intimate space.
Removing myself from the phallus, I moved to the next gentleman in line. Because he had seemed especially interested in my titties, I decided to mount facing him. And so I fucked the second candidate in the orgy sweepstakes to completion as he teased and tormented my nipples. With the third fellow, I reverted to the original form, riding his cock while facing away, taking in the spectacle of the orgy across the room. The orgasm hit me as I watched the professor, that profound object of my desire fuck a long-limbed faerie woman in an elaborately feathered mask. When my latest partner had given up his offering of seed to my hungry womb, I mounted the last fellow in line and before long, he had added his measure to the others. Stepping away, I bent over so as to allow them all view of their collected deposits of spermatic juices dribbled and dripped out of my pussy. Someone was going to have quite a mess to clean up tomorrow - but that was not my concern. As the men appreciated the fruits of their labor behind me, I could not help but notice the dear fawn sitting on the low table, throttling his impressive erection. I felt it would be cruel to deny him an opportunity to poke me with it. And, to tell the truth, I was still horny and hankering to fuck a magical creature.
“Alright, then,” I said to him. “Fancy a fuck, my fine fellow?”
In a trice, I was on my back on that little table with the concupiscent fawn buried up to the cods in my slick, cum-filled slit.
“Gods that’s good!”
He thrashed around on top of me, his excitement animal energy getting the better of him and it took me several moments before I could get him under control as the bones of my background painfully against the wood of the table.
“Woa, there, my friend, woa…”
Grasping his coarsely haired flanks, I was finally able to settle him down so as to begin to steer him into some gentle thrusts. To his credit, he took direction quite well and began to ply that hard tool within my pussy. So fine indeed were the strength and dimensions of his fine phallus that I placed my legs up onto his shoulders and so as to allow the tool to play against the sensitive spot deep within me where lurked the promise of a powerful orgasm.
“Fuck yes, my friend…oh yes, like that.”
His body grew more and more rigid, but again to his credit, he maintained the pace and strength of his thrusts, his wiry body deploying behind the motion until I came. He followed suit shortly thereafter, losing control and thrashing about before collapsing on top of me. I could feel a copious load of his magical seed spilling out of my pussy as he jerked through the aftermath of this climax, still buried hard and deep in my body. Reluctant to let him go, I wrapped my legs around his trunk. Finally, a familiar voice broke through the bliss.
“I expect that is quite enough excitement for one evening,” said the Professor in his smoldering deadpan as he stood over me. “It is a school night, after all.”
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A Confession by Hermione G.