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Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
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A/N:iloveHGDM: What a lovely review; thank you so much. I guarantee you that I won’t leave you hanging with this (I’m way too OCD for that.) I’ll probably wait until Monday to put up chapter seven. (Now you won’t have to check constantly.) I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story, and I hope I hear from you again :)
6—Encore
“When I think about you, I touch myself.”—Divinyls
(Hermione)
Wet. How was she so fucking wet? The crass squish of her own juices rang through the room, her middle finger playing a sodden solo that built in tandem with her arousal.
Rolling to her back, Hermione stared at her bedroom ceiling, watching the rolling lights of passing cars dance across the pocked plaster. After the night she’d had, she didn’t think she’d need her usual dose of masturbation sleep-solution, but her clit refused to calm down. Her mind was wide awake, replaying library highlights on a never-ending loop. Lucius. Severus. Draco. Lucius, Severus, Draco. LuciusSeverusDraco. Her body had certainly enjoyed the adventure, but her mind raced, bouncing from one thought to the next, bombarding her with questions and concerns, motives and memories.
Turning to the side, she ran her fingertips over her bum. Plenty of memories there—some of them hot and some them sticky. Draco had offered to de-spunk her with the flannel, but she told him she’d just wash it off in the shower when she got home. She was a filthy liar. That cream was hers now. No way she was just going to rinse herself off and act as if the night hadn’t happened. Things like this never happened to her; she wanted to hold on to the memorabilia as long as she could.
For now, the spanking was fresh on her skin, warm and sore; and Snape’s spunk preserved the pink glow in a dull glaze of stiff semen. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of his velvet glans trailing over her backside, the spatter of his release as it roped off her arse like an exhibit. A shiver rolled up her spine, and Hermione smiled to herself. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be desired.
And she had been desired, if only briefly, by not one man, but three. In the heat of the moment, the blunt physicality and heady excitement had commanded her full attention; but when it was over, she couldn't figure out whether she'd imagined the spark between them or if that was just the story she was telling herself to justify her actions. She had no issue with casual sex or one night stands; it was just that after such a lengthy stretch of solitude, she was starting to doubt her feminine charms.
She hadn’t dated anyone worth shagging in years. Years. Fuck. How had she let this side of herself languish for so long? Sure, she had plenty of solo fun—maybe too much solo fun if her erotica shelf’s dwindling capacity was to be believed—but that was her secret side. She wasn’t ashamed of her libido, but she did have to maintain a certain amount of propriety to be taken seriously at the Ministry. Women with strong sex drives weren’t lauded as assets in the political world. If anyone suspected Hermione Granger was anything less than pure gold, she’d be risking not only her credibility but her dreams of equality for all magical creatures.
So much rode on her work ethic that she’d let her personal life wither to a whisper. But the more she stifled her sexuality, the louder it roared when she let it loose.
Tonight she’d loosed a scream of defiance and given voice to one fantasy, bringing it to life with a moment of mindless bravery.
Logically she knew that the threat of spanking should have been met with outrage and indignation, but her body had decided the appropriate response was copious lubrication and the utter abandonment of all pride. At the mere suggestion of punishment, she’d thrown herself over Lucius's lap like some deranged sex fiend, her pussy washing away her logic on a riptide of arousal. She’d been staring at the oriental carpet before she realized what she’d done. But once there, her heart hammering, her body trembling, she hadn’t regretted her impetuosity for even a second.
Lucius knew exactly what he was doing, and his teasing domination elicited an unexpected sense of freedom in her soul. He wanted to see her dripping with humiliation and excitement, and just knowing that he was turned on by her passion had given her permission to let go, to give in to her needs for one night of naughty fun.
She’d been fantasizing about being over someone’s knee for ages; but she never thought Lucius Malfoy would be the person to make her dreams come true. Not in a million billion years. He was always so distant and cold, but now, in a complete turnaround, she saw that he wasn't an icy enigma, he was Luscious Lucius, the man who had transformed her fantasies into reality. Even if she could never give voice to her gratitude, she would be forever indebted to him for introducing her to the wonders of a warmed arse. He'd exceeded her expectations in the most perverse ways, fulfilling her desire for dominance with a sensual flair she hadn’t anticipated.
It was a good thing Lucius had gone first, easing her into the experience, because Snape had hurtled past pleasant and skipped straight to intense. In less than thirty seconds, he'd pushed her to her limits both mentally and physically.
Strangely though, she liked that. Once she got over the initial fear, it had been rather liberating to hand over control, to give in to her secretly submissive side. Her focus had become razor sharp, and she’d reveled in the peacefulness of that acute awareness. Her life was sorely lacking in brain breaks, and Snape had silenced her chattering mind with one slap. The man was a genius.
Hermione smacked her bum to reawaken the sting and rediscover the still spot in her soul. “Mm!”
Her pussy expelled another shot of honey, and she slipped a finger inside to staunch the leak. Smiling, she turned her face to the pillow and imagined being back over Snape’s lap, Lucius’s cock waving in her face.
Tasty, tasty cock.
Her eyes snapped open. When did I become so enraptured by dangly bits? Sure, she appreciated a nice erection and what it could do to her, but she’d never drooled with hunger at the sight of a bouncing boner.
Until that night.
Apparently the Malfoy men actually were God’s gift to women. Lucius was thick and strong, his girthy glans filling her mouth like a song. There was a slight upward curve to his shaft that made her g-spot weep with longing. And he tasted like salted fucking caramel. Emphasis on the fucking. She’d been hooked after just one lick. No man should be that irresistible.
Draco had been equally impressive. He wasn’t as wide as Lucius, but he was a touch longer. Elegant was the first word that had popped into her head. Hermione never thought she’d describe some bloke’s tackle as elegant, but she couldn’t deny the artistry involved. It was the cock of an angel. And he’d been so warm. So alive. She’d forgotten the power rush of having a hot, hard man in her hands.
She wasn’t sure what Snape was working with since he’d been behind her, but she’d felt a sizable bulge in his trousers when she’d been over his lap. Once again, Snape was shrouded in mystery, which sent her imagination reeling into the stratosphere. What was his wand like? Thick like Lucius? Long like Draco? Did he taste like caramel too? Smell like confectionary cock? Her curiosity wouldn’t let the matter drop.
He probably smells like mothballs and metal cauldrons. She snorted to herself before bursting into riotous laughter as she realized the perverse perfection of his Potions master title. Master indeed. Her schoolroom fantasies would have both a new subject and teacher.
“Oh no, Professor Snape, I forgot my homework again. Please don't pull down my knickers in front of everyone,” she said in her breathiest bombshell voice.
‘Stop begging, you forgetful child. You know the punishment for not turning in your work. Lift your skirt.’
Hermione snickered into the pillow. If Snape spankings had been added to the Potions syllabus, she would have been mowing down her classmates to get to the dungeons early.
Curling her fingers, she attempted to touch herself the way Snape had, but her fingers were woefully inadequate. She had neither the reach nor the dexterity to do the job properly. Perhaps it was time for a field trip to Hogwarts; she needed some “hands-on” tutelage.
Cackling madly at her own absurdity, she stowed away that fantasy for another night. It would come in handy after a long day at the office.
But on a less ridiculous note, perhaps she could enlist Draco’s help; he seemed eager to lend a hand. At least that was what she’d garnered from his comments concerning her couch. He was serious, wasn’t he? Before that night she’d never thought of him as anything other than friend, but now sexy Draco was a real possibility. While her toys were fun, she missed the warm weight of a real man on top of her, crushing her as he drilled away her loneliness. If his kissing was anything to go by, Draco would make an excellent lover. He was self-assured and skilled—and his tongue had left her drowning in a sea of lust.
But while her pussy had been awed by his tongue’s talent, her heart had been struck by his soft grey gaze. There was something vulnerable there, something hopeful. She’d been quite taken by his honesty. That confession about his fantasies was heartbreakingly sweet, and she vowed to be more affectionate with him in the future. On Monday she’d hug the hell out of him and offer him a standing reservation for tea and sympathy. She’d wait and see how he reacted before volunteering anything more physical.
Sex was something a witch had to build up to.
She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them the way she’d sucked Mr. Malfoy. Her brain flashed back to Lucius kissing her hand, and she squeezed her thighs together as the memory produced another surge of excitement. Bloody hell, that man sure knew how to say goodbye. No one had ever kissed her hand before, and she hadn’t realized how depraved the gesture really was. Why was this practice considered genteel? It had to have been one of the most erotic moments of her life. When his lips had touched her knuckles, he didn’t just peck her sweetly; the wet inner rim of his lips skimmed her skin like satin, and just for an instant, she’d felt the warm slide of his tongue licking the salt from her flesh. He might as well have said “I want to fuck you.” It would have been less suggestive.
And she’d given that man her knickers. Merlin only knew what he might be doing with them, but it turned her on just knowing he had them, that he wanted them. Maybe he was in bed that very instant, sniffing her gusset and thinking about what they'd done.
Oh gods! It was probably best if she didn’t start fantasizing about her friend’s father. She was just setting herself up for trouble. But it was impossible to silence her insane brain. It insisted bad boys tasted better and then demanded another helping of candy cock—nom nom nom.
Stop! she admonished herself with a deranged giggle. You’re just making yourself mental. You’re never going to know if Lucius is a knicker sniffer, and you’re never going find out if Snape’s junk smells like frock coats and cauldrons. Draco might want to shag you. Maybe. But that’s it. Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape were just playing with you. Chalk it up to a good time and leave it at that.
‘You know what’s a really good time?’ her brain asked.
No. What?
‘Slytherin circle jerks.’
Hermione snorted and reached back to trace the valley of her cheeks. I never said we couldn’t use them as orgasm inspiration.
‘Then shove your finger up your arse, and let’s get this party started.’
“Hear, hear.”
Picturing all three of them surrounding her like a wall of wanking sentries, she slid her spit-slicked middle finger to the hilt and wiggled it back and forth, lightly stretching her anal opening. “Yes! Fuck me, sir.”
She had no idea whom she was addressing, but any of her artificial audience members would do.
Mr. Malfoy’s haughty voice egged her on, ‘Dirty girls get their bottoms filled with cock. Is that what you need?’
“Yes, sir. Please fuck my arse. I’m a dirty little girl. Teach me a lesson.”
‘Teaching lessons is my job, Miss Granger,’ spectral Snape purred in her ear. ‘That arse belongs to me. That’s my seed all over your red bottom, isn’t it?’
“Yes, sir.”
‘My cum, my bum. Spread yourself open. Let me bugger this arse while it’s still warm.’
“Yes, sir!” Her muscles tensed, on the verge of climax, and she opened her mouth in a subconscious search for oral stimulation. Damn, no more hands. She wanted something to suck on. Twisting her face to the side, she licked her naked shoulder, pretending it was Draco’s cock. In her mind, his face contorted with pleasure, and his erection pulsed against her lips. Stream after stream of imaginary jizz shot down her throat, and Hermione whimpered around him, lost in her own world. Humping the heel of her hand, she pictured Mr. Malfoy plowing into her pussy and Snape banging into her behind.
With a muffled wail, she came. The release was rough, tearing her twat apart like an earthquake, cracking her grip on reality; and just for a moment—a single breath—she was back in the Malfoy’s library, surrounded by the smell of leather . . . and books . . . and Slytherin sex.
When she recovered, she was coated in a sheer layer of perspiration, her heart pounding painfully against her breast, her pussy thumping as if it had its own pulse.
“Holy fucking hell,” she panted. She had to blink several times to clear the sparkling bursts of light from her vision. Smiling, she took a deep breath and stroked her clit with the side of her thumb. “Let’s do that again.”
Shuddering with bliss, her body concurred.
Fancied foursomes were quite the sleep-aid. She made it through three more rounds before the sandman lulled her into a sated slumber of sticky sanguinity and devious dreams. The smile etched on her face would have left any of her illusory lovers smirking with triumph.
She rested secure in the belief that they’d never know.
"I Touch Myself" by Divinyls. 1990. Written by band members Christina Amphlett and Mark McEntee, and songwriters Tom Kelly and Billy Steinberg (who also wrote such hits as "I'll Stand by You," Like a Virgin," "Eternal Flame," and "True Colors.")
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wv-34w8kGPM
Encore--A repeated or additional performance at the end of a show.
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