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Friends, With Benefits	By : AdmireU Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 22626 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Friends, With Benefits
- 1
Title: Friends, With Benefits
Author: Shanti, under a different penname because I was nervous about writing my first-ever slash. *blush*
Summary: The war has been over for years, and live has settled to day-to-day normality. Ginny is suddenly distressed by some distinctively non-platonic feelings towards her best friend.
Rating: NC-17, almost PWP, though I'd like to think there is some plot.
Pairing(s): Ginny and Hermione
Feedback: Desired. Adored. Appreciated. Longed-for. Given Champagne and Chocolate.

Characters: Ginny and Hermione. Mention of other Weasleys and Harry Potter

Betas: None, I'm sorry to say, because I was too embarrassed to admit to anyone that I had written such a naughty story. I normally use a whole team of betas. Please point out the errors you find!

Disclaimer: This story is set in the world of Harry Potter, created by JK Rowling. The characters in this story are hers, though the plot is mine. I'm recieving no pecuniary rewards for this story, and am more than a little embarrassed to admit to writing it, though I enjoyed doing so very, very much. I like playing with JKR's toys, but I always put them back where I found them--maybe a teensy bit worse for wear.

Author�s notes: My first, and probably only attempt at slash-writing. It was inspired by my friend, no benefits.

A.U., as it takes place years in the future after Voldemort is defeated. Written shortly after release of OotP.

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FRIENDS, WITH BENEFITS

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I am not homosexual. I have never even considered myself Bisexual. I don�t have any problem with those preferences, no conscious prejudices; I simply have never felt the �urge� as it were, to experiment with other girls. The first time I ever saw Harry Potter was really �it� for me. I dated other blokes when I thought my interest in him was hopeless, but I never lost my love for Harry.

My brother, Ron, I think, had a similar reaction when he first saw Hermione. Of course, being a bloke, it was impossible for him to recognize it for what it was. They didn�t get together until after graduation, after you-know-who was vanquished at last.

That was a horrible time in all our lives. I won�t dwell on it here. It is enough to say that he was vanquished, and with less loss of life than there could have been, less than his first rise to power. Still a horrible price, great gaping holes in hearts where loved ones once were. But it is over, and we have all learned to do what we had to do to move on with our lives.

Harry and Ron are Aurors now, still a dangerous job, but less so than when you-know-who was around. Ron and Hermione got married only a few months after Harry and I did. I adore my husband. He is everything I ever wanted in a life�s partner. We have two beautiful kids; I get to be home with them, life is bliss.

So why, then, do I suddenly have these strange feelings for my best friend?

Hermione and Ron don�t have kids yet, and she is very busy with her work at the Ministry. But she still finds time to come visit me, particularly when the boys have to be gone for days at a time in their work.

She is smarter than I am, prettier, skinnier. My pregnancies and slower lifestyle have brought out my mother�s tendency towards plumpness. I am not enormous by any means, but I am not the thin and toned girl I once was, my hips and breasts full and soft.

Even if we were both lesbians, she would never suit me as a life partner�our opinions on basic core things are too different. It makes her an excellent friend, and someone it is fun to talk about controversial things with, but it would be completely incompatible with any sort of romantic relationship. We would fight constantly and never be truly happy.

Again, I reason these things through, and again I ask myself�why do I have completely NON-platonic thoughts about her?

I have no desire to destroy my marriage, nor hers. Harry, I have no doubt, is not of the sort to feel comfortable in a �threesome�, and I have to admit that I don�t think I could overcome my jealousy enough to �share� him, not even with her. And Ron� well, he�s my brother for Merlin�s sake!

And yet here I am, with very NON-heterosexual thoughts, feelings and ideas about Hermione Granger!!

I feel a bit competitive with her sometimes. A bit like I am comparing myself always with her, wondering how I measure up, wondering if she likes me as well as I like her, even in the realm of simple friendship.

Sometimes I feel like she tolerates me in the way that Malfoy tolerated Crabbe and Goyle. A fondness, perhaps, and affection, but not a real respect. She has never said or done anything to make me feel this way�I think perhaps it is my own insecurities whispering to me that I am not good enough to be her friend. Not a truly an equal.

Mostly we just talk and laugh. We share an enjoyment of the same sorts of literature and hobbies, and the same worry over our husband�s safety when they are gone. We like the same theatrical shows when we can get away to go to them. We can talk for hours about anything and nothing. She is my friend. If for no other reason than that, I adore her.

And now, today, my mom has taken the kids for the weekend. Harry and Ron are on an assignment for the next several days. Hermione doesn�t like to stay home alone, and neither do I. So she is coming here. Like a sleep over. Books and popcorn and laughter and secrets.

The thoughts I am having about this are positively indecent!

Yet I fear to act on my thoughts. What would happen? Would we stay friends? Friends, with occasional �benefits�? Would she rush out in horror and tell Ron what I did, possibly destroying my marriage and my relationship with my brother and my family all in one blow? What if she is a willing participant, and wants or expects the next step to be a leaving of our husbands and a forming of our own pair-bond? I am not at all interested in leaving my children and husband!

I could destroy everything in an instant, with the wrong action. If I could have my deepest wish, it would be that SHE would broach the subject� that somehow we could discuss it rationally� Is there some option besides all or none? I already love her. Yet is my longing to satisfy my curious desire strong enough to overcome my fear of destroying both of our lives? Can I truly be so selfish?

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I have taken an inordinate amount of care with my toilette today. Legs shaved, pubic hair trimmed and cut back� I believe muggles call it a �Brazilian Wax� when they do that�it sounds horribly painful. Thank heavens for wands! Lotion, perfume, hair conditioned to a silky softness. I feel as though I am going on my first date. The butterflies in my stomach make me feel nauseated, and I fear that my nervousness will betray my new thoughts towards my old friend.

I feel ridiculous. I have twenty extra pounds on my short frame. My breasts are soft rather than firm from pregnancy and nursing. I have stretch marks. Cellulite. Harry loves me anyway. When I am in his arms, when he makes love with me, I feel sexy� beautiful� gorgeous. Why am I putting this sort of pressure and insecurity on myself now? Even if Hermione were a person who �swings� that way, why would she choose the likes of me? Hell� I�m not completely certain that *I * am a person who �swings� that way!

I only know that Hermione makes me think things. I want to brush her lips with my own. I want to caress her soft skin and see gooseflesh in response to my touch. I want to tease and tweak her nipples until she moans my name breathlessly.

What in the name of Merlin�s Bloody Balls is wrong with me?? Never, ever in all my life have I thought of a female person in those terms. After I realized what I was feeling toward Hermione, I began to be aware of the people around me. I was trying to find if I was secretly a lesbian, or even bisexual, and had merely been lying to myself all of my life, suppressing the sensations.

I do not look at a pretty woman and feel sexual interest. An attractive guy, sure, I�m only human after all. But a random beautiful woman on the street? I feel nothing sexual at all. People I know, girls I am more �compatible� with over all than Hermione, girls who don�t make me feel so insecure about my own self�nothing. Harry can ignite my passion with a word, a look, a touch. My sex life with my husband is frequent and fulfilling. I have no rational reason to feel the way that I do.

�This�, whatever �this� is, belongs to Hermione alone.

Who knows if she would want this thing that I wish I was brave enough to offer?

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She arrives. She is beautiful. Okay, perhaps not everyone sees the beauty in her, but she is beautiful with a radiance that shines from within. She hugs me and kisses me on the cheek as we exchange our ritual greeting. It is all normal and routine for us, yet my body reacts viscerally, in an entirely new way to the brief contact. My heart pounds and I turn away to the kitchen to hide my blush, already chattering animatedly. I hope not too animatedly�

�Since we have the place to ourselves I thought I�d make something fancy for supper. I get tired of repetitively eating the kinds of things the kids will eat!�

Hermione grins at me and I feel my universe tilt upon its axis� her smile would light the world. �That sounds great, Gin. I thought the same thing. I brought a chocolate fondue and my sleeping bag. Let�s just hang out in the living room in front of the fire. It will be like a slumber party, like when we were kids!�

We both missed out on so much of that �fun� kid stuff. When we should have been doing slumber parties, doing makeup and hair and all manner of frivolous �girl talk�, our world was in turmoil. We had to grow up quickly and talk about dangerous things, sad things, life-and-death things. There was no time to do each other�s nails and play �truth or dare�.

So we do just that. She conjures a huge, thick, fluffy sheepskin rug and an inordinate number of cushions and pillows, and we lay out our sleeping bags near the fire. We eat kabobs roasted in the fire, and then a huge variety of fruit dipped into the fondue. She asks about the kids� I ask about her work.

We chat and laugh and all the while I feel like the very fiber of my being is screaming to touch her. I can feel my skin on the side of my body closest to her yearning in her direction. Occasionally I cannot resist the urge, and I brush against her casually. It sends fire through me, and I marvel internally that I am not panting in desire. I occasionally catch her eye but quickly look away. I could not bear for her to discover my new and shameful secret.

What on EARTH is wrong with me?

Suddenly, she mentions a woman at her lab that she just learned was gay. A whole slew of emotions rush through me at once, and I freeze, refusing to allow myself even to breathe. I want to hear what she will say about this woman. I want to find out if the woman made a move on her, and feel a sharp stab of ridiculous and unreasonable jealousy at the thought. But mostly I want to see if I can discern in her words, the answer to my current turmoil.

She talks on, and I learn the woman is not gay, she�s bisexual. Hermione chatters away, her rational thought processes spilling forth as it always does when she is thinking about something new to her. She is telling me with apparent nonchalance how she thinks it would be hard to find a partner when one is bisexual, because it might be hard to �choose� one or the other.

It might be nice, she says, if one could find a mate that one was happy with, and still have a �special friend� of the other gender� depending on the feelings of the mate. Not everyone, she concludes, would be comfortable in a more open relationship� yet wouldn�t it be nice, she wonders aloud, if there were a way to address both desires without hurting the other partner?

�You know,� she says, now looking me in the eye, her beautiful brown ones drawing me in, �Like friends, but with special benefits.�

She says the words that have been echoing in my head, and now I realize... I KNOW. She has been no less nervous with me tonight than I have been with her. I have simply been so lost in trying to hide my own discomfort that I was unable to notice hers.

Her cheeks are pink. Is she too warm from the fire? Is she blushing? Her gaze holds mine like an irresistible force. My mouth has gone dry, I cannot speak. Oh, my beloved Hermione. May I be your friend� with benefits?

Her lips are slightly parted, and her pointed pink tongue darts out to moisten them. My gaze falls to her mouth, deep pink and now dewy from her tongue. My heart is pounding in my ears until I can hear nothing else. Not the fire. Not her breathing. Not the sounds of the crickets in the late fall evening. Nothing but my pounding heart screaming at me to kiss her� to taste her� to find out at last if this raging need inside me can be slaked by my friend.

I have made no conscious decision. I have not spoken. I have not moved. I am terrified. Now that the moment seems to have arrived, I hover on a precipice of uncertainty. Can I do this without destroying our friendship? Our marriages? Can I do this at all? I have never been with a woman. I have nothing to go on except the knowledge of my own body and what I like. I know what I�d like to do to her� but can I do it? Would she like it?

�Gin��

She whispers my name, a mere sigh across the beckoning lips, and I am lost. I can not refuse the begging of my body. I can no longer think clearly of possible consequences� the most delicious kiss would not be worth ruining my life, her life, our marriages�yet I cannot resist. I send out a silent prayer to the powers that be to somehow make this right�

And I lean forward and brush her lips with my own.

My world explodes in sensation. A sharp thrill shoots through my body as though lightning has struck my spine. A timeless eternity I do nothing but press my lips gently against hers. They are petal soft, warm and moist. Her breath smells of wine and strawberries, her lips taste of chocolate. Now that I am touching her, I can feel her trembling. She does not pull away from me, and I open my lips to deepen the kiss, running my tongue along her lower lip, begging her silently to allow me entrance.

She sighs against me, and her long lashes flutter closed. Her lips part and her tongue greets mine tentatively. Her kiss is sweet, but very shy, answering my questions, but not asking any of her own.

I am terrified and struck with a stab of lust at the same time. It is frightening to me to �lead� in this wholly new situation, and yet it is exciting, the prospect of being �in charge� this time. So much of our lives and relationship, she has been the strong one, the leader, the power. This time, it seems, our roles are reversed, and whatever is to happen here will be lead and directed by me.

Terrifying.

Exciting.

I apply pressure to her lips, leaning into her, and she responds, gently laying back onto the soft nest she has made for us. The knowledge that she has thought about this enough herself to orchestrate this much gives me confidence, and I leave her sweet mouth to trail kisses to her delicate ear.

She is breathing heavily, her eyes still closed, and she trembles when I at last become brave enough to wrap my arms around her, tangling my hands into her glorious mane of silky soft hair as I nip, kiss, and suckle at her neck and throat.

�Ginny�,� she manages to whisper, �Ginny, I don�t think the boys would understand this��

Ah, Sweet Hermione. She maintains her rationality in all situations. And she voiced my own greatest fear over this.

�Friends� �Mione. Friends, with benefits, right?�

She smiles at me gratefully and nods. She loves my brother as much as I love Harry. We would, neither of us, intentionally hurt them, nor tear apart our marriages over physical desire.

And yet the desire is there, and suddenly I feel as though my last true restraint has been removed. I am terrified, still. Of course I am! But now my excitement and desire outweigh my fear of my inexperience.

I find the buttons to her blouse and begin kissing her again. Delectable lips. Sensitive ears. Tender flesh at the joining of shoulder and neck. I have left the lights on�a rarity for me, as I am usually quite shy in these situations. But I want to see her, to watch the pulse race at her throat, the gooseflesh raise on her arms as I caress my hand ever so gently over her skin.

Agonizingly slowly, I begin to unbutton her blouse. I decide to give her what I like, and hope that she will guide me with words and sounds along the way. I like slow. Teasing. Savoring. I intend to savor every touch, taste, scent, sight and sound of her. An orgy of sensation that I want to cherish. Hermione. My sweet Hermione.

Her hair smells floral, light and sweet. She has used a matching fragrance on her skin, which feels like warm silk. I reveal the cleavage of her breasts at last, captured in a small, lacy bra. Her breasts are a bit smaller than mine. Firmer. Perky. I do not free them from their restraint, though I see the front clasp and could easily do so. I reach up and gently slip the blouse down her shoulders, exposing the expanse of toned chest and belly to my kisses.

My heart pounds erratically as I see her nipples tight and straining against the lace, just as I can feel my own inside my clothing. Her hands are caressing me, playing in my hair, but I maintain my dominance. She whimpers beautifully when I brush the slightest of feather-kisses across first one nipple and then the next through the lacy fabric. Her back arches up to meet my mouth, plainly wanting me to attend to her aching nipples.

I intend to do so. But not yet, my sweet Hermione, not yet. I love nipples. I love having my own touched and suckled, pinched and played with. I will shower hers with all the attentions that I so enjoy myself.

But first, more teasing. My jealousy of her in some things, our competitiveness together in others, gives me a somewhat sadistic urge to torment her, sweetly. I want to drive her wild. I want her to writhe and thrash against me, begging me for release. I want to please her and own her at the same time� temporary ownership�. She is not mine to keep, nor am I hers� but for this moment, I want to be the best, I want to master her. I want her to love me as I love her. I want to hear my name on her lips and know that, in this at least, we are made equal.

And so I sit up, and gently grab the sleeve of her blouse, removing it from one thin, perfect arm. I pull her up to a sitting position with me, and move behind her, bringing the blouse with me and pulling it off the other arm as well. I kneel behind her and begin to shower the nape of her neck with licking, nipping kisses as I bring my hands forward to play with her breasts. She moans deeply when my fingers and thumbs find her nipples, and her head falls back against my shoulder when I begin to tweak them gently, still nibbling at her neck and ears.

She has begun squirming, literally squirming against me, and the moisture between my own legs allows me to be sympathetically aware of how she is feeling. I even find myself wishing I had a penis to thrust into her, but content myself instead with my slow, tortuous exploration of her body.

Her hands reach up to grasp mine, to hold them tighter against her breasts. My gentle caressing and tweaking of her nipples is no longer enough� she craves harder stimulation, and groans in frustration when I pull my hands away entirely.

�Ginny!�

I move out from behind her and again lay her down before me on the bedding. Her eyes are glazed and darkened with passion, her lips red and swollen from our kisses. I simply stare for long moments, amazed at how beautiful she is, flushed with passion. I wonder if I look as glowing as she does.

I slip one hand slowly and gently up her abdomen, to the clasp of her bra, and at last release it. She sighs in pleasure and again arches her back, wriggling out of the offending scrap of lacey silk. I had never before realized how feminine she was, graceful in her movements. Her breasts are proud and firm, nipples reddened from my attentions through the lace, puckered and hard. I have never seen anything so appealing.

With tantalizing slowness, I lower my head to her breast and kiss the plump flesh near, but not on the nipple. Again she rewards my streak of sadism with a growl of frustration. I know what she wants; I want it too�. Yet it excites me to deny her a while longer.

One arm supports me as I lean on my elbow to pay homage to her breasts. The other hand caresses its way up her side to the other breast, stroking it, circling it with teasing fingers, never quite touching the sensitive peak. She is making beautiful noises of need and longing deep in her throat, driving my own desire higher.

At last I teasingly flick my tongue across the nearest nipple and she draws in a deep hiss of breath. I trail the flat of my index finger slowly across the other peak, and she writhes against me, attempting to deepen the pressure of mouth and hand.

I can resist no longer, and suck the hard peak into my mouth. I have never felt this before, and enjoy the sensations of the puckered flesh against my tongue as I grip it gently in my teeth, flicking my tongue back and forth over the very tip. I pluck at the other nipple firmly between my thumb and forefinger, tweaking and pinching just hard enough to give pleasure.

She is delicious, and her hand twined fiercely into my hair encourages me onward, though I wish she would speak and tell me if I am doing the right things for her. However, perhaps I should take it as a compliment that for the time being, at least, I have caused Hermione Granger to be entirely without the power of speech.

Long, long minutes I lave and play with her nipples, switching my mouth often from one to the next, delighting in the sounds she makes in desire, and the evidence of her enjoyment as she wriggles against me, trying to rub her mound against my thigh in quest of relief. I want to do the same, but resist the urge. I wish to focus on Hermione.

I feel powerful and sexy, and have for the moment, lost some of my self-consciousness over my own body. It helps that she is half-naked beneath me, and I am still comfortably hidden within my voluminous robes. Several times she has tried to divest me of them, but I have evaded her. Even now, this is the place where I feel uncomfortable. How can she want me like that, when compared to her, my body is so soft and out of shape, where �extra padding� abounds? I am afraid if she sees me like that, her ardor will diminish, and I am reveling in it. I do not wish to lose it.

I move downwards, leaving her delicious nipples, at least for the moment. I find the zipper to her jeans and release it. In one smooth motion I pull the jeans from her, leaving her panties on for now. Her stomach is flat and perfect, the bikini briefs drawing my eye inevitably to her core. But not yet, sweet Merlin, not yet...

Instead I remove her socks and begin to kiss her feet. Yes, kiss her feet. I discovered long ago that toes, if treated properly, can be a very, very erogenous place, at least for me. Now I will experiment and see if the same applies for her. If someone is ticklish, it doesn�t have the desired effect, and I would not wish to cool her fiery passion now!

With a firm touch so as to avoid tickling, I suck her toes into my mouth, one by one. Her shocked moan tells me that she is surprised by the sensations, but she doesn�t twitch or pull away, so it must not be unpleasantly ticklish. Each toe gets suckled and stroked with my tongue, and the arch of her long, thin foot receives nibbling kisses.

Slowly I kiss and nibble my way back up her long, thin legs. I caress and stroke her inner thighs, each time moving closer and closer to her center. I can see the moisture on her panties, and now, as I kneel between her legs, I can smell the more intensive fragrance that is uniquely HERMIONE. Not unpleasant, but nor is it delicate. A warm, musky scent that is hers alone.

She is trembling, writhing. Her hands have balled into fists into the rug as she arches her back, trying to force my hand to touch her need.

I grasp the waistband of her lacy panties and easily slide them over her hips, and now she is naked before me. The firelight casts a warm glow across her skin, and I can see the petals of her femininity glistening with moisture. She, too, has trimmed her pubic hair. This again increases my confidence. Of course she probably does this for Ron, as I do for Harry� but that she is freshly groomed in this way when Ron will be out of town for days suggests that perhaps she wished for this as much as I have.

I kiss my way up her inner thighs. There is a place on my body, that firm tendon that attaches thigh muscle to pubic bone right near my core, that I find incredibly sensual and sensitive. I nibble this place on Hermione, and she emits the most beautiful moan. My lips, teeth, and tongue learn her thighs and pelvis, ever circling the pearl of flesh that longs for my touch, yet never quite touching it. I kiss and nibble these dewy lips, and the tangy taste of her explodes on my tongue, and her moans increase. Her body is quaking, shaking like a spring that has been wound too tightly, and a fine sheen of salty perspiration decorates her, glistening in the firelight.

I am nearly drunk on the power I feel. The thrilling sensation of giving this much pleasure to another person. I slowly� oh so terribly slowly� lower my head to her core. I can see her clitoris; it is swollen from my teasing attentions, as though it is yearning to be closer to me, begging for me to touch it.

I snake my tongue out of my mouth and swipe it with one long, slow lick using the entire length of the flat of my tongue. Hermione cries out my name, �Ginny, Please!� I grip the tiny nub of flesh with my lips, gently, and slowly flick it with my tongue in soft, circular motions. I slide a finger inside her velvety depths, moving it in rhythm with my tongue. Hermione is nearly wild now, writhing and trying to press harder against my mouth.

I want to tease her orgasm out slowly, and so I leave this attention and kiss my way back up her chest again, finding her nipples and suckling at them hungrily, one then the next, pinching and tweaking the neglected one with questing fingers.

She pulls me to her mouth, and kisses me with a passion I had not known she was capable of. I love kissing, the sweet intimacy of it and Hermione seems to enjoy it as well, nipping at my lips and sucking at my tongue with abandon.

She has turned the table on me, apparently unwilling to allow me to enjoy her pleasure without sharing in the process. Now I am uncomfortable and move to dim the lights. She is unzipping my robes with brisk fingers and I do not wish her to see me, my round fullness next to her perfect, slender form. She won�t allow me to dim them, pulling my wand away from me and taking my face in her hands.

She stares earnestly into my eyes and kisses me tenderly. A kiss is such an amazing thing. What emotion cannot be expressed in a kiss? One gentle hand reaches up and caresses my face, brushing hair that has long since become disheveled away from my eyes.

�Ginny, I want to see you. Don�t be shy of me, not now. I love you, just as you are.�

My eyes sting with tears, but I do not protest. She unzips me and exposes my breasts confined in my own satin brassiere. My nipples are hard, straining against the fabric as hers had done before. I am wearing only my house robes�nice ones, but still rather motherish, and my nicest underthings. I had hoped for this beyond hope, and prepared for her arrival in anticipation.

She peels me out of my robes as though I were a delectable treat being offered to a starving person, and the delighted hunger in her eyes eases my embarrassment over my body. She finds my mouth again and kisses me, pulling me down with her onto the soft bedding. Her hands and mouth are no less inquisitive than mine were over her body, and every fiber of my body thrums with excited tension.

I am no longer a woman, shy and embarrassed about making love for the first time to another woman. I am simply a human being, finding delight and pleasure in my body with my friend, and hopefully delighting her as well.

At some point during the mutual kissing and tasting, touching and feeling, I realize that part of my passion and desire is the sense of emptiness within me. This is familiar� the ache of longing for release� but the most satisfying easing of this ache has always included, for me at least, physical fulfillment.

I am not a woman who has ever had orgasm by intercourse alone. With my husband, he often brings me to or at least very near my release during our play, before he fills me and completes us, together. Is the filling necessary to feel wholly satisfied? I do not know. How is this accomplished? What do women lovers do, who are genuinely lesbian? I *like* being filled. I assume Hermione does as well�

I want to ask, to explore, to experiment. But I am still afraid and embarrassed. I don�t want to speak and break the magic that is occurring, of sensation and desire.

Often now, during this interlude, I have reached for Hermione, stroking my fingers across her slippery button of flesh, sliding, circling, caressing, suckling her nipples while I drive her closer to her release. I listen closely for the change of her breathing or the tensing of her muscles so that I know when her release is near. And then I stop.

It is cruel, that deep ache of need that I am building within her. But I know from experience that the more often she hangs on that blissful precipice just a stroke away from release, the more powerful the release will be when at last she explodes over the edge.

Her whimpering cries when I stop scant instants before the point of no return excite me almost to delirium myself. More so because she returns the attention in full measure, doing the same thing to me, kissing me, nibbling my breasts, my nipples until it is impossible to tell where her raging desire ends and mine begins.

We pause occasionally to simply kiss, clinging to each other as though to a tree in a raging storm. We have been doing this for an eternity. It is impossible to say how much time has actually passed, it doesn�t matter.

She looks into my eyes and blushes, somehow deepening the flush that passion has inspired. She fishes around for her wand, and �Accio�s� something to her that I can�t see. She lays her wand aside again and hands the object to me� the missing piece to our puzzle of passion.

A phallus. A rather realistic looking bit of flexible, molded material that is a nice size and texture. It would look precisely like an erect penis if not for the fact that it was fuchsia in color. I look at her in delighted surprise, and she meets my eyes shyly.

�I got it out of a Muggle catalog. Sometimes I am lonely when Ron is away, and so I� um�,� Hermione Granger is incredibly beautiful when she blushes. I knew what she wanted to say, but I was having fun watching her struggle to say it. �I sort of take care of things myself��

�I�m so glad you decided to share your secret,� I said, grinning and taking the phallus from her.

She smiled in relief and teased back, �Well, what are friends for if we can�t share things?�

I kissed her deeply and laid the phallus in easy reach. Now that this last question was answered, I was determined to finish my assault on her senses.

Hermione�s nipples were especially sensitive, and she seemed to especially enjoy my attentions there. I took one in my mouth, suckling and teasing it, as my fingers found her pearl. With slow, tender strokes I had her near the edge of bliss yet again.

I stop, pinning her to the ground with one of my legs so she cannot distract me from my purpose. She whimpers and writhes against my leg, desperate to finish. I reach the toy she has so thoughtfully provided and moisten it in my mouth before sliding it gently into her willing body. I press it deeply inside, but do not move it. I simply want her to be� filled. I move my leg to press against the base of it still protruding from her, so that with pressure from my leg, I can push it hard against the very depths of her.

I return my slippery fingers to her wet and throbbing clitoris. I suckle at her breast nearest me, while her own fingers tweak and pinch the other. Slowly I twirl my finger in small circles over the sensitive nub, and I can hear her breathing come in desperate, panting gasps. Her body is tense and almost quivering in unspent passion. She NEEDS release, and I NEED to be the one to give it to her�

�Slowly, Hermione� relax, sweetheart.�

She whimpers against my lips as I come to kiss her. �Please, Gin� oh, please��

�Yes, Mione, but slow� feel it� relax your pelvic muscles Hermione� don�t force it, let it wash over you� relax your body��

I can feel her relax against me, even as her breathing continues to shudder against my neck. I won�t stop her now, but I won�t rush. Each stroke of my finger over that nub is a slow circle of sensation, and I can feel the flesh quivering beneath my hand. I return to her neglected nipples, heightening the sensations. Her body trembles from the effort of remaining relaxed under the assault, yet she trusts me enough to attempt to comply.

Her breathing catches in her throat and her clitoris throbs beneath my hand. I do not alter my strokes in the least, but I lean my leg hard against the phallus so that it is pressing hard against the very deepest part of her, where the spasms of her release will clutch against it. I leave her breast to capture her lips, tasting and drinking in the sweet screams as she becomes overpowered by wave upon slow and rapturous wave of her orgasm. Her hips writhe against me, so that the toy inside her is moving subtlety in time with the strokes of my fingers and the shattering throb of her climax.

My name� never has my name sounded so sweet� spills from her lips amidst her moans and into my kisses. It goes on and on, as I knew it would, and when at last it has finished, she is limp and drenched in sweat beside me, her arms draped around me. Gently I remove the phallus from her and clean it quickly with a wave of my wand that still lies nearby.

Never in my life have I felt so empowered by my own sexuality. My own desire has not been slaked, yet I am awed by the force of Hermione�s release, and in no hurry to follow her. I am afraid for this interlude to be over, as pleasant as it has been. Have I lost my best friend for a few moments physical delight? Incredible delight it is true� several hours of delight and still going� yet what if I have lost her after this?

I hold her close to me as she recovers, reveling in the feel of her skin next to mine, no longer ashamed of my roundness next to her toned form. Somehow, in this as in all things, our opposition merely complements the other, rather than being a barrier.

Soon I become aware of feather kisses against my throat, and my heart rate increases instantly at her touch. She is more tentative than I would imagine her to be. Hermione is the embodiment of strength and confidence to me, it is odd to see her so uncertain. I understand her fear, and try to ease it with encouragement.

�Touch me, Hermione. Please� I ache so badly��

My words seem to embolden her and she attacks me sweetly with hands and mouth. It is a deliciously new sensation to have a woman perform cunnilingus upon me. I like it, I always have� but with the knowledge of her own body, she knows how and where to kiss and lick with more grace and skill than has ever been done to me before. She does not sloppily try to devour my entire body, nor thrust her tongue into me like a penis. Instead she uses her feather-light tongue to stroke and caress the sensitive flesh, teasing me as I did to her. She suckles at my clitoris, twirling it gently with the amazing tongue, and already my release feels imminent.

The phallus that we discarded at the completion of her orgasm, finds its way into her hand, and in short order into me. I am so close to the brink myself from the excitement of the evening! She kisses her way back up my body. My nipples feel as though they might explode in ecstasy as she pulls them into the moist heat of her mouth, licking and biting. Her hand finds my clitoris with feather light touches and begins my ascent into shattering bliss.

She seems uncertain about the pace, as though the idea of going slowly with something that feels so urgent would be uncomfortable. But apparently her experience of my teasingly slow orgasm has given her new ideas. She follows my example, gently teasing and taunting my body until I feel as though I have always been hanging at the edge of this precipice. I have always been dangling above the chasm of ecstasy, always been pleading, desperate and incoherent, for just one more stroke, one more touch, one more circle of her sweet fingers against my swollen and tender clit.

And then I am there. The plateau. The point of no return. It is endless� the beauty of slow orgasm is the incredible length of that perfect plateau. I cannot breathe. I cannot think. I cannot move. I am nothing but a mass of sensations, bliss and ecstasy. Vaguely I am aware of Hermione kissing me, sucking on my lower lip.

My eyes open, glazed and unfocused, to stare into her beautiful face, and my world explodes in a kaleidoscope of earth-shattering sensations. I am unaware of the sounds that I make� I am not a quiet lover� but I am certain that I scream her name. She holds her pace of her strokes. My hand finds the phallus to add that sensation as well. I clutch her to me with the arm that is around her as I whimper against her lips and shudder in passion against her body.

It goes on and on. Never have I had a climax last so long. Never have I been able to maintain the teasing start and stop for so long.

I collapse entirely at last, and pull her to me. She nestles against me, and I believe we slept.

The weekend was a blur of our usual friendly conversation and pursuits, punctuated by incredible physical pleasure. Somehow, though our relationship had added another dimension, it hadn�t changed. It was rather like suddenly finding your best friend shares your secret hobby of collecting butter-beer caps, and so you add that activity into all the normal ones you had done before.

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This was years ago.

Harry and Ron returned home and we returned to our normal routines, seamlessly. I have never had physical desire for any other woman than Hermione, nor any other person than her and my husband. Harry and I are still happily married. Hermione and Ron are expecting their second child any day.

Somehow, perfectly, we had done it. We had become �friends, with benefits� without damaging any of the things that were so precious to both of us.

We still have interludes of �play� together when our husband�s travel. I love her, and she me, in a very different, but no less passionate way than we love our husbands. Technically, perhaps, in the minds of some, we are �cheating� on our husbands. I would like to deny that charge and make some excuse or rationalization as to why that is not true, but I suppose that we are. However, our marriages have not suffered�indeed, in many ways they have improved because we have both become freer with our sexuality at home, too, and our husbands have reaped the reward of our new discoveries.

We are still competitive with each other. We still have disagreements. We even have big rows sometimes, as friends often will. But through it all, we have remained�

Friends. With Benefits

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Friends, With Benefits