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The Mr. P. Perfect Collection
By : MrPNighttime
Category: Harry Potter > General > General
Views: 2390 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: 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
Chapter One: Hidden Lives
Harry bit his lower lip until it bled. He could taste the coppery tang of blood and the salt of sweat on his tongue as slowly but inexorably, a house elf-sized lump under the covers of his bed moved toward his nether regions. Hot, bony fingers slipped beneath the elastic of his shorts, and a tiny wet tongue tasted the hollow of his navel as Harry struggled not to scream out in his cupboard under the stairs at the house on Privet Drive.
* * *
Harry swallowed a shriek as the Nimbus 2000 was rammed up his ass, which had been spanked a bright strawberry red. The broom handled vibrated feverishly in his bowels, and he was being torn apart from the inside, massive splinters lodging themselves at his core, but he refused to cry out. After several more minutes of this strangely arousing torture, Oliver Wood cried heartily, "Welcome to the team, Harry!" and promptly blew a huge load all over the face of the Boy Who Lived.
* * *
The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. The only person left outside was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four. The boy had black hair and bright green eyes that intently watched an upstairs window behind glasses that had been hastily taped together at the nose. His hand lazily rubbed circles at his crotch, but his motions became much more enthused when the object of his lustful thoughts finally came into view.
Harry viciously twisted a nipple and a moan escaped his lips, his right hand jerking furiously as he imagined licking the luxuriant rolls of lard that hung from the teenaged boy getting dressed with some difficulty at the window. To squeeze those massive pillows of flesh that hung from his arms, to bury his face in those expansive double chins . . . remembering how his cousin had looked with a curly pig's tail was the final straw for Harry; he came hard, teenage cum gushing hotly over his hand and on his hand-me-down shirt as he whimpered, "Dudley, fucking Dudley!" in the humid quiet of the August afternoon.
* * *
The man was not imposing, in a purely physical sense. Still, Ron felt his stomach twist as Pettigrew strode closer to the bed where he sat, trembling with fear and something else.
"I'll scream."
"I'm sure you will." Pettigrew was not built for a confident stride, and his voice was not pitched for seductive insinuation, but just now this was immaterial. Ron fixed his eyes upon those of his former pet and tried in vain to keep them focused, unsure of what was stealing over his body.
"I never--You're scum. I can't believe. Can't believe I took care of you, I held you in the night . . . I . . . "
"You think I'm going to kill you."
"Y--"
He cut Ron off with a shake of his head. "After all you did for me? You said you held me in the night. And you think I want to harm you?"
Ron furrowed his brow. He could see the sincerity in Peter's eyes. He was no less nervous for it--he could feel the tightness low in his abdomen, the sweat on his brow, the quiver in his voice. And he was reacting in other ways too. Ron reddened as he felt his erection creep up his stomach and forced his voice to steady itself.
"What do you want with me then, Scabbers?"
Pettigrew dropped his gaze coquettishly, and Ron could see the rat inside the man.
"I want to fuck you."
* * *
He would never be satisfied until Potter shot all over his face, erased his features with a hot outpouring of spunk that tasted of salt and sweaty teenaged boy. He would never know peace until the Gryffindor's cum slid from his chin in rich, thick ivory rivulets to pool wetly on the floor. Draco knew this only too well as he parted the tattered robes. He cursed his jaw into dislocation quickly.
His chin scraped the ground and he mused, But until that day arrives--and swallowed the Dementor's massive, scaly cock, an icy monster that writhed seemingly of its own accord in the back of his throat--this will just have to do.
Note: The first two sentences of short #3 were taken directly from the opening of HP 5, written by J.K. Rowling. No infringement intended.- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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