Harry Potter Pornography Story: her pant
Hermione had only been at the Burrow for two weeks before she decided she couldn’t take it anymore.
She was feeling…well, for lack of a better word, sexually frustrated. She knew what she wanted, but for he first time in her life, she didn’t know how to actually get it.
She needed a plan. Before she went insane. She was already losing sleep from the recurring erotic dreams and waking up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, legs wet, and feeling unbelievably promiscuous. You would think that would be torture enough, but oh no, she was less than six feet away with only a thin wall separating her from the star of her dreams.
Some nights she wanted to crash down the wall and jump him. She was seriously considering how to get away with it too, if Mrs. Weasley hadn’t come up with a brilliant plan to solve her troubles.
***
“I’ve decided that we’re going to have a graduation party for you three since you never had a proper sending off at school,” beamed Mrs. Weasley over toast and eggs the next morning. “You’ve completed seven hard years of schooling and now it’s time to celebrate so much! You’re all going to be going off soon,” Mrs. Weasley sniffed at this point, clearly distraught at the thought of losing her youngest son and her practically adopted children, as she’d come to think of Harry and Hermione, “and you need to have a little fun, I suppose, before you grow up, hopefully,” with a stern look at the boys, “and become adults. So, I’ve taken the liberty of inviting some of your classmates, and the party will be in three days’ time.”
Ron choked on his toast. “Three days? But, Mum, you’ll never get it done in time!”
“Who says I said ‘me’? Now, go find my copy of ‘One Hundred Useful Household Spells for the Modern Housewitch’ and get going.”
***
Three days later, it was twilight when Hermione stepped out back at the Burrow to join the party. She marveled at the twinkling multicoloured lights, which were really fairies in glass jars, the multicoloured draped tent similar to the one at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the music playing. She saw dozens of classmates from every house except Slytherin, dancing and enjoying themselves. There was food, a darkening sky full of stars, and alcohol.
Yeah, this was going to be one kind of party, Hermione thought to herself. Smiling wryly, she hoped for Ron’s sake that Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t find out that someone spiked the drinks with firewhiskey, as she declined a drink from a very drunk Seamus Finnigan, who was leering down her shirt. His accent was so think she could barely comprehend what he was saying, and as she nudged past him in the crowd, the small movement sent him toppling into the nearest hydrangea bush.
She walked a little further, and spotted Harry and Ron, and she smiled brightly at them both. They both looked rather nice, having each tamed their hair for once probably the result of Ron’s mum and were wearing Muggle clothing, comprising of jeans, and an open buttoned down shirt over t-shirts.
“Don’t you two look handsome,” she joked, but when she saw their expressions, she smiled inwardly.
Ron and Harry were gaping at her like fish.
“Whoa…Hermione, you look different,” stammered Ron, blushing a bright red. “Isn’t it, uh, not a good idea for you to look like that? I mean, guys’ll get the wrong idea and…” he trailed off as he just stared.
Different was one word for it. Phase one of her plan was working.
Taking an entirely different route tonight than what she normally would wear, she was clothed in a very snug pair of distressed, frayed, and faded low-riders with rips in strategic places. Okay, so she’d paid at least eighty dollars for them on her last trip to Canada to visit her cousin, but it was worth every penny to see the expression on their faces. On that same visit, her cousin had also persuaded her to take one of her brand new shirts that she claimed, “would look so amazing on you with your colouring,” and Hermione had to admit, it did look pretty good. It was a flattering black baby-doll top that tied in the back, with thin straps that revealed her shoulders and collarbone in an appealing way. Simple but sexy, her cousin declared, and although she would never admit it, her cousin was right.
Harry swallowed visibly.
Ron, however, was acting like she was Ginny, and was going on about “…not bringing attention towards herself, and chasing off horny blokes,” and so on.
“Ron,” she said, “shut up, okay?” Before he could reply, a very dreamier-than-usual Luna meandered over and gracefully looped an arm through Ron’s, dragging him off. The two disappeared and left Hermione with a very mute Harry, who still couldn’t think of anything to say.
Taking initiative, she asked, “Want to dance?”
“Err…” he stuttered.
Taking that as a yes, she dragged him out on the floor. With eerily perfect timing, a slow song came on, and various drunken teenagers stumbled onto the floor, hanging off each other in an alcohol induced bliss. Ron was with Luna, Ginny with Dean for the millionth time, Lavender with Seamus, and some odd pairings that were definitely going to be regretted in the morning.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as he slowly moved his arms around her waist, letting his hands rest loosely on the sliver of skin between the jeans and top. Finally, finally, Harry came out of his verbal coma and looked at her.
“You look really…good, tonight, Hermione,” he breathed. “In fact, I think half our class wants to take you off somewhere in the dark.” he added lightly.
It was now or never.
“There’s only one guy I want to take off into the dark with, and if he doesn’t stop moving his fingers like that–” Harry was unconsciously rubbing small circles on her lower back with his thumb–“then I’m not going to even get as far as the dark.”
Shit. Did she really say that?
Maybe she could pretend she was drunk. No, that would never work, as she didn’t reek of the fruity punch everyone was downing.
His eyes darkened. “Are you saying…what I think you’re saying?”
“Damn straight,” she said, very uncharacteristically, and with a small squeal, he grabbed her hand and dragged her off into the Burrow.
***
All Hermione could think was, thank Merlin that the Weasleys had very wisely stayed outside. They practically ran-tripped up the narrow stairway, until they reached Hermione’s room that she shared with Ginny, and Harry tossed her down on the bed, not hesitating to jump on her.
“You have no idea how bad I want this,” Harry rasped, lowering his face to hers.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Hermione responded, that last coherent thought fleeing her head as Harry crushed his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely, until she slipped her tongue inside his mouth and he growled a little, and Hermione’s heart almost stopped at how sexy it sounded. He ravished her mouth thoroughly, plundering it with his tongue and pulling back to nibble and suck on her strawberry gloss covered lip. All this tension was driving her crazy, his slow, deliberate kisses, the way his hands roamed her body, exploring her curves.
Hermione was thinking she needed to take the lead here, or else she was going to kill somebody. She was about to rip off Harry’s clothes when she felt his hands sliding under her shirt, skimming across her stomach and tickling her lightly along her ribcage, where she squirmed. She barely realized that he was pulling the flimsy top over her head until she felt a rush of cool air on her breasts, causing goosebumps.
Harry sucked in a breath. “You’re not wearing a bra. Oh, Merlin,” he said, as she smiled wickedly.
“That’s not the best part,” she replied. Her hands became suddenly very busy peeling off his shirt, and then the t-shirt underneath, to reveal a body hewn and defined from years of Quidditch, slightly scarred, and tanned from the summer sun beaming down on him during those impromptu games in the field.
Hermione whistled, half-joking, half-appreciative. “No wonder half the girls in our year were moaning your name in their sleep,” she commented.
“What?” he said, momentarily distracted.
“Don’t worry about it,” she continued. “I’m the only girl who gets to moan about you in my sleep now, because I have the real thing right here.”
He smiled wolfishly, and trailed a finger along the top of the jeans. “It seems like a shame, almost, to take these off of you because you look so damn appealing in them,” he said.
“Harry James Potter, if you don’t get these jeans off of me right now I’m going to hex you into the next century.”
“Impatient, aren’t we?” he smiled seductively. He bent a head to her breast and started to lick, circling her nipple before finally honing in and taking the peak into his mouth. Her gasps of pleasure were intensely erotic, as she writhed on the bed, while his hands and mouth worked simultaneously, kissing trails around her collarbone, the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck, and back down to her chest, licking the valley between and stroking with a maddening slowness. Finally, he popped the button, slid down her zipper, and inched the jeans down until she finally shoved him off and kicked the godforsaken pants into oblivion.
Harry made another expression to rival a fish when he realized she was wearing the sexiest knickers in existence. Dark grey sheer lace boy shorts, that left little to the imagination. He peeled them off almost reverently, shoved them in his pocket. He then proceeded to divest himself of the rest of his clothes, and it was her turn to suck in a breath at the sight of his…she could bear to think it in her head; the word sounded too tawdry nether regions.
“Jeez, Harry,” she stuttered as he stroked the skin on the inside of her thigh. “Why do you have to be so damn perfect?”
His green eyes glittered dangerously. “I am the Boy-Who-Lived, you know,” he replied, with a smirk that was almost as good as Malfoy’s.
“You’re about to be the Boy-Who-Got-Fucked,” Hermione said silkily, loving the stunned expression on his face. His eyes rolled back in his head when she lowered her hand to his shaft, long and hard, jutting proudly into the air. Gliding her hand and nails lightly up and down, she slid down his body until her mouth was a breath away from the tip of his cock. being proper was highly overrated. She darted out her tongue to taste the small drop threatening to trickle down, and encouraged by Harry’s groans and unconscious hip-bucking, she slowly took him into her warm, wet mouth.
“You’re such…a tease,” he groaned. “God, ‘Mione, where’d you learn to do that?”
“Harry,” she started, looking up at him, “shut up, okay?” With that, she started to suck lightly, while toying with the base of his cock.
“Okay,” he managed to get out, before he stopped thinking and focused on how good she was making him feel. When she scraped her teeth oh-so-lightly up his cock, he twined his fingers into her sleek hair (that would be back to its normally curly state when he was done thoroughly enjoying her) and pulled her head closer.
“Please,” he begged. “I’m so close, Merlin, I want it…I want…” and to his eternal disappointment she pulled away.
“Not yet,” she purred. “I want you to be inside me.”
“You minx,” he growled. She shrieked when he grabbed her by the waist and with a quick charm had her tied to the bed. His tongue flicked out and started tracing his name up the inside of her leg and she squirmed, not being able to move, but almost couldn’t take the idea of how good it was going to be.
Oh, and it was. When he was done sifting his fingers leisurely through the dark curls at the juncture of her legs, he slipped a finger into her and she moaned loudly, instinctively trying to get more of him. He continued his ministrations on her super sensitive clit, and to her utter delight replaced his fingers with his tongue at her slick entrance, as she shuddered. Her legs felt like they had been put under a jelly-legs hex, and if the house was on fire, she’d never make it because she didn’t have enough confidence to think she could stand.
Oh well, at least she would die happy.
He was now thrusting in and out with his tongue as she was so close to orgasm. She really, really wanted to wait, but she didn’t think she had the restraint. Practically two seconds away from release, he looked up, her juices on his face, and he gave her a thorough kiss, nibbling again her soon to be sore, swollen lips. She loved the feel of his chapped lips chafing her skin, and so she really didn’t give a crap. If using chapstick for the next couple weeks was her only punishment, then she’d gladly buy them by the dozen just so Harry could kiss her again. He was such an amazing kisser, too. She felt tingles shoot straight down her spine and he tasted intoxicating, as his breath mixed with hers and heart beat so fast she couldn’t see straight. He tasted like cinnamon and her own unique scent and something so indescribably sweet she wanted to devour him.
“Mmm, Harry,” she moaned against his lips, liking the feel of the vibrations. “Can’t wait much longer,” she murmured.
“Don’t have to,” he replied, and he knelt between her legs, as she wiggled excitedly, which prompted Harry to remove her magical ties. She pulled him roughly to her and ferally growled in his ear, “So help me Merlin, I want you to fuck me.”
That nearly drove him over the edge as he thrust into her, not bothering to go slow because they couldn’t take it and wouldn’t last that long. She clung to him, digging her nails into his shoulders, breasts heaving enticingly, making noises of ecstasy. He could barely hold on, upping his pace as every muscle in his body became taut and ready to snap. Hermione threw her head back as the throes of orgasm overtook her, her back arching, and seeing Hermione scream his name, “Oh, HARRY!” was enough to give him that little extra push, and he exploded, spilling himself into her, as they collapsed on the bed, breathless and sweaty, Harry hoping that he had remembered to put a silencing charm on the door and Hermione realizing she just had the best mind blowing orgasm of her young life. Merlin, she was still quivering. She told him so.
“Well, my ego is certainly happier now,” he smiled wryly, pulling her in closely, curling her to the contours of his body.
“You’re already the Chosen One, how can it get much bigger than that?” she laughed, and then squealed as he smacked her bottom playfully. “To tell you the truth, if Voldemort had shown up just then in the middle of our, er, extracurricular activities, I probably would have invited him to join us.” Harry confessed.
“Eurgh,” commented Hermione. “Well, I wouldn’t have, because I don’t share well, and you’re mine now. Hmm, I wonder what kind of article that would make for the Daily Prophet: I played with the Chosen One’s ‘Golden Snitch.'” She winked.
“Don’t you dare!” he said, tickling her mercifully, and as they tumbled back and forth on the bed, Harry was feeling so damn good he might just have invited them to take a picture if the Prophet popped up right then.
“Harry, you’re thinking too much…” Hermione said. “I think I’m going to have to rectify the situation.”
“Please do.”
“God, Hermione!”
“Oh, Harry!”