Wings of Lust 2: Robin the Grave Professor Quirrell had always had, shall we say, odd tastes. He had never much cared for the company of women, nor for men for that matter. It was as if nothing could possibly satisfy his raging desire to reach sexual nirvana. Men and women were mere playthings to him, not worth his illustrious seed. That was until, on a dark autumn night, the kind that licks you with mystery and leaves you begging for more…answers. On that most fateful of nights, Quirrellus Quirrell had learnt the true meaning of desire. That was the night when he, Lord Voldemort, and Buckbeak had fornicated. Harry Potter may have ridden the hippogriff, but Quirrell had let the hippogriff ride him, in a charming adventure of whimsy and orgasms. He gave a lustful sigh, and felt Minerva McGonagall's dark desires to mount him, once more, like a thestral in heat. The wizened crone had sated his needs for a time, but that was in his sordid past. It had happened a long time ago. "Damn you, Minerva McGonagall, you jew loving negress!" He shook his head as Draco Malfoy squeaked from ecstasy. Minerva's taint was more than he could bear. Besides, Minerva was now spending time with Argus Filch. The two of them loved pussy…cats. Professor Quirrell smirked as the Hogwarts Express slowly, shuddering and moaning, came…to a stop. Its golden letters glimmered with a barely contained yearning for Professor Quirrell. Stepping onto the stairs, he strode towards the back of the train, for Professor Quirrell enjoyed riding in the caboose. Stroking the long corridors, Quirrell felt the train creak. If the nasty locomotive had its way, it would always have lubrication for its wheels. Carefully fingering his turban into place, Quirrell's telepathy informed him that the Granger girl moaned in pleasure. Alas, she had the nose of a Jew, and Quirrell feared she would steal his soul (and gold) if he looked her in the eyes. Locking the door behind him, Professor Quirrell closed his eyes and began to think of Buckbeak. Caressing the seat, he felt his trousers become uncomfortably tight. After their night together, nothing had been the same. He had almost felt bad, killing the poor creature. Buckbeak, as they say, had given him a damn good fucking. Nights grew long after his lover's death. Porn became boring, his second favorite title "Two Witches, One Cauldron," was turgid at best. He tried committing arson to cheer himself up, burning down the owlery, with Cho Chang inside, but sadly, Madame Pompfrey was able to repair both. He thought that it was probably for the best, being a minority was punishment enough without being a burn victim as well. He hated her more than he hated that muggle boy, Kevin Thomsen. He killed him the most ironically. *Buckbeak, you made my soul take flight!* Quirrell felt his eyes well upwith tears. He was sad. *I held you.* Even as he felt Buckbeak's body dying all around him, Quirrell had never felt so alive. The ache in his loins became more than he could bear. Reaching for his wand, Quirrell began to cast a different sort of spell- "Anything off the trolley dear?" The witch called out. "Licorice wands or Pumpkin Pasties?" Her eyes widened as she saw Quirrell's wand, supple yet sturdy. "Oh, my-" "I'll have something off the trolley! A fulfillment of my lustful urges!" Leaping up, Professor Quirrell locked the compartment door, after shooing out the frightened first years. The trolley witch's clothing fell off her in a cascade of repressed feminist and sinful urges. Ashamed, she began to cover herself. "Stop!" Quirrell said, as Neville Longbottom realized he was a homosexual, "I will have you yet." Grabbing her pumpkin pasties, Quirrell began to nibble away at their sweetness. Working his tongue around each groove, Quirrell began to chuckle as the trolley witch began to moan in time with the train. "Oh my" She yelped as Quirrell stuck his licorice wand in her ear "Oh dear, oh dear oh dear, Trevor!" She screeched, and the train whistled. It was….mildly erotic. Quirrell stopped, aghast. None of his lovers had ever confused him with someone else. Forcing the trolley witch on the ground, he whispered "I shall be your only chocolate frog on this train ride." Her eyes widened, as she tenderly gripped his earlobe. Too busy stroking her chest fruits, Quirrell did not notice as she removed his turban until…. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS?" It was... VOLDEMORT! His voice was slightly hard to understand, though whether from the turban slightly covering his mouth, or from the extremely mildly erotic tension, Quirrell did not know. "M...My Lord, all I want is a room somewhere..." "Far away from the cold night air?" "With one enormous chair! To fuck on!" "Wouldn't that be loverly!" chimed in the Trolley Lady, still in the grips of the lustful Professor. "Indeed," hissed Voldemort. "Professsssor, is this to be a repeat of our night with Buckbeak?" "Well, I was thinking maybe a more... experienced woman would be able to sate my thirst for vaginas, manginas, mouths, breasts, and rumps of all sizes and colours!" "Well then, allow me to use my "elder wand" in an elder witch!" Voldemort cackled erotically. The Trolley witch gasped with a mixture of pleasure and horror, as Quirrell re-doubled his efforts to caress her supple crystal balls. Quirrell could see his future in them, that was for sure. And the future he saw was one filled with bewitchingly good sex! At this point, Quirrell knew that it was now or never. He would have to make the Trolley Witch forget completely about Trevor, and think only of him when she found herself alone and lonely in the caboose of the Hogwarts Express. He licked her all over as he inserted his oaken wand into her wizard sleeve. It was similar to throwing a licorice wand down the corridor of Hogwarts castle. However, there was a certain charm and pleasure to it, and Quirrell found that he was enjoying it more and more as it went on. Voldemort was cheering him on and whispering nasty things about slaughtering muggle-borns in her ear. It seemed to arouse her even more. Voldemort had never pegged her for a pure-blood supremacist, but the trolley lady seemed to have some dark secrets up her sleeve. The other cars could hear the canoodling of the Professor and the Trolley Lady, but none dared to interrupt their rampant fuck-fest. They only could listen, paralyzed with fear and arousal. In a car not too far away, Ron noticed Harry's tightening trousers, which gave him memories of dreams he had had not too long ago. They were... mildly erotic. All seemed to be going swimmingly for Quirrell at this point. He was being filled with excitement and his lusty desires were being fulfilled. For once in his life, he felt... happy. Happy, and slightly itchy. Probably from the Trolley Witch's yeast infection. But those feelings did lot ask for long. The door crashed open, and in the doorway stood, or rather, squatted, Trevor the toad. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS?E!R?E?IN!" The Trolley Lady gasped, her eyes, like limpid pools of fluorescent tube stuff, widened in shock and orgasm. "Trevor!" "Professor Quirrell!" Yelled Voldemort. "Voldemort!" Yelled Trevor. "Trevor!" Screeched Quirrell. "Rocky!" Crooned Dr. Frankenfurter, who had just moseyed in... sexily. It was... mildly erotic. "You're not even part of this universe!" Voldemort hissed angrily. Dr. Frankenfurter was taken aback. "What, you've never heard of crossover fics before?" He struck a pose, showing off his amble man-junk. "But fine, I can see when I'm not needed. I'll be going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell." With that, Frankenfurter drew a small gold ring from his vagina and became invisible. "Now, where were we?" Voldemort licked his lips and his lack of a nose. "WE WERE JUST AT THE PART WHERE THE LOVER CONFRONTS HIS CHEATING YET ELDERLY FUCK BUDDY!" Trevor pounced on Professor Quirrell with utmost bestial amorousness. It was... mildly erotic. They rolled around like a couple of gyrating jellyfish on the dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty floor of the Hogwarts Express. The Trolley Witch could only gasp in horror as her two lovers tussled... mildly erotically... She wanted them to stop, but only because she wanted their passion inside of the many rippling folds of her groinal cavity. Trevor's warty exterior felt like the bumps of one of her women's latex accessories... specifically for women, who enjoy their accessories... mildly erotic. Eventually, they stopped their tussling, as it had devolved into a frienzied make-out session. Trevor shot his sticky tongue in and out of Quirrell's mouth. But after a while, they moved back to the Trolley Witch. Her moans reached the innermost sanctums of the train, and there was not a single soul who was not aroused by them. They all wished for it to last forever, but alas and lackaday, it could not. The train shuddered to a stop, and Hagrid hurried the students off, then led the first years to the boats. The Trolley Lady got up and re-robed. "You can have anything off the trolley, if you so desire." She winked... mildly erotically, as she rubbed her hands all over her sagging body. "Perhaps I'll take you up on that, wench of my nightmares!" Quirrell re-robed as well, puting Voldemort away, and then proceeded to walk out of the car and into Hogwarts, leaving the Trolley Lady aghast and positively aroused.