Whenever Quirrell masturbated he tended not to stutter, he did it as often as wizardlypossible. He had become a chronic masturbator. It felt good to have normal speech; also the masturbation didn't feel that bad either. This particular evening he was masturbating furiously in front of the mirror while singing along to Boyz In The Hood (Dynamite Hack version, mind you) when he heard a rustle of papers being shoved violently under his door. He immediately dropped his wang-dang-doodle to investigate. He loved getting letters, he loved reading them over a piping cup of earl grey while watching Sex In The City on Muggle tv. Quirrell wasn't QUEERell as most people assumed though. He had quite the flame in his belly (and loins) for one Minerva McGonagall. He thought of her almost every time he rubbed one out. Her pinched, horsey face, oh God he couldn't wait to get back to the mirror. Who would dare disturb him? He picked up a cat piss scented envelope off the floor and his heart skipped a beat. He knew that scent well... It belonged only to the object of his deep-rooted affection... McGonagall. He blew his meager load all over the letter at the mere thought of McGonagall sending him something. After that the letter was quite difficult to make out, but he put on his spectacles and around the semen blotches he found that she wanted him to meet her in the dungeons at 12 midnight for an "ungreased backdoor Hamertime love-making sesh" and being the compliant man Quirrell is, he complied.
He arrived in the dungeons promptly at 12, always a punctual as well as compliant man. He had timed his footsteps so he was sure to reach the dungeons without a second lost. Anytime lost with McGonagall would be the equivalent of not wearing a turban every day. Unthinkable. He shoved the thought from his mind, too gruesome to even imagine. When he closed the door after entering the Fornication Chamber aka the dungeon he was immediately surrounded by darkness. Then he was surprised to hear a voice, not McGonagall's, but that of a man. A very sexually frustrated man. So sexually frustrated in fact he had decided he wanted to have sex with Quirrell. The voice belonged to none other than Severus Snape. Snape conjured light from out of nowhere because he's a wizard don'tcha know. "S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-Snape!" Quirrell cry-stuttered in dismay. "Did you like how I got a cat to piss on that letter, Quirrell?" Snape mused, a smirk on his face. "I knew you'd come running down here at the smell of cat urine you compliant fool. You're even wearing your sex turban. Good, you'll need it." At first Quirrell could not even stutter one syllable. When he still wouldn't speak Snape took advantage of it by getting completely naked. The moment he slipped from his robes Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by ACDC started blaring out of his anus. He put a spell in there because he's a wizard don'tcha know. Snape then ordered Quirrell to "Take it off." in a voice as silky as Velveeta cheese. Fear racking his body, Quirrell reached a trembling hand to his robes. "Not those you fuckin' idiot." cried Snape. "The turban first." he smiled maliciously. Quirrell complied. Snape's eyes grew hungrier and hungrier with each unravel. Quirrell's hair was matted and unwashed from years of wearing a turban. "Put the turban back on please." Snape said disgustedly. Quirrell complied, relived to not be so exposed. "Now the robes." ordered Snape while his hips were rocking along to Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Quirrell complied. "Now bend over." Snape said. By now Quirrell was shaking with fear, the beat of Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap beating in his head. But...
He complied...