DISCLAIMER: HP belongs to JKR. The storyline, all new characters, new character development, new developments are my intellectual property. This story is not a plot bunny, not to be eithe used or further developed by anyone . Glorioux
A/N. NOTE THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER. CHAPTERS DELETED FROM THE SITE. READ PROFILE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW.
This chapter contains material best suited for Mature readers. It contains voyeurism, and other events some readers might not like.
Thanks to all the wonderful readers who have taken the time to write lovely reviews.
This goes to all, to those who are lonely, to those who are not, and to those who read my stories, thanks to each one of you.
The Butterscotch Prince and the Nymph
She might be able to hide from others but not from him.
Ah, he was wearing the old pin; the enchanted pin that only worked for males of his family. His father had given it to him, "Here son, you will need this." As he winked his eye, "I would have never survived the first year without it. Or for that matter the years at Hogwarts. Don't do anything improper." And he winked twice.
He wasn't sure it would work, and had tried a couple times in the common room. If she were there, nobody would see him; hell, he couldn't even see his own body. It worked as both concealment and silencing charms around his loved one, Hermione. He was cursed to love her and to turn into a multiple-appendages sex-fiend, unable to control his lust around her and was tempted to use the subterfuge to touch her, but that wouldn't work out.
His fabulous looks were lost as far as Hermione Granger was concerned. This would be the only way to share anytime with her, he kept telling himself.
He watched Hermione while she read. He was mesmerized; he sighed and thought, she is so pretty; an angel that is what she is.
She bit her lower lip and left her mouth slightly opened, and she appeared to be agitated. Now, there, the witch most definitely squirmed and rubbed her thighs, and her hand... wow.
She stopped reading, and her body and neck bent in different directions to check all around, looking to the left, the right, backwards, and forward. Hmm, was she expecting someone? He followed her eyes in every direction.
Satisfied, she breathed a small sigh of relief, "Good, nobody is coming," she barely whispered.
Afterwards, she proceeded to unbutton her shorts at the waist; and YES, she pulled down her zipper. She wiggled her hips a little and lowered the waist band just so, then she picked up her book with the left hand and...
At that point, our wizard got the idea; after all, he was rather clever. He pulled his wand out and invoked a stronger silencing charm, just around him. Then he moved closer and stood just a few feet in front of her.
-Things that shouldn't be attempted-
He couldn't believe what he was doing. It was at the left of real wrong; it was despicable, he was pure slime, all totally true; too bad that he wouldn't listen to his conscience, alas, he was beyond it. This was closer to heaven than he would ever be; at least that was his opinion. The pin was a gift from his ancestors; thus, he should take it and be grateful.
He could hear his father's story about spying on his mother the first year of their marriage, and something about Hogwarts. Wasn't that the reason he gave him the pin? If he found himself in any kind of trouble, his father would defend him. He was one of the best solicitors in the Wizarding world, if not the best.
He paid close attention, and in cue, he started mimicking her early actions. Once unzipped and unbuttoned, he freed his more-than-ready-to-be handled 'weapon.'
His cock sprung from its closed quarters, and he sighed in relief. He was positive that this was the time when he had been more aroused in his entire life.
He spread his own release; with his wand added lubrication all around it and followed her tempo as he groaned; this had to be more than enough because what he really wanted he couldn't have.
For one moment Hermione stopped, sniffed the air, looked around, and she spoke aloud "Come on Granger, your imagination will be the death of you. It smells like someone's cologne, whose, and that other thing, what is it, not unpleasant but what? Come down Hermione, one day you will scare yourself to death."
He nearly chuckled at the Granger and the cologne remarks, and he wondered what the other smell was. It was his closeness, and she had a keen nose, unknown to him, his male arousal permeated the air around her.
After a pause, she continued, "Harry, Ron, who is there? Is one of you hiding under the-you-know-what? Yes, my dear gorgeous witch, you have one active imagination." That was it, and she stopped talking to herself. He chuckled at the "gorgeous witch," that she was.
She calmed herself down. Almost everyone she knew had gone to the village, but she had chosen to stay. She wanted to enjoy the parcel, and understood that she would have to let some books go, at least two or three must be done by tonight. She was also aware that she wanted to derive the maximum benefit from each book.
The oncoming war threat was picking up speed, and Hogwarts had turned into such an unpleasant place. The reality was that her pleasure escapes kept her sane; thus, she decided to stop worrying and went back to where she left off.
The wizard was scared that she would call it a stop, but he never let go of what he had started. He was going to finish if she just stayed a little longer. The voyeuristic thrill was unexpected, creepy, slimy, and oddly satisfying; furthermore, he could fool himself into believing that they were both experimenting together.
Hermione's connecting hand started at an accelerated pace, as she moaned and writhed while still reading her book.
The wizard had to kneel down now unable to stand, since his legs would no longer support him. He never, before, had experienced such pleasure; he was keening and moaning with her. It was sharing the experience what made it so intense.
It should have been enough; however he wished that he could be where her fingers were touching. His eyes closed with lust and pleasure, and that wouldn't do, he wanted to see it all and save his memory at home.
"Hermione, my love, let me get inside you, you feel so good, I want you, please let me. I want to sink my flesh inside yours, please, I love you," the young wizard pleaded and moaned. His eyes could barely open, and his entire body was bent towards hers.
As her speed increased, Hermione's back arched, her heels were firm on the ground, and the book flew away from her hand. The breeze brought a waft of her sensual aroma to the young man, who moaned in his great need while looking at her. Whereas the overwhelming desire nearly broke him, it took all his self-discipline not to jump on top of her. He wanted to hold her while she came, and then sink into her, "Hermione," he cried.
This was wrong and sheer madness. He could see his mouth kissing her fervently, his body writhing with hers. In his mind, he would look down at their joining, hence, he wanted to peek. He wished he could see between her lovely thighs, so he stretched his head, nothing.
He called on all that was good on him, not to force his way unto her. Merlin, he wanted her badly, he was just right there, he could smell her arousal, her sex. If he added rape to his now mile-long-list of infractions against her, he would definitely die alone. He just wanted to feel her body, to be encased inside her, to fill her with his child; gods, he loved the witch. Even if he were a young man, he knew that she would be the only witch he would ever love.
Deep inside, Cormac wasn't despicable; he was a good wizard and a good man with a wicked bad temper. He fully knew this was reprehensible and understood that he was behavinglike a stalker, and a true fiend. However, his brain was controlled by the current recipient of his blood flow, the "little head" as the Weasleys called it; or the 'tool' as his favorite uncle would refer to. The reality was that curse had him under its control.
Her eyes were closed, and had he heard her calling someone's name? "My lord, my warrior, my Scottish prince, yes, oh gods, so hard, and so big; yes, yes harder, yes my butterscotch..."
His eyebrows shut up, "Did she just called m—, agh." His breath and body shuddered violently, and his legs buckled under him. He was covered with sweat.
He couldn't concentrate since his mind was gone. He was sitting on his knees fighting to keep his eyes open; he didn't want to miss her face during her orgasm.
Her left hand went inside her blouse, and he could see how she touched and caressed her breasts; not good, she opened her blouse and pulled out one breast and the other. This was too much, his heart nearly exploded in his chest. He could see the rosy tan aureoles, hard with arousal as her body was also in the throws of pleasure, and then she rolled each nipple between her fingers.
"My love, taste, I, taste, let." Several of his senses were full of her presence, visual, aural, and smell, he wished to touch and taste, yes, he wanted that.
His hips were thrusting forward; he felt an eruption gathering at his balls, at his lower back, an unraveling coil of pleasure. It was definitely painful, and as her legs bent and her heels dug on the ground even harder; he would, forever, say that her sexual magic transformed her into a nymph, the most desirable woman he would ever see.
Short waves of magic surrounded her, her hair formed as a halo around her. And Cormac wondered, not for the first time, if she were part Fae. He had one hand at work on the top half of his cock, and the other, unwisely was stretched towards her, in hope to at least feel the heat waves coming out of her body.
They were sweating, writhing, and moaning at the same time, and then she started climaxing in a way she had never before. She knew it was her imagination but in her mind, her butterscotch prince was there with her.
His presence was so intense that she could sense his desire for her. She was imagining that he was repeating her motions, she could even smell him, she could swear it was his cologne, and yes it was a musky smell, not hers, it was the smell of sex. As in other occasions the warrior was Cormac, as in most of her fantasies, who looked at her with absolute adoration. What an imagination she had, but this was more intense that ever. No, it wasn't her imagination; the pin had other attributes when worn, to enhance the mutual pleasure if that were the case, or to make the loved witch literally feel the wizard as if she could see him; to want him in her mind.
In her confusion, she could see him kneeling in front of her, his hand extended to touch her, darn, she could feel the heat of his hand, and she said his name rather loud, "Cormac, my warrior, I am yours, I want you," which he totally missed, and this could had been a good thing to prevent disaster. Cormac wouldn't have known she was talking to an imaginary Cormac and would have disclosed his presence.
He was coming in jets, his legs were trembling, "My lassie, my Hermione oh fuck..," and yes, he was so close, that some of his sperm sprayed Hermione, whose climax suddenly stopped as felt something wet and sticky hit her bare legs.
Immediately, her orgasmic haze cleared faster than you can say "a." And it was the same for the wizard whose reflexes were legendary; he reached for his wand invoking a "Scourgify esperma". Thus, before Hermione's fingers could touch whatever was in her leg, it was gone. His heart beat at an erratic pace both from fear and his recent climax. He felt dislocated, out the current time and space.
OH, OH
However, he wasn't fast enough; she had enough time to catch the whiff of some, hmmm, musky smell and something else, now she could identify it, a definite mixed lemony, herbal fragrance, it must be an expensive man's cologne. She got up, as he was doing the same. He quickly retreated and went around her; he wanted to catch the book's title.
He had to cover his mouth at the book's cover and title; it showed a half naked man wearing a short kilt, hair down his waist with a strange metal ring around his neck and multiple armbands. Cormac chuckled at the image. The man's body resembled a slimmer Greg Goyle, and the face was a bit effeminate. He was holding a woman dressed in torn clothes that displayed selective bits, the name, -Highland Warlocks, Book 10- "The Cursed Warrior Prince." Cormac raised his eyebrows, what kind of book was this? A sex book of what sort? He was definitely intrigued.
Hermione buttoned up her pants, zipped the leg bottoms, and reached for her hanky to clean up her hands. She looked for and found her socks, put them on and started walking around, looking up the tree, maybe a bird pooped on her, nah, rain drops, could be.
"Does rain look like snot?" she wondered aloud.
At this, he had a good laugh, "Rain, indeed dear lady, my gorgeous witch, methinks you're wrong, perhaps sticky rain."
She knew that she needed to relax. After all, she was not at all certain of what she had really seen. Maybe she was also imagining the smell.
And what was up with her fixation on Cormac. For some unknown reason, she now felt very attracted to him; her hatred for him was gone. Unknown to both, her seeing his face and thinking about him while sharing intense pleasure together, had worked enough magic to partially break the curse. Her calling his name at the end, had more or less tied her to Mr. Octopus for life. She could run, and she could hide for a while, but not for that long.
He saw the way she was sniffing the air, reminded him of a very pretty, curly-hair dog. He couldn't help it, and he let out a mischievous peal of laughter.
She still looked flushed and now alert. Was he around here, had he just laugh? Dear Lord, she had lost it. She thought of her state of mind, not good.
His witch was one hundred percent adorable, delectable, and it was most definitely time to get away before he was caught. He gave her one last look before he started running back to the castle, wait there. Something caught the edge of his vision, and he turned around.
The item that had fallen right in front of his nose was a bonanza. Thus, in a wild impulse, he grabbed the fallen hanky, damp with her juices and with it close to his nose, he ran away. He danced as the men of his clan did and twirled in happiness over his find; he danced away to the music of imaginary bagpipes.
'Let her try to find it, she will be looking for a while,' he thought and laughed with glee. His heart was full of joy and relieved after years of pining and suffering, and he could almost believe one day she would be his.
A/N let me know what you think about it. Is it too creepy? Or too, too? And are you enjoying it? What do you want to see? Should Hermione run as fast as she can? Or should she get her own Warlock?