Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Author's note: okay, so I am kinda making them whore/male whore like but if you have ever been deeply in love and you break up with someone and they are like your soul mates and it shakes you down to your very soul, you would understand that you look for comfort in different people in all the wrong places and with all the wrong ways. Anyway, enough with that. On with this chapter.
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I feel like I have been dubbed the town slut.
I remember when I was back at school and your stupid friend Crabbe made a comment about me probably doing both Ron and Harry even though that was completely ridiculous and would have been even if I weren't seeing you.
But he called me a slut and now I feel like I am.
I have been having sex with so many different men.
And none of them seem to tame my lust or the need that I have to feel you inside me once again.
I had promised myself after Charles that I would stop.
I didn't want to be a slut.
I have a daughter to think about, and I have a life I have to try to learn to live, but now, things have changed.
I quit my job as a secretary.
With all my late nights I couldn't keep up at work and I quit and Cassie was disappointed but she told me that I was her friend and if I thought that was what was best, than I should do it.
And I did think that was best, and Cassie arranged it so I could still leave Danica at the daycare when I was at my new job.
And I was a stripper.
I can just imagine what you would think about that.
I can imagine that infuriating smirk, that sneer, the harsh laugh and your drawling voice saying, "Looking to turn everyone on, Granger? Looking for an orgy?"
And I would ask the bouncers to make you leave, but you would be right and I would hate you even more.
I became what I became because I needed to.
All of the casual-fucks, which is the only way to describe them weren't fulfilling my lust, and just the thought of guys paying to see me made me feel special.
And one night, two weeks after I started, Charles showed up.
I was walking home, which a lot of us do since we live nearby and Charles was there, waiting for me and he smiled.
I gave him a small smile and we drove back to his apartment.
And I rode him again.
And I took his entire length into me and he bucked his hips at the feeling and I savored the fact that I could control him in this way.
I was in control of his pleasure.
And when I was over the edge I looked down at him and whispered, "Hurt me."
And he was confused, but I wasn't.
I wanted it to be like it was when we first started sleeping together.
And I said to him, "Make me scream in pain, Charles. I want you to fuck me so bad it hurts."
And he did and I did scream, but it was nothing compared to you and your skilled fingers and your pounding thrusts and your crazed eyes and your underlining care and I found that sleeping with Charles wasn't helping me.
I was the slut now.
I had a threesome once, and I know you would think me a crazy slut if you knew I left two guys do me at the same time, and you would be right, because the next day I called in sick and spent most of the day in the bath trying to wash away my shame but it clung to me like a second skin.
I am depressed. I am alone.
I am on a bed of thorns.
And people do not abandon their bed of thorns for even a moment.
Author's note: okay, so I am kinda making them whore/male whore like but if you have ever been deeply in love and you break up with someone and they are like your soul mates and it shakes you down to your very soul, you would understand that you look for comfort in different people in all the wrong places and with all the wrong ways. Anyway, enough with that. On with this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I feel like I have been dubbed the town slut.
I remember when I was back at school and your stupid friend Crabbe made a comment about me probably doing both Ron and Harry even though that was completely ridiculous and would have been even if I weren't seeing you.
But he called me a slut and now I feel like I am.
I have been having sex with so many different men.
And none of them seem to tame my lust or the need that I have to feel you inside me once again.
I had promised myself after Charles that I would stop.
I didn't want to be a slut.
I have a daughter to think about, and I have a life I have to try to learn to live, but now, things have changed.
I quit my job as a secretary.
With all my late nights I couldn't keep up at work and I quit and Cassie was disappointed but she told me that I was her friend and if I thought that was what was best, than I should do it.
And I did think that was best, and Cassie arranged it so I could still leave Danica at the daycare when I was at my new job.
And I was a stripper.
I can just imagine what you would think about that.
I can imagine that infuriating smirk, that sneer, the harsh laugh and your drawling voice saying, "Looking to turn everyone on, Granger? Looking for an orgy?"
And I would ask the bouncers to make you leave, but you would be right and I would hate you even more.
I became what I became because I needed to.
All of the casual-fucks, which is the only way to describe them weren't fulfilling my lust, and just the thought of guys paying to see me made me feel special.
And one night, two weeks after I started, Charles showed up.
I was walking home, which a lot of us do since we live nearby and Charles was there, waiting for me and he smiled.
I gave him a small smile and we drove back to his apartment.
And I rode him again.
And I took his entire length into me and he bucked his hips at the feeling and I savored the fact that I could control him in this way.
I was in control of his pleasure.
And when I was over the edge I looked down at him and whispered, "Hurt me."
And he was confused, but I wasn't.
I wanted it to be like it was when we first started sleeping together.
And I said to him, "Make me scream in pain, Charles. I want you to fuck me so bad it hurts."
And he did and I did scream, but it was nothing compared to you and your skilled fingers and your pounding thrusts and your crazed eyes and your underlining care and I found that sleeping with Charles wasn't helping me.
I was the slut now.
I had a threesome once, and I know you would think me a crazy slut if you knew I left two guys do me at the same time, and you would be right, because the next day I called in sick and spent most of the day in the bath trying to wash away my shame but it clung to me like a second skin.
I am depressed. I am alone.
I am on a bed of thorns.
And people do not abandon their bed of thorns for even a moment.
