The autopsy would have confirmed that it was post-death that the knife had been driven into the body again and again.
The autopsy would have confirmed that it was post-death that semen had crusted the hair and skin of the body.
The autopsy would have confirmed that said semen was not human.
The centaurs cavorted about the bloated, toad-like body they had felled. And then Bane emerged from the surrounding woods, cluthing in his hand a pulsing, whirring pink phallus of unparalleled power. The others, within seconds, forgot their cavortations and fell to their knees, fighting to be the first to pleasure him.
As the vacuum nozzle pressed against his ass, Harry was once again reminded of why magic wasn't better in every case.
Heavily-lubed though the first vacuum had been, it had been of such an odd shape that he had never been able to get up. But this one, with its Mitachi Special Penetrator attachment which he had modified in his Magic Toolbox Chamber of Sexcrets so that it let suction go through -- this one felt good.
Harry also called his Chamber the Hairy Workroom. He dreamed of being thrown across the Ikea table and fucked with his own tools. Preferably Draco Malfoy would be the one shoving the tools up Harry's ass. Draco's spit would be the lubricant.
Or Ron Weasley.
No! It was Ginny that he loved! He was just a little curious, a little confused. A young boy like him
(you're seventeen years old! You entered puberty four years ago!)
was bound to occasionally fantasize, just for the purposes of exploration --
(Ninety-five percent of your fantasies revolve around other guys!)
Damnit. He craved penis. He wanted one in his mouth, thrust all the way in so he was choking on it, the pubic hair ticking his upper lip and nose. He wanted to smell it. He wanted to grip a penis in his hand and pump it until hot semen spewed all over his fingers, his palm, the back of his hand.
He pinched his nipples with one hand -- freshly doused in ice-water, so that his nipples jutted out -- as the vacuum sucked at his ass. The other hand eased the vacuum an inch or two into his ass, and then he began riding the Mitachi Penetrator while jerking off frantically.
He needed the Dildo of Damnation, or Ginny would find him out. She would realize why he always leaned forward to hug her, why he tried his hardest to see her only publicly, why he wore loose pants; she would realize that not once had he been erect in her presence, that he found her visually appealing but not sexually attractive.
And he couldn't do that.
He loathed gay culture. The shallowness, the bitchiness, the pettiness, the flamboyance. The idea of identifying as a flamer --
And if that happened, opportunities might present themselves for him to hook up with other guys, in real life. No longer would he be safe in fantasy.
He could imagine himself being sixty-five, and with a woman of the same age.
But the idea of being with a sixty-five year old man ...
Oh Jesus Christ!