Hermione Potter loved her husband's arse.
When they were at school she once made the mistake of sitting behind him in History of Magic class. Harry found the topic boring so he would fidget, trying to stay awake. Watching his arse as he leaned forward, sat back, and otherwise squirmed in his seat drove her to such distraction that she had to duck into the nearest girls room right after class to get herself off.
Perhaps it was the Quidditch that made it so perfect, all that clenching to stay on the broom (though, oddly, it didn't help Draco Malfoy, who had no arse to speak of). She would often pinch it as she walked by him in the halls and he would yelp and laugh nervously. Making him feel like a sex object amused her no end.
Once when she was kneeling before him, she slipped her fingers between her legs to wet them then softly pressed one against his entrance. He gasped and tensed up slightly, so she stopped, suckling him gently to relax him. Gradually she worked two fingers into him, fucking him in the same rhythm as she sucked him, and it wasn't long before he was shouting her name and she was swallowing his seed.
She always kept her fingernails short after that.
Some months after they were married she and Harry were taking advantage of a warm and sunny summer afternoon, sitting out in their small sheltered garden. She settled into her chaise with a glass of lemonade and a novel, ready to sun herself in her orange two-piece swimsuit. But she was distracted from her reading by the sight of Harry laying face down on the chaise opposite, his gorgeous bottom wrapped in blue swim trunks.
Hermione gave up on the book and set it aside. As quickly and softly as she could, she left her own chair and knelt on Harry's, her legs straddling his.
"Hello," he said, drowsily turning his head.
Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders and began to give him a massage. She moved her hands down his slim back, feeling him relax at her touch. She scooted back on the chaise slightly then slid his swim trunks off, spreading her legs to ease them down his and onto the floor.
"Mmmm," Harry said.
Hermione smiled to herself. So far, so good, she thought as she rubbed the small of his back. Then she slowly slid her hands down, caressing the firm flesh almost reverently. She leaned down and kissed the cleft just above his entrance, then waited for a reaction.
He didn't stir.
She pulled on his hips and found he was so relaxed, he was quite malleable, so she lifted him up by his hips. He got the idea and pulled his legs through hers and underneath him, so that he was kneeling on the chair. She sat down behind him, her legs straddling the chaise and held onto that perfect arse as she leaned forward with her tongue.
She started with the smallish testicles that hung so invitingly between his legs so as not to startle him. Though considering the semi-hard state of his cock, he must have had little doubt of her final goal. Slowly her head rose as her tongue trailed along the flesh between those firm, pretty cheeks. Her hands spread them wider and Harry adjusted his stance. Then her tongue reached the small puckered opening.
Harry shivered slightly in reaction but made no sound.
Hermione smiled to herself as she moved her tongue all around, experimenting, exploring this new territory. She tried to remember what she liked him to do to her: quickly, then slowly; all around, then in and out like a tiny penis. She did this for some time, alternating her mouth and forefinger, enjoying the way his skin felt against her tongue, the way he tasted, the way he smelled—fresh and clean from the shower but musky, too, underneath—the tiny mewling noises he was making, something he had never done before, and the way that tiny ring of strong muscle little by little relaxed and he opened like a flower.
Suddenly, Harry grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. She released him and he turned to face her, face flushed, eyes glassy, penis hard. He took her again by the shoulders, pulled her to him, then flipped them both over so that she lay on her back on the chaise, he atop her. With no preamble (surely she needed none; her cunt was on fire) he shoved her bikini bottoms aside and plunged into her. He fucked her so hard she wondered if the chaise would collapse beneath them but it didn't somehow. He stared into her eyes fiercely, not with anger but . . . frustration, that's what it was, she realized. Then, as he always did, an instinct by now, he reached one thumb down to brush against her clitoris and she exploded around him with a shout, clenching him firmly outside and in. A minute more of ragged thrusting and he was coming, too, shouting her name as she had his, then dropping on top of her.
Slowly she felt his breath return to normal. "Well," she said, "that was certainly something."
She felt him smiling against her neck. He rolled his head sideways and whispered, hoarsely, "That's what you get for being such a bloody tease, isn't it?"
Tease, eh? she thought. Okay, then.
At breakfast a week or so later, Hedwig arrived with a small brown parcel tied in string. Hermione grabbed it quickly, then at Harry's questioning glance explained that it was just some historical documents she had been expecting.
He shrugged. "Well, that should keep you very happily busy all day," he said, kissing her before Apparating to the office.
VERY happily busy, she thought. She tidied up their breakfast dishes, then dashed upstairs to the bedroom with her purchase.
Opening the box, she found her purchase came with a spell to make it "her own." Obviously she needed to give it a test run, just to make sure all was in working order. She opened the smaller box to find a cylinder of clay about 13 cm long and 3 cm in diameter. She held it in her left hand, her wand in her right, and recited the words of the spell:
Godemiche, Godemiche, Godemiche,
Iche habe er vom Ton gemacht,
Und als er hart und fertig ist
Mit dem Godemiche werde ich spielen.
She could feel the clay morphing in her hand, then hardening somewhat. Apparently, this was the penis she "would have had" if she'd been a man. That it was almost the same as Harry's was unsurprising. She took off her clothes, glanced at the instructions again, then affixed the toy between her legs so that it rested atop her clitoris. She turned to look at herself in the full length mirror.
Hermione had seen photos of "chicks with dicks" before, but of course they weren't really chicks. Her penis looked oddly out of place between the (to her) rather overgenerous hips. She grabbed hold of it, and the intensity of the sensation nearly brought her to her knees. She silently apologized to Ron for all her adolescent fumbling, then applied a much lighter touch. It felt wonderful, and she felt the penis hardening in her hand.
She sank to her knees before the mirror. Hand jobs were not a favorite of Harry's—he preferred her mouth and truth be told she loved giving him head—so she was a bit out of practice. As good as the magical dildo was at transmitting the sensations, it was still a device, so it didn't feel quite as good as just touching herself. But she had no doubt that this friction, her hand warm against her cock, would get her off. She suckled a finger into her mouth and began lazily pinching her left nipple as her right hand settled into a steady rhythm. She looked up at the mirror and gasped as the orgasm began to rock her body—one wave, two waves, then the big one came and she cried out. Her cock, as advertised, squirted thick white liquid onto the carpet.
Hermione sat back on her haunches, breathless. When she had recovered, she reached a finger down and sampled some of the ejaculate and was amazed to discover that it didn't taste like semen but more like her own juices. Well, she thought, this will definitely work.
Harry came back from lunch to find an owl post from his wife on his desk:
So you think I'm a tease, do you? Ready to put your arse where your mouth is?
Harry raised his eyebrows, read the post again, then sat back in his chair, smiling to himself. After a moment, he scribbled a note in reply:
My arse can take whatever you can dish out. I'll be home in three hours.
When Harry arrived home the sun was already setting and he was surprised not to see any lights on in the house. He called out for Hermione but heard no answer. Then he saw the note on the table:
Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower?
Harry took the stairs two at a time but when he reached the bathroom he saw no sign of Hermione. Where is she? He felt slightly disappointed as he shrugged off his robes and underclothes, setting his glasses on the counter before stepping into the shower. He stood under the water for long minutes, then quickly scrubbed his body. Staring at the soap in his hand, he thought about what he hoped would happen that evening, sighed deeply to relax, then slid a slim, soapy finger between his cheeks, into the small opening. The vague hard-on he'd been trying to hide all afternoon started to swell as he used first one, then two fingers, in and out. He told himself he was just making sure he was clean but it felt so good he couldn't help but moan.
"Don't waste it in there!" said a voice from just outside the shower.
Harry spun around, peeking past the curtain to see Hermione standing in the middle of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, a large towel held out in front of her.
"I was just—"
"Getting clean?" she interrupted, shaking her head. "Come out, you're getting all pruney in there."
Harry nodded and closed the curtain. He rinsed off quickly, then stepped out of the shower into the waiting towel. "Sorry about that," he said.
Hermione slid his glasses back onto his face and answered him with a kiss, slowly backing him into the bathroom counter. She ran her hands over his shoulders. "We're going to have to get you calmer," she murmured.
"Oh?" he gasped between kisses. "Any ideas?"
"A few," she said, pulling away from him. "Come on." She walked into the bedroom and he followed, rubbing the towel across his body and hair. Once there, she slipped her robe off and lay down on the unmade bed, her legs spread slightly.
Harry grinned as he always did when his wife displayed herself before him. He dropped the towel to the floor and crawled across the bed until he was crouched between her legs.
"Look at you," she said, smiling a little as she trailed her hand down his chest, then brushed her fingertips across his erection.
He hummed a little, kissing her, then began to run his hand across her chest, but she pulled it down to her sex.
"I've been thinking about you all day," she said.
"I'll say you have," he said, feeling her wetness.
She spread her legs wider. "Go on, then."
He hesitated. "Is this your plan to relax me?" he asked, setting his glasses on the other pillow.
"Part of it."
He kissed her as he slid into her, gasping at the tight fit. After a moment, he dropped his head to her shoulder and began moving his hips, thrusting into her. He could feel her move a little beneath him, whispering, then suddenly there was a cool wetness in his arse. He stopped moving, lifting his head to look at her.
"Sh," she said, rubbing his head soothingly and smiling. "You're going to love this."
He nodded and she kissed him, and he sighed, relaxing into her. As he started fucking her again, he felt her hand leave his hair and trail down his back. She slipped a finger into his now-slick entrance and he groaned, burying his head in her shoulder and thrusting harder into her. Another finger followed and he felt her scissoring them, back and forth, widening him. Then her fingers were gone and he felt something blunt being pressed against him.
"Relax," she whispered.
Harry let out a long breath, willing his muscles to relax. He felt this foreign object, whatever it was, entering him slowly. Her other hand rubbed the small of his back, soothing him. He closed his eyes and stopped thrusting, trying to get used to this feeling of fullness, so much more than just a finger or a tongue. She kept pushing it in until he felt the ring of muscle relax and the object slipped in further, stretching him. Finally he felt the larger, flatter end of it resting against him. Whatever it was, it was all the way inside him, and mingled with the pleasure was a perverse sort of pride. He lifted his head up and kissed her, hard.
"I take it you're okay," she said, grinning.
He nodded, then began fucking her again. As he did, she turned the toy in his arse, spinning it and rubbing it against him until—
He yelped and slammed into her as the toy stroked his prostate. He kissed her again, even harder, and when he released her lips she smiled. He began to fuck her in earnest, harder and harder, his forehead resting on her shoulder as his hips ground into her, hard. She kept moving the toy against him and he couldn't last much longer but oh, he wanted to. He lifted his head to look into her eyes and the orgasm hit him like running into a wall. He cried out, lifting up his head, then collapsed on top of her.
As he got his breath back, he felt her removing the toy. He slid out of her and rolled over to lie next to her, on his back. He looked up to see her laying on her side, smiling down at him.
"More relaxed?" she asked.
He nodded, sinking down into the pillows and letting out a deep sigh.
"Good," she said. She kissed his shoulder, then put something hard and warm and slippery into his hand. "This is yours," she said, rising from the bed. "I'll be right back." She slipped out of the room.
He grabbed his glasses from the pillow and looked down at the object in his hand. It was a small bright green butt plug. Looking at it, he couldn't believe all 8 cm of it had been inside him, and that odd sense of pride surged in him as he trailed his fingertip over its contours.
Suddenly he realized that he hadn't done anything for Hermione. "Baby?"
"Yeah?" she called back.
"You didn't . . . I mean, I didn't make you . . . ."
"Don't worry about it! That one was for you, to relax, remember?"
Relax for what? he thought. "Right." Was she really going to —
At that moment she appeared in the doorway, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt and boxers. The boyish outfit accentuated her femininity, her curves distorting the straight lines of the clothes. She walked toward him slowly, and then he saw it, there between her legs, pushing out at the front of the pants.
"Oh," said Harry, sitting up and sliding to the foot of the bed.
Hermione reached him and put her hands on her hips, then thrust her pelvis slightly, making the half-erect dildo show through the flap of her boxers.
"You aren't teasing," he said unnecessarily.
She shook her head. "Touch it."
He slipped his hand into her boxers, flinching when he touched the dildo, surprised at how warm and lifelike it was. He began to stroke it slowly, watching and feeling it harden at his touch. Hermione moaned low in her throat and he realized that she must be able to feel it. Which meant, of course, that she would be able to feel it later, too . . . .
"Stop, Harry," she said suddenly, rousing him from his reverie. She pushed him back slightly by his shoulders, then leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "You're sure you want this."
"Yes," he whispered. "I'm sure. I want this. I want you to fuck me."
She smiled and stood up straight. "I put down a cushion for you," she said, indicating the space in front of the full-length mirror.
Harry got off the bed and walked over to the cushion. He sank to his knees, then looked over his shoulder. "Why the mirror?"
"I want to watch you."
But do I want to watch myself? he thought. He looked in the mirror as he leaned down on his hands. Well, I can always close my eyes. Or watch Hermione. He looked up and watched her walk over to him.
"Would you rather I took the clothes off?" she asked.
He nodded. "I want to watch your breasts."
She grinned, pulling the undershirt off over her head, then stepping out of the boxers.
Harry gulped, seeing her naked in the mirror, the cock rising out of the brown curls between her legs. It looked very wrong, and yet not. "Oh God, you look so . . . " he searched for the right word. "You look like sex."
She laughed a bit as she sank to her knees behind him. Keeping eye contact with him in the mirror, she slipped one finger into his arse.
He moaned a little, closing his eyes. He was still slick and relaxed from before—she was right as always, it had been just the thing—and as one finger became two, became three, it felt nothing but good. She moved them around slowly, then rubbed up against that perfect spot again and again. He groaned low in his throat. When he looked up, she was smiling at him so sweetly, so sexily. He realized that she was stroking her cock with her other hand; it was slick and shone in the low light of the bedroom candles. He could feel his own cock hardening in anticipation.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
She took her cock in her left hand, put her right hand against him, and began to push in, slowly. After a moment she said, "Are you okay?"
He nodded, still looking at her. Her hands were on his hips and she was sliding in slowly but steadily. It felt good but different than the plug, which was narrower. He felt so open and yet so full. Then suddenly—
"Ow," he said.
She stopped and rubbed his back. "Relax, baby," she said.
He nodded, breathing out slowly, until it felt comfortable again. "Keep going," he said.
"We're almost there, baby," Hermione whispered, moving in further but even more slowly than before. "Push out; it will make it easier."
He concentrated on relaxing, on being as open as possible, and she slowly slid the rest of the way in. He looked up at the mirror.
She had never looked as lustful as she did then. Her eyes were closed and her mouth half-open, tiny beads of sweat running along her forehead, and then she stuck out the top of her pink tongue to wet her lips. Harry bit his lip. He had got used the fullness; it didn't hurt as much as ache but it was a really good ache. He felt that strange pride welling up in him again, that he had taken all of it, that she was buried to the hilt within him. But now that she had been still for a bit and he had relaxed around her, he missed the friction. He took a deep breath in and out, then he clenched his muscles around her.
She gasped and shuddered, making her breasts tremble slightly, then she opened her eyes and met his in the mirror. "So," she asked, her voice hoarse and soft, "you want me to move?"
Hermione hands were still on his hips. She pulled her own hips back and thrust forward a few times, stabbing into him a bit awkwardly, and he realized that of course fucking wasn't as instinctive for her as it was for him, and he said, "It's easier if you move faster."
She looked up at him in the mirror, eyes wide.
"You won't break me," he said.
She nodded and began moving a bit faster, pulling out a little more each time, until she found her rhythm and began fucking him in earnest. He closed his eyes and hung his head. It still ached, even hurt just a little, but with each thrust her cock rubbed against his prostate, and that felt so good that it was worth it. The feeling of just getting fucked was nice, too, of opening himself up to her. It was also a little dirty, a little perverse, like he was getting away with something. He had never lost his love for that feeling.
He looked up at her in the mirror and she was staring right at him, her breasts swaying with each thrust, her skin shiny with sweat, a lusty smile on her face. He had thought she'd looked like sex before, but the sight of her taking him like this was almost more than he could handle. Next time, he thought, he'd make her fuck him face up so he could grab at those breasts as they swayed above him.
He was moaning incoherently now, so close, but he didn't want to touch himself. Trust Hermione, though. Her soft moans started getting higher-pitched and her thrusting gained speed, and then one hand slid down from his hips and touched his cock. Harry exploded, throwing his head back and shouting her name. He clenched around her, buried in him as she was, and he felt her tense up behind him. Warm fluid came shooting out of her cock and deep into him and she collapsed atop him, breathing heavily. But he was still weak from his own orgasm, so down on the floor they went.
She pulled out of him and rolled over on her back beside him. He pushed his glasses up and looked over to see her detach the now-flaccid penis and set it aside. Seeing him watching her, she smiled. "Feel okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Feel amazing." They lay there for a bit, recovering. Then he got up, gathered her into his arms (he was still the man after all) and laid her on the bed. He stretched out next to her and she cuddled into his chest.
Mimicking Malfoy's schoolboy drawl, she said, "Your arse is mine now, Potter."
"Really?" he replied. "Because your arse has been mine for quite a while, Potter."
"Funny how that works out," Hermione said.