I'm just a girl,
Take a good look at me
Just your typical prototype
Oh...I've had it up to here!
—No Doubt, "Just a Girl"
Hermione was peckish. A dull morning where all of her contacts had gone missing at once had been followed by a lunch cancellation from Seamus, so come afternoon she was far too irritable to edit her associate's report with anything approaching fairness. At 3:30 she gave up on the day, glad to be escaping her airless, slightly overheated office, but still feeling that she had an itch she couldn't scratch. It was just the day she was having that she tripped coming out of the floo and tumbled well out of the hearth into her living room.
Harry popped his head in from the kitchen and asked, "You all right?"
She stared up at him from where she had landed, splat on her arse, at the end of a trail of ashes.
"I'll put on the tea," he said, and vanished.
After shaking the ashes out of her cloak and tidying the living room, she walked into the kitchen to find not only a cup of tea, but two ginger lemon crème biscuits waiting for her. As she munched on one, she cheered just a bit; Harry really did take care of her. Too bad it would take more than a favorite biscuit to get her out of this mood. "Is that a roast I smell?"
Harry looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, I was just searing it off when you came home." As he bent over to slide the pan into the oven, Hermione realized precisely what would make her feel better.
Harry slid into the chair opposite her at the kitchen table. "Er, do you want to talk about it?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the table.
"No," she replied, and was amused to see the relief in his face. "I want you to take a shower."
He raised one eyebrow. "Your voice is a little hoarse. Do you—"
"I want to fuck you."
Harry's fingers stilled and he stared at Hermione for a long moment. "Well, I'll go get ready, then." He hesitated for a moment, and when she made no reply, he bolted out of the chair and up the stairs.
Hermione stayed in the kitchen, enjoying her tea and biscuits. Once she heard Harry leave the bathroom, she headed upstairs herself to disrobe and affix the lifelike magical dildo to its place just over her clit. She put a bit of cream on her palm and stroked herself to hardness, thinking to herself how very, very much she liked being a witch.
Harry walked into the bedroom, rubbing his hair with one towel while another was wrapped low around his hips. God, he was half-hard already just thinking about it. Hermione was so much more sensual than she appeared, especially when she was in this kind of mood, and while Harry loved Hermione's mind, he loved her body, too, particularly when, as today, it took her over and shut her mind down. Or at least, focused it on his looks, which he thought was odd for a girl. It was as though somewhere within her was a 20-year-old male libido, leering at him and coveting his arse.
He reached into the bedside table for the little pot of lube, but kept his wand in his hand, unsure which she'd prefer. The other thrilling bit was just letting her take over. As a rule their sex life was mutual—sure, he usually was the instigator, but she almost never declined and was right in there with him—but it was nice to give her control to make him into a sex object, use his body to scratch whatever was itching her. It certainly wasn't the first time that she'd decided to cure her peckishness with his, well, pecker. Or really, his pucker, come to think of it.
He dropped the two towels into the corner and sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione walked in shortly after that, naked and hot as hell, her breasts swaying as she walked and her hair tumbling down over her shoulders, the dildo hard and pointing at him from its nest of pubic hair. The weird-wrongness of that image made it all that much hotter and he could feel his own cock twitch in anticipation.
"You didn't say—" he began, but stopped as Hermione raised her wand.
"Lubricus." Harry shuddered at the cold wetness of the charm, the sudden openness as his sphincter relaxed, which always made him think of feeling up a girl until she was wet and open under his fingers.
Hermione put her wand on the top of the bureau. "Slide back," she ordered as she walked toward him.
Harry did as he was told, putting down the lube and his wand and throwing a pillow beneath his hips. He leaned back against the other pillows at the head of the bed, putting his hands under his knees to tip his hips up and spread his bent legs wide open. "C'mon, Hermione," he invited, his voice soft and husky. "Let me make you feel better."
Hermione knelt between his knees, stroking his soft inner thigh with one hand while the other ran down between his legs to cup his balls, which she gently rolled between her fingers. She slid a finger down, checking that the charm had done its job, and Harry shuddered again. God, he was on a hair trigger; she'd taken him from 0 to 60 using nothing more than a few words, a leer or two, and a body he hadn't even touched yet.
"I'm so glad you want this," she whispered, her eyes half closed and fixed on his own, "because it's happening anyway." Before he could really process what she'd said, she'd pushed into him, buried herself to the hilt in one hard stroke, and he cried out at the feel of it.
Hermione was too small for his legs to rest on her shoulders, so she leaned hard against him, pushing her hands against the underside of his thighs. Harry let them go and rested his hands on the small of her back, just above the lovely swell of her hips. She was thrusting hard now, and he could feel her muscles working and her cock deep inside him. This, here, was about her and not him, and she was being good and selfish about it, which was turning him on even more. Her head tucked down and she rubbed her mouth against his collar bone, licking the skin.
"Ah, give it to me," he said, "harder, fuck me."
Hermione lifted up her head to look at him, her face flushed and glistening with sweat that stuck pieces of hair to her forehead and cheeks. "You little slut. Tell me how you want it."
"Need it, need you to fuck me," Harry babbled, her raw energy overwhelming him. "Need you to fuck me harder, need this so much." Splayed open to her, no one else but her, taking her into him. This reversal, it was brilliant and oh so necessary.
"I know what you need," she said, thrusting harder than he thought possible, until her rhythm grew erratic and she was coming, deep inside him, driving into him harder until he thought they'd push right through the mattress, calling out his name in her throaty way where it was not much more than a breath.
She pulled back just a touch and started raining kisses down on his chest. He held her trembling body, soothing her with strokes to her back. He'd thought for sure that he'd come just from the fucking, but it had been so fast even he couldn't keep up. She shifted her hips and slipped out of him, sliding further down his body, and he relaxed his hold on her, letting his legs fall on either side of her, thinking she was going to finish him off with her mouth.
But no, she did him one better, stopping when his cock was between her tits, and took them in her hands, rubbing them against him. Just the sweat from her exertions was enough to make the soft skin slide nicely against his own, and the lovely sight of it, of her fingers pinching her nipples as her big soft breasts surrounded his cock, was almost more than he could take. She looked up, giving him that slow lusty smile, and he came, hard, all over her tits and chest and even getting a little on her chin.
Harry slumped down, spent, and the next thing he knew she was in his lap, the dildo somehow detached, kissing him softly and sticking them together with sweat and seed. "God I needed that," she whispered. "Thank you baby."
Harry put his arms around waist, splaying his hands so he could feel her hips and breasts swelling out from her smaller center. "I needed it, too. That was so hot, Hermione, God."
"You were such a girl." She grinned, pushing the hair out of his eyes.
He leaned up and kissed her, entirely unembarrassed. "For you, baby, anytime."