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Pigtails

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Upon later reflection, Pansy decided that it had to be the pigtails.

She was a sensible girl, a straight girl, and she didn't go lusting after little Gryffindor bitches, no matter how big their breasts were. And Ginny Weasley was endowed; somewhere along the line she'd gone from being absolutely flat to straining her robes, which were cut for a boy and clung in the most unexpected places. Not that Pansy was looking, mind you. But when Professor Snape had asked her to tutor someone in Potions she'd been too quick to agree, and when you've spent four hours on a Saturday in a soundproofed study cubical you will start to notice the most amazing things.

"What do the snapdragon seeds do again?" Ginny asked, and started chewing on her quill. Pansy hated people who chewed on their quills; it was a ghastly habit and left the end all droopy and wet forever. But she especially hated it when Ginny chewed on her quill, because she managed to do it obscenely. She sucked the end between her full pink lips; she nibbled on it; she bit through the shaft and then flicked the broken end back and forth with the tip of her tongue until Pansy wanted to scream at her. Or make her scream. Whichever was more convenient at the time.

"Weasley, we went over this last week, surely not even you're so bloody thick." But she couldn't even get any pleasure out of insulting the girl, because Ginny just cringed and bit her lower lip so that it turned red, bright red, like the two perfect plaits that fell down her shoulders to frame the swell of her enormous breasts.

Damn fucking pigtails.

"Sorry, Pansy." The little bint had the nerve to blush at her, even; blush and feign innocence they both knew she didn't have. Nobody who was innocent would bend over as often as Ginny did, picking up things Pansy knew she had deliberately dropped. Not even a Hogwarts robe and a plain wool skirt could mute the soft perfect curves of the littlest Weasel's ass, and the more often Ginny stuck it in the air, the more often Pansy had to look at it and wonder what it would feel like to touch. This was certainly part of some massive plot against her.

The shy smiles...the knee socks...the 'accidental' touches...but the pigtails were the crowning hypocrisy, the pigtails were what really did Pansy in. They were always perfect and even, hanging right and left like pillars of fire or blood. They were always tied with ribbons—yellow ones at first, white ones last week, this time vivid green. Normal fifteen-year-olds don't wear their hair in pigtails, and Ginny's earnest need to please her was more fit for a puppy than a pubescent. And it had caused Pansy to spend more than one night in the showers after dark, wondering how far that need went, just what she could make the little brat do. No one could be so overtly sexual without malice aforethought. Besides, Pansy didn't know anyone else who was falling in lust with her.

Then again, nobody else spends their entire afternoon locked up in a study box in the library with her. This place was soundproof, too—there were possibilities...

She opened her mouth to say something cutting, look up, and immediately lost her train of thought. Ginny appeared to be concentrating intently on her notes, as if she really wanted to know everything there was to know about snapdragons, but her free hand had caught one perfect evil pigtail and she was sucking on the end. Her lips puckered around it, drawing it deep into her mouth, and then she parted them slightly so that Pansy could see her tongue swirling around the bright hair. Perfect pink tongue, perfect pink lips, perfect pink body somewhere under those robes, and Pansy wanted nothing more than to devour it.

To hell with Professor Snape. To hell with all of them. Pansy needed sex, right fucking now.

She climbed out of her chair and slipped around the end of the table, right behind the little cunt. Weasley didn't even notice until Pansy plunked the plait from her mouth. "Pansy? Wha—?" She tried to turn, but Pansy forced her head back around facing her notes.

"You're supposed to be studying," she said sharply. Then she pulled away the fine green ribbon and started to unwind the plait, leaving long locks of wavy copper dripping from her fingers. Such soft hair, smelling of lavender. Pansy hated lavender.

Ginny swallowed and seemed to sit up straighter. "Pansy, what are you doing?" she asked, with just a bit of a tremor in her voice.

Keep up the innocent act, bitch, and you'll pay for it, Pansy thought darkly. She finished freeing the left pigtail and sank her fingers into the soft, brilliant mass of hair that now lay free. She pulled them through slowly, combing out the waves, then leaned in close to Weasley's ear and whispered, "Didn't anyone ever tell you that pigtails are for babies?" Ginny's breath hitched, but she didn't say anything. "And you, my dear, are definitely not a baby..." She let her hand slide briefly down to one unbelievable breast, cupping it; how could the girl stand up straight with tits like those? Then, all business, she set to work on freeing the right-hand plait.

Weasley was breathing more heavily now, fairly gasping, and the broken end of her quill bounced wildly in her shaking hands. She squirmed slightly in her chair, but one sharp tug on her hair stilled her. "P—Pansy," she stammered, "I don't...I'm not...we shouldn't...this is the library."

Pansy laughed. "You've been spending too much time around that Mudblood friend of your brother's." She ran her hands through the liberated hair, lifting it and letting it fall gently down Ginny's back. Who would've thought that so much hair could've been confined to those two slender plaits? Kneeling, Pansy turn Ginny's chair around so she face her, then cupped her flushed, slender face. With wild red hair streaming out behind her, and those full flushed lips parted just slightly, she didn't look half so innocent as she had moments earlier. "Much better," Pansy murmured, and pulled the younger girl out of her chair and into an incendiary kiss.

Merlin, but she had a sweet mouth; soft and warm and tasting strongly of sugar. She squeaked a bit, but settled down as Pansy got to exploring, and tentatively put her delicate little hands on Pansy's hips. Not that Pansy had never kissed with tongue before, of course, but Draco never let her take her time like this, had never let her taste him thoroughly. Pansy cradled Ginny's head in one hand and began to unfasten the collar of her robes and blouse with the other. Their breast were crushed together, creating delicious friction she hadn't expected, and at this range the girl's ass was finally wthinin easy groping distance. It was firm and warm under tightly-stretched fabric, and one good squeeze made her squeak again. Pathetic.
Pansy pulled away a bit to inspect her own handiwork. Weasley's unbound hair floated around her face like a halo of fire, her mouth kiss-swollen and red like her cheeks, and a trail of freckles dripped down the sliver of fair skin exposed by the open collar. She looked rumpled, indecent, debauched—but that lower lip she was biting and the apprehension on her face defied all of Pansy's best efforts. She still looked like a scared virgin, damn it. She was not being cooperative. With a bit of a growl, Pansy pushed Ginny backwards, so she sprawled on the floor, and went back to work.

There was such pleasure in marking her, tasting her skin and sweat and feeling her hummingbird pulse. Pansy took her time at it and noted the Weasellette's yelps and whimpers, what and where exactly made her gasp. Ginny arched her back a little, pressing her tits more firmly into Pansy's hands, like a good little slut; Pansy approved. She pinched the Gryffindor's ass (earning another goddamn squeak) and then tugged up the hem of her robes, looking for the long freckled legs underneath. Ginny was panting now, but managed to stammer out, "P—Pansy? What are you d—"

"Stop talking," she said, and backed up her command with another bite. There were the legs, encased to the knee in white schoolgirl socks. Pansy took the time to pull them both down before continuing her exploration, over firm thighs and downy hair. The girl apparently didn't believe in shaving more than halfway up. Pansy traced the edges of Ginny's panties by feel, enjoying the uncertain sounds she made. "Do you ever touch yourself?"

"Wh—what?"

"Are you such a little virgin," Pansy said slowly, hooking her fingers around the elastic, "that you've never had a feel around down here?" She found the wet patch with her thumb, rubbed it, and savored the way Ginny arched up with a whimper. "Well?"

The girl blushed darker and looked away. "N—no."

"No, you haven't, or no, you have?"

"...I have."

Ha! Proof she wasn't the dewy image of innocence she claimed to be. Pansy rewarded her with a kiss and a nip at her mouth. "Good girl. Who do you think about?"

"Think...when?"

"When you do this." Pansy tugged down her panties and found her hole, hot and slippery and waiting for her. Ginny yelled and wriggled again. "Well?"

"I...I don't..."

Pansy growled and pinched her on the inside of her thigh. "Do you think Potter? Or your little Mudblood boy? Or the Seeker for the Kenmare Kestrels?" She slid her fingers higher and pinched Ginny where it really made her holler. "Or do you prefer to think about Granger? Or me?"

Weasley wasn't verbal anymore, though; she was gasping for breath and trying to push into Pansy's hand. This was a million times better, now. This was the real Ginny under knee socks and pigtails, a whore ready for anyone offering. Oh, Pansy definitely approved. She stretched out over the thrashing body and claimed her again, marked her and kissed her, while the hand between their bodies mapped soft wet spaces by feel. Ginny gasped and Ginny moaned, Ginny spread her legs wider and clung to Pansy's neck and arched into every invasion. Sweet little innocent Ginny came screaming on the library floor, and Pansy was finally content.
She wiped her fingers on Ginny's skirt and sat up, brushing back her hair with her other, clean hand. Ginny stayed laying on the floor, still spread, still panting. Her eyes were shut and her hair pooled like blood on the scuffed and dusty floor. It was perfection, right there, right then: bruised and dirtied and sweaty and flushed, the Weasley bitch was finally beautiful. Pansy kissed her again and climbed to her feet. "Try actually doing your homework before you come here next time," she said, smoothing her own rumpled robes. "I'm not here to do it for you, you know."

She repacked her bag and shouldered it. Ginny sat up, slowly, and caught her with confused eyes. Pansy knelt one more time and bit those god damn perfect lips. "And next time," she added softly, "skip the pigtails."