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Hermione Granger and the Tactile Contact Theory
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
19
Views:
7,475
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
19
Views:
7,475
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hermione Granger and the Tactile Contact Theory
Chapter 1- The Potion
The air was thick with an unearthly perfume—so thick you could see it hanging in mid-air in the form of pink tendrils that caressed the woman standing in the middle of the dark room. Naked except for a thin, blue scarf she had carelessly thrown around her neck, the woman stood proud and firm in front of a giant cauldron.
Beads of perspiration glimmered between her breasts and on her face as she concentrated to swirl the bubbling purple liquid with her mind. The potion needed stirring, but with a cauldron this size a spoon does a poor job of mixing. Besides, what type of material could a spoon be made of that it wouldn’t melt or catch fire in a potion this hot, this caustic?
The woman ran her hands over her slick body as she murmured the words to a charm over and over again. She had to touch herself to remind her who she was. Otherwise the magic would grow too strong and begin to consume her. Best to remember that she was Hermione Granger and not the evil, powerful witch she knew lived within her.
When dappling in the dark arts, even for the sake of research, you have to keep yourself grounded. As one moves into the more difficult spells and potions, one begins to feel her ultimate potential ebbing inside herself like a powerful lover dying to break through her restraint. It is so tempting to let your guard down, to realize your full power and take it for your own. Thus, Hermione used her own hands to keep herself in check.
As Hermione’s hands slid lower down her body, the potion reached a raging boil and turned a violent fuchsia. The color matched that of Hermione’s flushed cheeks. Her hands moved slow, slick circles against her swollen lips as the potion’s boil died down and the stirring slowed to languid beats.
With the potion almost complete, Hermione couldn’t resist bringing herself to climax. She plunged her delicate fingers inside herself. First one, then two and finally three at a time. The potion emitted a massive column of steam and hissed as in relief when Hermione’s legs collapsed under her and she came in a wave of perfume and power.
“Writing a book has never been so pleasurable,” Hermione thought as she lay panting on the cold stone floor of Professor Snape’s dungeon classroom.
The air was thick with an unearthly perfume—so thick you could see it hanging in mid-air in the form of pink tendrils that caressed the woman standing in the middle of the dark room. Naked except for a thin, blue scarf she had carelessly thrown around her neck, the woman stood proud and firm in front of a giant cauldron.
Beads of perspiration glimmered between her breasts and on her face as she concentrated to swirl the bubbling purple liquid with her mind. The potion needed stirring, but with a cauldron this size a spoon does a poor job of mixing. Besides, what type of material could a spoon be made of that it wouldn’t melt or catch fire in a potion this hot, this caustic?
The woman ran her hands over her slick body as she murmured the words to a charm over and over again. She had to touch herself to remind her who she was. Otherwise the magic would grow too strong and begin to consume her. Best to remember that she was Hermione Granger and not the evil, powerful witch she knew lived within her.
When dappling in the dark arts, even for the sake of research, you have to keep yourself grounded. As one moves into the more difficult spells and potions, one begins to feel her ultimate potential ebbing inside herself like a powerful lover dying to break through her restraint. It is so tempting to let your guard down, to realize your full power and take it for your own. Thus, Hermione used her own hands to keep herself in check.
As Hermione’s hands slid lower down her body, the potion reached a raging boil and turned a violent fuchsia. The color matched that of Hermione’s flushed cheeks. Her hands moved slow, slick circles against her swollen lips as the potion’s boil died down and the stirring slowed to languid beats.
With the potion almost complete, Hermione couldn’t resist bringing herself to climax. She plunged her delicate fingers inside herself. First one, then two and finally three at a time. The potion emitted a massive column of steam and hissed as in relief when Hermione’s legs collapsed under her and she came in a wave of perfume and power.
“Writing a book has never been so pleasurable,” Hermione thought as she lay panting on the cold stone floor of Professor Snape’s dungeon classroom.