Things Best Left Unsaid

AN/ Alright, this in not in my usual style of a fun smut romp. It is a brooding, somewhat squirky short ficlet. Not for the easily offended.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters represented here and no money is being made.

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Sometimes I wonder about myself.

Maybe its something inherited or perhaps I was given a double dose of hormonal urges by some mischievous Loki type being. ‘Whatever.’ I sigh in delight as I bring myself closer to orgasm, working the object of choice for the evening rapidly in my core.

I wonder what mum would say if she saw her daughter now. Why am I thinking of my mother at this moment? I must be totally on the road to nutterville as a small moan escapes my lips as I thrust the object once more deeply in. My thighs tighten as my body arches as I achieve the desired released. Third one today. Merlin, I must be an odd duck.

Pulling the object out, I stared at it curiously wondering if I should take it back to the kitchens. I almost giggle as I think of perhaps one of the staff eating the offending object in their salads tomorrow, unsuspecting where it had been.

Better not, though I know it was no worse for wear and it would be carefully rinsed before being added, I still stand up and chuck it out the window. Big bright eyes watch this and I hear a few faint clicks and a soft hoot. I am very glad owls cannot talk for I would never be able to face my fellow students again if my exploits were known.

Not that they probably don’t have a few stories to tell themselves, but unlike me theirs would be about their latest shag fest in the Astronomy Tower or in a dark classroom. Theirs wouldn’t be about self-pleasure, but of two sweaty bodies writhing together.

Sighing, I try not to let the feeling of aloneness ruin the afterglow of the sexual pleasure I had just achieved. Straightening my robes I cast a cleaning spell on them, knowing that I had probably managed to roll into something less than pleasant on the floor of the owlery.

Though it was a bit smelly, it was the safest place I had found. No one came here this late at night.

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I wonder if the word voyeur is appropriate to describe my actions. It sounds more elegant than being a peeping Tom which in reality is all I am. She was there again. I had hoped, no that is not the right word, I had suspected, that she would frequent this haunt once more.


I should have interrupted her the first time I caught her here. The thrill of humiliating, debasing a Gryffindor, had been my first thought, my first instinct. Instead I found myself watching, smelling the aroma of her, the musky smell that only the female species gives off when their legs are spread and they are highly aroused.

She does not know, does not realize that I am watching her from high above, amidst the perches where the owls shuffle and hoot, as she touches her small perky breasts, rolling her nipple between her fingers, the dark rose bud growing erect as I am. I imagine her horror if she knew I watch her take her chosen object of the night and thrust it into her hot passage, moving slowly at first then later moving it in and out quickly.

My balls tighten as I hear her soft moans, as the heady scent of her becomes more pronounced. She pulls the object out and I see the glistening juices dripping on it and I want to take it, to clean it dry with my tongue as my stomach tingles.

My erection throbs painfully but I will not resort to touching it, not here. I will save that until I am within the safety of my chambers, where I can touch and caress myself without remorse, with images of the girl in my mind.

I watch her leave and see the brief look of sadness on her face. It is not the first time I have seen this and wonder why she should look sad. Maybe she is feeling the shame and guilt of what she has just done. That is ridiculous.

Still I wonder why she does not find her pleasure with a lover…

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I am in the loo again between classes, relieving the tension as I sit sprawl legged on one of the toilets. As the wave of orgasm hits me I cannot help but wonder if I truly am sick. Not that masturbation is not normal, I know this from a talk I had with my mum a couple years ago when she gave me the birds and bees spill, but is it normal to be humming like a too tight violin string constantly? Even walking seems to turn me on, as I feel the folds of my sex moving back and forth.

I close my legs, feeling ashamed once more. Maybe I would get it out of my system if I would just allow myself to get laid properly. That seems out of the question. Not that I had lost my virginity last year to an object. That would have qualified me for a trip to St Mungo’s. I hadn’t meant to lose it at all, trying to adhere to my parents’ request that good girls waited until they were married, or as my mum hinted at least thoroughly engaged. Like I believe they waited until they were even engaged. Who do they think they are kidding?

I know he never meant to scare me, but my first and only time I had been with a boy, had left me shell shocked and very wary about ever doing such a thing again. I know he only wanted to give me a nice fifteenth birthday surprise and we had petted so much for months that I thought it was only the next logical step. Yet because of what happened I cannot allow myself the pleasure of being near a boy again, not yet.

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She runs into my class at the last moment and I am chagrined that I cannot deduct points as she does manage to sit down before the bell rings. It only takes me a moment to realize that her flushed cheeks are not caused from her late arrival as I catch the familiar scent in the air. If she only knew how keenly aware I am of her scent, her arousal. The damn tart has been playing again. A flare of anger flashes through me for some unknown reason. Am I becoming so depraved that I am jealous that she has known her pleasure without me watching her?

I take my frustration out on the class, assigning an extra three-foot to their homework assignment, deducting a full fifty points from her house and assigning two detentions before the end of the period. Satisfied, I am thankful when the class ends so I can take matters in hand.

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It is my birthday once more, sweet sixteen and never been kissed. No that is not true, though it has been a year to the day since I have been properly kissed. The boy that brought about my decision not to ever do ‘that’ again, in case I find myself in another predicament, smiles at me now. I know he is remembering fondly though I have myself cannot do that. He gives me a small box of chocolates; he is still my friend after all, kisses me on the cheek and takes his current girlfriend’s hand as they leave the common room. I hope she is having better luck than I did.

I am randy as the next girl but never want to go through what I did, as I remember my last birthday.

I told him we could, that I wanted to, but he must be careful. And he had promised that he would not come inside me, that he would pull out. I was too embarrassed to go to the school nurse and ask for the potion and I was also underage. I mean it is a bit archaic for the authorities that be to think those under sixteen will not engage in sex from time to time, but those are the rules.

That had been that. Pain for me as he thrust in, breaking through my untouched inner area, two quick thrusts and a very warm, wet feeling. Oh he had apologized repeatedly, telling me that if we waited a bit we could try again. By that time I was on the verge of hysteria. He had not pulled back and the thoughts of what might have just occurred sent me into a sobbing frenzy. Do not worry; it never happens the first time he had assured me.

I relive those moments almost nightly when I first knew that my fears had been justified. The first month I had skipped my period I had told myself it was from nerves and applied hot water bottles to my abdomen for days, praying that I would finally break through. When the second month had rolled around, I was inconsolable and made my way to see the nurse. I shall never forget that moment, the feeling of shame and disgrace as she coldly told me that I was indeed pregnant.

I had begged and pleaded for her to not to tell my parents but she had told me that was out of the question. I was underage and she was bound by duty to owl them immediately. Perhaps she had last found a bit of pity at my pathetic wailing as she finally agreed to wait for one week, as I told her they needed to hear it from me.

TBC