Witches On Top

Witches On Top

By Beloved of Salazar

Disclaimer: Nearly all the people below belong to JK Rowling. The concept of my work is based upon Nancy Friday\'s novels (My Secret Garden, Women On Top, and Forbidden Flowers). I do not own nor am I making any money off my use/abuse of these characters and concepts.


WARNING: NON-CON

The Sitting Room: “Don’t Just Stand There, Force Me!”
(Lily, Ginevra, Nymphadora, and Katie)


Lily [dictated via Erised]

I’m in my late thirties, although I was only twenty-one when I died. I’ve been married to a wonderful man since I was eighteen years old and I am the mother of a seventeen year old boy. My husband knows about most of my fantasies- they’re relatively simple: being taken from behind, being tied up or tying him up, being spanked, etc. He loves this side of me.

But there is one fantasy I would never tell him about. He wouldn’t understand and frankly, I’d rather keep it to myself. My fantasy involves being captured then raped by Deatheaters.

They grab ahold of me and apparate to one of their lairs. Two of them drag me over to this cot that is raised up at a forty-five degree angle to the floor and magically bind my wrists and ankles to the corresponding corners. I am now lying on it, displayed for the Deatheaters. I recognize Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, and Rosier (before he was killed in 1980). They are leering at me. “Ah, Potter’s brave little wife; the mudblood.” Malfoy sneers. “Shall we give her the same treatment we give all the pretty little mudbloods, gentlemen?” They smile even wider as Malfoy, with a swish and flick of his wrist, renders me nude.

I can imagine the anger and fear anticnticipation coursing through my body at that moment. At this point, I’m usually masturbating. (When I was corporeal, that is) I imagine I’m thrashing around, screaming at them- feeling so vulnerable and exposed. Lucius Malfoy goes first. He unbuttons his trousers and climbs on top of me.

One thing that especially turns me on is the sensation of a fully clothed man on top of my own nude body. Especially since Malfoy habitually wears fine silks and velvet. He manages to thrust deep and hard into me despite my bucking body. Because of the angle I am at on the raised cot, it causes his shaft to hit all the right spots. The rough velvet of his over-vest abrades my nipples in the most delicious way. In spite of my terror and the squirming of my body, it tightens in pleasure. Soon, after a few thrusts, I orgasm, moaning in shame as I do so. His breath is hot on my ear and neck as he murmurs, “Ah, did the mudblood whore like her treatment?” He gets off me and buttons his trousers back up as the next Deatheater in line climbs on top of me.

My body is still strumming from the first climax as Rookwood builds me up with a few thrusts, unable to hold himself back. I like the warm feeling of semen squir int into my cunt. It’s dirty yet somehow comforting. Neither Crabbe, Nott, nor Goyle last very long either, and I have yet to reach a second climax. The exquisite torture stretches on. I can’t stand to look at the man on top of me out of shame. Avery manages to stave himself off longer, but he doesn’t hit any of my sweet spots, so I am in tears for the want of a release. Avery climaxes with a groan and climbs off me, leaving my thighs once again wet and sticky. There is one Deatheater left: Evan Rosier. Rosier is inhumanely beautiful. Very fitting considering he was named after a fallen angel.

My vision is filled up with his white blond hair, large brown eyes, and that wonderful luminescent skin as he lies down on top of me. He holds my eyes to his as he pushes my hips down and thrusts up into me. He pushes in and out of me slowly and purposefully- building me up to a fever pitch. I’m crying, unable to move as he brings me ever so slowly to release. And when he does....

So wonderful.

[interview]


Ginevra

I am a sixteen year old Gryffindor with 6 older and overprotective brothers. My parents, specifically my mother, have somewhat old-fashioned views regarding females and sex. The general tenor of these views are that “good girls don’t have sex before marriage”. When I was a little girl and I discovered how good it felt to touch myself down there, I immediately stopped because I believed that people (my mother) would somehow know and I wouldn’t be a good girl anymore. It was important for me to remain a good girl because that way, I would not be swallowed up in the shadows of my brothers.

I experienced my ‘awakening’, as I call it, in my first year at Hogwarts. I was lured into a secret chamber deep inside the school by a sixteen year old boy (Slytherin) named Tom. Because of the enchantments he put on me, I was weak and could do little more than lie on the cold damp ground. When I was unable to fight him off, he undid my blouse, hiked up my skirt, and removed my white knickers. And then he raped me.

I never told anybody what had happened. If I had, I would have been ‘ruined’. No longer a good girl. And that was unacceptable. Especially since I had actually enjoyed it.

I can still remember with clarity the light caress of his fingers as they touched the skin they were exposing. Those same fingers touching me between my legs, as I had all those years ago. The all-consuming fear even as I felt the first tendrils of pleasure. I can remember the heavy weight of Tom’s body on mine, thrusting in and out of me slowly and strongly. After the initial pain, it started to feel better- wonderful, even. I could feel the increasing tension in me, although I didn’t know what it was leading to. I was screaming in my mind even as I experienced my very first orgasm.

After my body blossomed during my third year, I started to get male attention. But the threat of 3 older brothers was enough to keep even the most brave at bay. I had been dreaming of that day in the chamber for a long time and I understood males enough to find a way to fulfill my twisted little fantasies. My would-be suitors were still sex-crazed males, and it wasn’t that difficult to get them to play along. Neville, Dean, Michael all started their hands wandering while we made out. I let them press me against the wall or couch and feel me up, moaning wantonly as their hands petted me or caressed me between the legs. Then I went back to acting like an innocent girl- I’m sure they thought what had happened was a figment of their imaginations.

My former boyfriends are too moral to do what I really wanted them to do. But I’ve found someone who would: Draco Malfoy

During my fourth year, I hexed Draco with my infamous Bat-Bogey Hex, and he has yet to take his revenge for it. I’ve been egging him on lately- purposefully incensing him and making him more likely to do something. I know him: rage drives his lust. I long for him to corner me in some dark corridor– to have me bound up against the wall with a whispered ‘Irretite’. He would smirk down at me with a cruel glint in his gray eyes as the leather bindings wrap themselves around my wrists and ankles, pulling my limbs taut. And as with all predators, he would first play with his prey– tease it. Those long, tapered fingers of his would slide up my flanks, going underneath my skirt.

“So helpless,” he would hiss. And that snake tongue of his would come out and lick the shell of my ear, sending my body into such a fit of trembling. Those fingers would rub my quim through my cotton knickers.

“Helplessss...” he repeats. He suddenly rips the sides of my knickers and slowly pulls them off my body, leaving my lower half completely exposed to him. Those fingers start up again and to my shame ( and my shame is real, for I truly do hate him) they encounter the pooling wetness seeping out of my quim. He gives a low chuckle at this and whispers mockingly, “Vengeance is mine.” I fight not to feel what his fingers are doing to me, but bound like this, I can’t. So I start to call him every offensive, filthy name I can think of. He just laughs at me again and unzips his trousers. I imagine that he is long and slim, like his fingers.

He poises his cock at my entrance– teasing me with the anticipation. Then he slowly slides it in. His body is pressed up against mine. Then he would start to thrust in and out in a slow steady rhythm rocking against my clit with every upwards thrust. Pulled taut, the tension tightens unbearably inside me. I’m sobbing “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you...” while his hot panting breath on my neck and ear only make me grip his cock tighter, yes, tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Then he begins to thrust in and out of me rapidly, shallowly. Hammering my clit, hammering me against the wall. Then it snaps. And I come– pounding out in waves until I am limp while he continues to rock against me. And I forget my hatred, my shame.

[Letter]

Nymphadora

Wotcher, Ms Beloved! I’m in my early twenties and I work in “Magical Law Enforcement”. I just thought I would write you write you with a fantasy (actually, a dream) that got me so hot and bothered the other night. It was late at night and I was standing in the middle of an enormous forest, completely naked. Then I became aware that I was being watched; hunted. The fear combined with the cool night air causes my breasts to tingle, the nipples to constrict. I start running blindly through the forest, trying to escape whatever’s chasing me. I can feel the fear coursing through my veins, making it hard to breathe. Then, suddenly, something solid pounces on me, pressing me into the cool forest floor.

I can feel that it’s a man– a naked man– and his arousal is pressed up against my backside. His body is hot and hard on top of mine. I realize what’s going to happen, and I begin to wriggle around, trying to throw him off, but to no avail. He growls, sending shivers along my spine. The next thing I know, my legs are wide apart and the man’s long cruelly hard member is sliding into me.

I’m in shock and do not move. I am acutely aware of the musty smell of the trees and plants, the darkness only broken by slivers of moonlight, and the silence of the forest save for the sound of flesh slapping on flesh the the sound of the man’s pleased growls. He takes me roughly, pushing me firmly into the ground so that I cannot struggle as he hammers into me. His thrusts are so uncontrolled– animalistic.

But his cock is hitting all the right spots and the adrenaline from the chase is quickly turninto pto pleasure. I begin to moan out loud, which only spurs him on. He bites down gently on the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder, spreading waves of pain and pleasure through me. It doesn’t take me long to climax– and I do so hard. When the stranger has spent himself with a loud guttural groan, I manage to roll over onto my back before his heavy weight settles atop me, and amidst the tingling between my thighs, I find myself face to face with none other than Remus Lupin, a man whom I work with who is also a werewolf.

The fantasy probably came about with the realization that when the full moon approaches, he has less control over his ‘baser instincts’...

Kinky, huh? I bet he wonders why I’ve been all blushes and stammers whenever I see him lately!

[letter]

Katie

I’m a nineteen year old witch, fresh out of Hogwarts and an ex-chaser for my House Quidditch team. Around my third year, when I became a chaser, I began to have rape fantasies. These always involved the same guy: Marcus Flint, the chaser and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

He’s always had it in for me. My first few games against Slytherin were so brutal because Marcus would always come at me. Even when we were in school, he would always corner me or brush against me with a growled threat (mostly of a sexual nature). He’s not even one of the handsomest or the most attractive- but the thought of him making good on those threats gets me all wet in the knickers. I fantasize of him catching me out past curfew, near the dungeons.

He would corner me against the wall, his wand tip at my throat, and whisper a threat (“Shh, don’t say a word.”), then tug none-too-gently on my hair. (Which, by the way is something I love having done to me). Then he pulls me to the ground and has me lie down on my belly while his weight settles onto the backs of my legs– trapping me. I hear him whisper a vanishing charm and my outer clothes disappear. I’m left in my light blue cotton bra and thong knickers. I hear him growl appreciatively and feel a rough, calloused hand caress and squeeze one of my ass cheeks.

What turns me on the most in this fantasy is that Macus is saying the most crude things. “Oh yes, you’re a hot cunt” or “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” I try to scream for help but he clamps a hand over my mouth. He pockets his wand and starts to yank down my thong until it’s near my knees. I’m reaching back to try to halt his progress, but to no avail. He just sets them back in front of me. I hear him unzip his trousers and feel him hot and hard against my bottom.

He takes out his wand again and utters a lubrication charm. But to my surprise and mortification, I feel the wetness inside my anus. I’ve never been taken there, so I panic and start to fight harder. But he’s between my legs now and I can feel the distended tip of his cock at my entrance. He slowly eases himself in. He’s so large and it hurts like hell.

“Oh, fuck! You’ve a tight arse!” After what seems like an eternity, he’s all the way in. Now, never having experienced this in real life, I can only draw upon my imagination and what I’ve read and heard to incorporate into my fantasy. Marcus is groaning behind me, his hand on my mouth, pulling my head back until I’m arched off the floor. He slides out and then back in. If I could, I would’ve gasped at the foreign sensation of my anal muscles widening and squeezing his enormous cock. His thrusts get faster and rougher, but the pain has passed and I’m moaning at the exquisite sensation- a wholly different type of pleasure.

With my back arched like this, it forces my mound to rock against the stone floor with every wild thrust Marcus rams me with. My clit comes out of its hood and the direct sensation drives me out of my mind. Marcus reaches with his free hand into one of the cups of my bra and squeezes and massages my small breast. He tweaks the nipple and that combined with the other two sensations makes me orgasm. And it’s an orgasm like I’ve never had because I’m feeling a release– a contraction of muscles in my cunt and in my anus. Marcus growls and rams me hard for a few more moments before I feel his hot seed spurt into my spasming canal.

Not that I condone rape, or want to be raped myself....but this fantasy just gets me so wet it helps me expel some of that sexual tension that accumulates after the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match. I really don’t know if I would react the same way as I do in my fantasy if Marcus really did act on his threats.

[letter]

Tune in next time for The Study: Thrill of the Forbidden, starring Eleanor Narcissa, Hannah, and Millicent