And The Mudblood Moaned No More.
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,601
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,601
Reviews:
5
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.
And The Mudblood Moaned No More.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling and several publishing companies. This work is not intended for profit.
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And The Mudblood Moaned No More.
I’ve always had a powerful pull on people. Especially in my younger years when my physique was slightly more...conventional. Aesthetics never concerned me, but they proved to work in my advantage. All I ever had to do was smile at them, tell them they were pretty and they would gladly do anything I told them to.
Irony, that cruel mistress, had even caused a Mudblood girl to worship me as much as I despised her kind. What was her name again? Myrtle? She was rather plain. Aside from her Catholic convictions, there really wasn’t anything interesting about her. But then again, that was quite enough. After all, is there anything better than a Catholic girl? To force them to corrupt the virtue that is instilled within them from birth is the sweetest thing imaginable. I vowed to make her cry out my name instead of that of her helpless *Lord*. A weakling who got himself strung up like a side of veal. King of Kings? Ha! A King of worthless Muggles, I spit on his cross!
It wasn’t easy though. I couldn’t bring myself to get either warm or cold over her and was racking my brain on how to pull it all off. And then I found it. The thought of killing her passed through my head and instantaneously, I could feel myself stiffen in excitement. The ultimate way to impose my power upon her.
The thought of her cold, limp Mudblood body in my h bec became so intoxicating that I could barely concentrate on anything else.
The location I had chosen was ofcourse no accident and when I walked into that bathroom, like I had so many times before, I could neny eny that my heart pulsated with more vigor than it ever had before. She waited for me in the cubicle closest to the Chamber’s entrance, just like I had directed. I could see she was nervous. She fidgeted with her hands and kept tugging at her skirt, as if to conceal her bare legs. I smiled to comfort her and without a spoken word stepped closer and closer until I had forced her back against the cubicle wall. Her small stature forced her to look up at me as my body was almost pressed against her own. I stroked her hair.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said.
She breathed out in anticipation and placed her hands upon my shoulders. I began to stroke her, letting my hands snake up her shirt and down her back. Over her buttocks and up her legs. She was rubbing her head against the cubicle wall and closed here eyes. I knew she would be dead soon and it fortified me to lengths unknown. I could picture her dead. Eyes closed as they were now. Mouth open as it was now, but lifeless, cold.
I vanished her knickers and she stiffened up, trying to say something in protest. I merely pressed a finger to my lips as my gaze became severe.
“Shhhhh!”
I undid my belt and trousers, which made her breaths become more and more erratic. I knew she would soon breathe no more and at that thought I entered her temple. Propped against the cubicle wall she wailed and moaned as if the stars were falling from the sky. All I could think about was shutting he. I . I put my left hand over her mouth, but still her moans echoed through that bathroom, so I let it snake to her neck. I began to clench that hand until I was squeezing her neck as tightly as her virginal crevice was squeezing around me.
I had to push her up strongly now as she was beginning to go limp. My thrusts increasing in force as her heartbeat slowly ebbed away. And for mywninwning gesture, the pièce de la résistence, I summoned my basilisk. I let go of her neck and turned her face towards it’s lethal eyes and delivered my final blow right as I felt her body cringe with the shock of death.
And the Mudblood moaned no more. All that could be heard were the sounds of my own culminating passion.
She returned ofcourse, this Mudblood girl. The fear of hell and damnation her Catholic faith made her believe she would face led her to choose the half-life of a ghost. And she would never tell the truth about her death. For the shame, oh, the shame she felt for so willingly giving herself to such an evil man would silence her for ever more.
**************************
And The Mudblood Moaned No More.
I’ve always had a powerful pull on people. Especially in my younger years when my physique was slightly more...conventional. Aesthetics never concerned me, but they proved to work in my advantage. All I ever had to do was smile at them, tell them they were pretty and they would gladly do anything I told them to.
Irony, that cruel mistress, had even caused a Mudblood girl to worship me as much as I despised her kind. What was her name again? Myrtle? She was rather plain. Aside from her Catholic convictions, there really wasn’t anything interesting about her. But then again, that was quite enough. After all, is there anything better than a Catholic girl? To force them to corrupt the virtue that is instilled within them from birth is the sweetest thing imaginable. I vowed to make her cry out my name instead of that of her helpless *Lord*. A weakling who got himself strung up like a side of veal. King of Kings? Ha! A King of worthless Muggles, I spit on his cross!
It wasn’t easy though. I couldn’t bring myself to get either warm or cold over her and was racking my brain on how to pull it all off. And then I found it. The thought of killing her passed through my head and instantaneously, I could feel myself stiffen in excitement. The ultimate way to impose my power upon her.
The thought of her cold, limp Mudblood body in my h bec became so intoxicating that I could barely concentrate on anything else.
The location I had chosen was ofcourse no accident and when I walked into that bathroom, like I had so many times before, I could neny eny that my heart pulsated with more vigor than it ever had before. She waited for me in the cubicle closest to the Chamber’s entrance, just like I had directed. I could see she was nervous. She fidgeted with her hands and kept tugging at her skirt, as if to conceal her bare legs. I smiled to comfort her and without a spoken word stepped closer and closer until I had forced her back against the cubicle wall. Her small stature forced her to look up at me as my body was almost pressed against her own. I stroked her hair.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said.
She breathed out in anticipation and placed her hands upon my shoulders. I began to stroke her, letting my hands snake up her shirt and down her back. Over her buttocks and up her legs. She was rubbing her head against the cubicle wall and closed here eyes. I knew she would be dead soon and it fortified me to lengths unknown. I could picture her dead. Eyes closed as they were now. Mouth open as it was now, but lifeless, cold.
I vanished her knickers and she stiffened up, trying to say something in protest. I merely pressed a finger to my lips as my gaze became severe.
“Shhhhh!”
I undid my belt and trousers, which made her breaths become more and more erratic. I knew she would soon breathe no more and at that thought I entered her temple. Propped against the cubicle wall she wailed and moaned as if the stars were falling from the sky. All I could think about was shutting he. I . I put my left hand over her mouth, but still her moans echoed through that bathroom, so I let it snake to her neck. I began to clench that hand until I was squeezing her neck as tightly as her virginal crevice was squeezing around me.
I had to push her up strongly now as she was beginning to go limp. My thrusts increasing in force as her heartbeat slowly ebbed away. And for mywninwning gesture, the pièce de la résistence, I summoned my basilisk. I let go of her neck and turned her face towards it’s lethal eyes and delivered my final blow right as I felt her body cringe with the shock of death.
And the Mudblood moaned no more. All that could be heard were the sounds of my own culminating passion.
She returned ofcourse, this Mudblood girl. The fear of hell and damnation her Catholic faith made her believe she would face led her to choose the half-life of a ghost. And she would never tell the truth about her death. For the shame, oh, the shame she felt for so willingly giving herself to such an evil man would silence her for ever more.