Breaking the Girl

[Disclaimer] Characters belong to JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.

Hermione walked out into the clearing of the Forbidden Forest. Firenze urged her forward through the trees, guiding her through the safer parts so that they would not be stopped. He sniffed at the air a bit, but smelled nothing particularly unusual, and especially not what he was sniffing for fearfully, the musky odor of Bane. \"Is it safe?\" Hermione asked him quietly. She felt so many things right now mainly fear and excitement, and her eyes darted around the clearing with each noise she heard, or thought she heard.

She had never been a fan of Divination; it was a rather wily practice as far as she was concerned. Although she was more inclined to believe in Firenze\'s abilities to foretell the future than Trelawney\'s. At least he was correct some of the time, even if it was simply because his predictions were so vague as to be applicable.

Firenze hadn\'t said a word back to her and so she looked up at him. His caramel-colored hair was all but obscured as the light formed a coronus around his head that blinded his expression from view. She blinked at the overabundance of light and looked down again. Her eyes fixed at the rippling of his coat, the muscles flexing a bit under the dappled shadows of the mottled shade through the leaves of the trees.

The forest was alive with sound, but all she heard was the silence of the centaur before her. Had he changed his mind? She could feel trails of sweat sliding down her back, slipping past her waistline, down between her cheeks to pool in her panties, now making them uncomfortably damp. She slid off her robe and let it fall over one arm as she started to roll up her sleeves. Finally Firenze\'s concentrated expression turned to his usual placidly blank look and he said softly, \"It is safe now.\"

Hermione shivered at his words and then walked towards a tree with an outstretched limb just above her head. She hung her robe there and looked back at the magical creature for what she should do. Firenze simply tilted his head at her, watching in fascination. \"Are you certain that this is what you wish, Miss Granger?\" he asked her in the even tones of his voice that never held any judgment, he seemed merely vaguely curious as to why she would ask such a thing.

She nodded to him and then pressed her lips together. She wasn\'t suhat hat else to say,re wre wasn\'t anything, really. It was a dream she\'d had about him and somehow one day she found herself talking to him about it. What had she expected for him to do? To tell her that she was sick? Instead he simply listened and did not say a word to her. Finally she asked him what he thought of it. He replied by asking her if she felt the dream was of prophetic significance or if, perhaps, it was symbolic. That had been almost a worse response, as it left her with the impression that centaurs never had sexual dreams and that her hormone-fueled fantasies were completely alien to him. Perhaps they were too bound to the earth and nature to think of sex as anything but a means to procreation, but if that were true, he didn\'t mention it: at least not during that conversation.

The young schoolgirl slid off her shoes and then her socks. She slowly peeled off her now rather damp panties, the odor of her arousal and the sharp smell of her sweat hit the air and she could hear Firenze behind her smelling at the air. His hooves stomped a bit at the ground, and she wasn\'t sure what it meant. She turned around to face him again as she unbuttoned her white blouse. She tried not to look under him, although she was curious as to what it would look like if he were aroused. Different? Bigger? The size frightened her, but the dream had been... so intoxicating. She closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of being filled and stretched so extremely and moaned quietly as she shrugged off the blouse and pulled off her tie and left it in a heap under where her robe was hanging.

She opened her eyes again to see Firenze stamping again a little impatiently. The dust from the ground of the clearing rosetly tly and the particles glinted in the spots of sunlight. Hermione thought about how her dream had gone. She had been leaned against a tree, and she looked around for one without too much underbrush to tangle with. Finding one, she walked over to it and stood up against it, her back to Firenze. She spread her legs, which were long and thin. Her arm went across the bark of the tree and she rested her forehead against it. Her other hand reached down between her legs and she slid her fingers between her folds, running her long fingers in circles over her clit and finally down to herningning.

Already she was so wet just from the walk and the idea, but still she slid two, then three then four fingers into herself. When she had been home last she\'d found a bottle of perfume that was tubular and amenably shaped to her and she\'d used it to pleasure herself. But since she had had the dream, her tastes ran to wanting to be stretched, to feel the pleasure in the pain of it and had moved on to larger hair care products and eventually shampoo bottles. No one thought anything of Hermione\'s collection of beauty products to manage her hair. In fact they seemed to rather approve of her interest in taking care of her unruly mane. Little did they suspect her real uses for the myriad bottles.

Firenze looked over the scene before him. He looked around the clearing again as if something could have shown up given his precise future and time casting. He still was not certain how to feel about this. She was a lovely girl, pale skin and rather intelligent by human standards. He had never completed a mating ritual when he was with his own people, never bonded to a mate and now he never would. He was banished, and now he was about to perform an act so completely and utterly forbidden that even if his people would take him back, he wouldn\'t be able to face them.

Stepping over to the girl who was moaning and fondling herself with growing urgency he raised himself on his back legs, placing the other two hooves on the wide tree in front of her. It took some odd contortions for him to get low enough for his long, now erect length down between her legs. \"Hermione,\" he started, knowing he was going to have to ask her to reach for him, but she seemed to sense it. Or perhaps she just felt it there and her need was so great she just grabbed for it. Even she wasn\'t sure what was driving her anymore.

Her hand moved over it a bit, feeling its warmth and odd rubbery quality. She could feel Firenze shift uncomfortably; this was a position that was hard for him to stay in, so she directed the tip of it to her very wet and widened lips. She pushed back on him and felt him jolt forward. It was big, bigger than she\'d imagined and he moved into her far, too far. It hurt and her eyes overflowed with tears and she cried out in a throaty low scream. He pulled back a bit and then drove into her again. He was frustrated; not even halfway in when he found he couldn\'t push in any further into the warm depths of her. Hermione screamed again as her dream unfolded into a nightmare of pain that brought no pleasure. Firenze pressed on, not registering her pleas for him to stop at first.

The soft flesh of her forearm was jabbed and sliced by the bark of the tree as she was driven far too hard against the tree by muscles that weren\'t made to drive into such soft, pliable flesh. Still the centaur drove on in his lust, trying to enter her further and further with an animalistic fury and feral need, paying no heed to what in her seemed to snap or close in on him. After a few more hard sts sts he decided to give up on his own pleasure and finally opened his ears to the now weak moans and pleas for him to stop coming from the girl.

In a rush he pulled himself out of her and brought his hooves to the ground. He saw her unsteady and swoon and his human-like arms reached out for her and he held her to his chest. Between her legs was a lurid patina of blood and her face was red, pinched and puffy from her crying. She wrapped her arms around him and cried bitterly on his shoulder and he simply held and rocked her. He\'d never felt anything quite so bittersweet. \"I am sorry, Miss Granger,\" he said stiffly, but she seemed to pay no heed to his words. He patted her hair down and then gently laid her down on the forest floor. He reached down to her abdomen and spoke a few healing words to them and ran his hands up and down her body to soothe her pain and anxiety.

After a few moments of slowing sobs, Hermione sat up on her elbows. She started to look up at Firenze but was now too ashamed. With a gentle grace, she stood up and took her wand and gave a light scourgifying spell to cleanse her and then she pulled her clothing back on. They walked back to the castle in the half-light of the setting sun and once inside never spoke again.

End End.