Pure Fantasy.

Hannibal

Clarice walks unsteadily down the row of cells. Some a light, plastered walls, while others are dark, bare brick. From the darkness of one cell she heard a scuffle but can’t see anything. Her target is the last cell on the left, in front of which Barney has thoughtfully placed a chair. What does a mass murdering cannibal look like? She has no idea, and is surprised to find a tall, well-groomed man in a prison-issue jumpsuit, his hair slicked back, and even more surprised at his gentle “Good morning.” 

His drawings line the cell and they are exquisite, both in detail and depth of shading, and despite herself, Clarice found herself taking an interest in this charming yet obviously deranged sociopath. 

A familiar smell passed under her nose from between the bars of the next cell. While it resonated with her subconscious, it took a moment for her to identify it as semen. Semen. Of course it would be. This corridor houses some of the sickest men in society, masturbation would be a common event down here. 

She became vaguely aware of Lecter asking for her credentials. She held them out to him and he said in his smooth, oily voice “Closer please….clo-ser”. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, and from nowhere came the thought of what it might be like to be naked and underneath him …what? Why would she entertain such a thought? Perhaps it was the scent of semen that now seemed stronger than ever. 

And then again “…..how quickly the boys found you. All those sticky fumblings in the back seat of cars, while you could only dream of getting away….all the way to the F…B…I” sticky fumblings. It had been a long time since she’d had any sort of fumbling, even from herself. The air seemed highly sexually charged, what with the pervasive scent of semen and this intoxicating, almost hypnotic man before her. She began to feel wet. No…surely not. But it was true, she just knew. “What did he say to you? Multiple Miggs in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?” 

Clarice knew her honesty would make or break what came next. “He said ‘I can smell your cunt.’”

Lecter looked at the holes pierced in the bullet-proof glass, distended his nostrils and slowly sniffed, moving his head from side to side in a serpentine motion. “Yes…..so can I’. Again he transfixed her with those piercing blue eyes. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Too busy becoming one of Jack Crawford’s little soldier ants to even take care of yourself. How tired you must be at the end of each day, lying there, in your dismal concrete blockhouse room, listening to your room mate masturbate herself to sleep every night, but not you. You offering up your chastity to the gods of law enforcement. It won’t work, you know. They don’t care a jot about your sacrifices, but you’re safe here, Clarice. You can…indulge yourself here. You know you want to.” Involuntarily, Clarice spread her knees. “Yes….look at you. Wet through and through. Well, waste not want not. Why don’t you stand up now, and back up to Miggs in the next cell. Let him take you from behind like the dirty little slut you really are.” 

It felt like she was powerless. All she could do was obey - no, not ‘obey’ since now, every fibre in her being wanted to comply. She backed up to Miggs’s cell and bent forward, she felt her skirt being lifted and her panties pulled aside. Miggs entered her with an animalistic lust. It didn’t last long before she felt Miggs finish inside her and a mean, nasty orgasm ripped through her own body. 

Clarice walked back to her wooden chair, and sat with her knees parted. Semen was visible at the top of her thighs, and Lecter, who misses nothing smiled. 

“You fly back to school now little starling….fly fly fly…..fly fly fly….” 

Zip me.

It really was getting too much. Ginny lay in her bed, still breathing deeply from the orgasm she had just given herself. As usual, it was Harry who was the theme of her fantasies, and, as usual, he had caused her to cum delightfully into her panties. Oh he’d kissed her…a couple of times, actually, but they were fleeting kisses, nothing like that bitch Cho Chang had enjoyed on the Room of Requirement. Even the thought of that protracted kiss made Ginny’s clit throb again. Her hand disappeared under the waistband of her panties again and she began an inexorable march to her next orgasm….quietly though, because she was sharing her room with Hermione. 

“Thinking about Harry again?” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the night. Even though she had her back to Ginny, Hermione knew what was going on. “Well, so what if I am? It’s not like you don’t think of Ron and rub yourself raw!” Damn…too unpleasant. She hadn’t meant to be that acerbic. A tense silence stretched between them like a spider’s web. Eventually Ginny muttered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Hermione didn’t answer. 

The following morning had seen Ginny wake in much the same state she went to bed…wet and horny. Fuck! Short of casting a love s-ell, there must be a way to get Harry to do more than just kiss her! Then she remembered her dress. The dress that didn’t need a bra! She got up, wriggled into it and went downstairs. Her parents and Ron always slept in at weekends, as did her older brothers. The only person moving around in the kitchen had to be Harry.

Ginny all-but ran down the rickety stairs of The Burrow, and her heart leapt when she found herself alone in the kitchen with Harry. She knew she smelled of sex, since deliberately she had neither washed nor changed her panties. This was old magic, real  magic. She turned her back on him. “Zip me, please.” 

Harry stared at Ginny’s perfect back, her perfect, bra-less back. His hands seemed to have minds of their own because they reached not for the zipper, but around, under the dress until they were cupping Ginny’s perfectly formed boobs in his hands. Her nipples grew hard almost instantly in response and Harry’s thumbs grazed them pleasantly. Ginny allowed her bum to move ever so slightly backwards so that she could confirm what she already knew. Harry was hard. She reached around behind herself and unzipped his pants. To her slight, his manhood sprang free. 

Oh be in no doubt, Ginny would have let him have her there and then, but instead, she spun around and dropped to her knees. She made sure her dress slipped off her shoulders revealing her two, perfect tits as she took him deeply in her mouth. It was her first blow job, and Harry’s too. From time to time, she stopped sucking and spoke to him. 

“I’ve dreamed of this.”

“Ohh fuck.”

“I’ve dreamed of you fucking me too….taking my virginity.”

“Shit!”

“I am a virgin, Harry, and you will  be my first.”

“Ginny …I’m gonna….”

“It’s alright, Harry. Cum in my mouth….let me swallow you.”

Speech was denied to Harry as he shot his load into the young witches mouth. He watched, fascinated as the two dimples in her cheeks attested to her sucking, while her throat worked as she swallowed. 

Standing up, Ginny pulled her dress back on and Harry quickly zipped it up. There were movements upstairs, and anyone could appear at any moment. Ginny reached up her dress and removed her moist panties. “Here….these are for you….and I won’t be putting any more on either. I’m easy to get at….should you want to.” 

Ginny turned and left, leaving Harry with a -air of very moist panties clutched in his hand; he didn’t know what to do with them at first, but, being quite bright, he soon realised their potential.,

Meanwhile, while this had been going on in the kitchen, Hermione had taken advantage of the empty room; she lay spread-legged under her covers, her hand working furiously between her legs, and her mind imagining Ron pounding her into oblivion. 

Variation on a theme.

As prefects, some night duties are expected of the students at Hogwarts. The ancient castle is a frightening place at night, with a variety of ghosts and other elementals prowling the empty corridors. Hermione always illuminated her wand before venturing into the narrower places of the castle. 

“Oh look! It’s the little mud blood!” The superior voice of Draco Malfoy is unmistakable. “Let’s teach her a lesson. Grab her boys!” Crabbe and Goyle took hold of her and Malfoy flipped her robes up at the back. Pulling her panties down to her knees he sneered “You’re going to learn that this is all you’re good for! When we win, and we will win, your kind will be forced to serve our every whim.” He was just abou to penetrate her when an icy voice cut through the darkness. “And just what do you think your are doing? You know she’s reserved for the Dark Lord.” Shape’s voice, riddled with contempt even for the aristocratic Malfoy was dripping with evil. He only uttered one more word as he grabbed Hermione’s arm. “Come”

She felt compressed on all sides, like she was being squeezed through the eye of a needle. When it was over, she felt sick. Really sick. The graveyard was familiar. Although she had never been there before it was exactly as Harry had described it when Cedric Diggory had been killed, down to the last detail, including the ornate grave of Tom Riddle. 

An icy voice cut the air, more whisper than actual voice “Ah…Miss Granger. Yes, I’ve heard so much about you. You seem to be the intellect behind your little group of friends. Well, you’ll soon find out the purpose I have in mind for you. Position her!” The last two words were no louder than the others, yet they cracked through the air like  a whip. Hermione found herself led to Riddle Snr’s tomb, and her robes  torn apart. Her panties were ripped from her and with a single thrust, Voldemort entered her ripping her hymen both painfully and with utter contempt. 

His cock felt cold, but as he fucked her, she felt a glow forming deep in her belly, a glow of wanton desire, of pure, unadulterated lust. Hermione found she wanted him, wanted him deep in her ruined vagina, and as for the pain, well, the pain felt….glorious….how had she ever lived without it? Voldemort fucked her had, viciously, uncaring for her feelings, but intent on only his own. Vile words floated through Hermione’s brain, words she had heard only from the seniors in Slytherin house. She was not being made love to…she was being fucked….screwed….used. An image burst in her mind. One night, she had caught an older Slytherin boy in one of the corridors. He had been masturbating. As she rounded the corner and saw him, he had ejaculated into a tissue. Locking eyes with her, he simply cleaned himself off and threw the tissue casually on the ground. As he passed  her, he had said “There. That’s yours if you want it.” Now, she felt like that tissue, except….it was wonderful. 

Voldemort came inside her, his semen felt icy cold. Each spurt seemed to freeze her and she knew it was designed to prevent any kind of sexual response from her. Nonetheless, she had sneaked her hand to her clit and came even as the Dark Lord did. 

“There. What will grow in your womb is mine….as, from now, are you.” A searing pain enveloped her left forearm as the Dark Mark seared itself into her flesh. Hermione sank to her knees, and licked the last remnants of his semen from his cock. 

“My Lord” 

N.B.: I claim not title over any character or franchise used herein which remain the property of their creators.