Come Shots
The Greenhouse
Parvati's getting dirt on her knees. That's the only thing Hermione can think about as she's gripping the edge of the table, nails digging into the humidity-softened wood. Parvati's getting dirt on her knees and Parvati's hands are pushing apart her thighs and Parvati's head is under her skirt and Parvati's mouth...oh...
She can hear the plants rustling in the pots next to her, and she wants to reach into their pots, lifting up handfuls of dirt and compost and squeezing squeezing squeezing as she comes, dirt under her fingernails and Parvati against her clit. She can't grab the plants, she can't do anything but grab the table, because the table's holding her up, her hands are keeping her up, she can let go with one hand and lift up her skirt and run her hand through Parvati's long cascade of hair and press her closer and to the left and just so and...and...and...
She falls back against the table, knocking over one of the ferns, arching her back and moaning loudly, leaves and branches tangling in her hair. Parvati is kissing her thighs gently, her knees still on the ground, dirty and bruised.
The Common Room
It's the Christmas holidays and Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the brief respite.
Harry and Ron are playing wizard chess, with a couple of first- years watching them avidly. Ginny and Hermione are in front of the fire, one large blanket over their laps as they sit and read quietly -- Hermione a dusty tome on Transfiguration Theory, and Ginny one of the more popular wizarding novels.
Hermione's hands are steady on the book, turning a page every few minutes or so as she props the book open on her stomach. Ginny has the book open between her fingers, and she has one hand under the blanket, keeping warm.
The fact that she's keeping it warm between Hermione's legs is entirely secondary.
Hermione bites her lip and looks studious, but she's trying not to twist under Ginny's hand. Ginny's too deft at this sort of thing for The Girl Dating The Boy Who Lived, but Hermione's not going to tell, not going to talk, not going to start swearing and screaming Ginny's name as she begins to tickle her finger on Hermione's clit...
Ginny doesn't even look her way, doesn't even respond to Hermione's faint pants and one hand sliding from Transfiguration Theory to under the blanket and lifting it up just far enough for Hermione to cup Ginny's breast. Each time Ginny twists her finger, Hermione squeezes and Hermione's just about on the brink -- of orgasm and screeching in frustration at Ginny's perfectly calm and composed expression. Ginny flips a page and pushes a finger underneath Hermione's knickers at the same time.
Hermione's sticky and hot and she swivels her hips slightly for more pressure and she's biting her lip and coming so silently that the boys, when they glance over, just think she's reading a particularly interesting passage. Instead of Ginny breaking new territory in an entirely different passage.
Ginny's nipple is rock hard when Hermione pulls her hand away. She shakingly picks up her book again, and when she feels Ginny's eyes burning lustfully at her, she smiles and turns the page.
Quidditch Pitch
"It's just like riding a bicycle," Cho said before pushing off with her feet. "You close your eyes, push on the ground with your feet, and go..."
They're up in the air -- higher than the astronomy tower, higher than the tallest tree in the forest, higher than most Muggle buildings. Hermione can occasionally see someone down on the ground, ant-sized and unable to see the two girls sharing a broomstick, Hermione's arms around Cho's waist, both of them straddling a single broomstick.
It's firm between her legs, firm and comfortable and her knickers are riding up as breezes toy with her skirt. She's pressed tightly against Cho, breasts against her strong back, arms wrapped around her slim and muscled stomach. Cho's feathery close-cropped hair is brushing against her cheek and she leans in closer, afraid to let go -- but not from fear of falling.
Cho laughs and spins them around, maneuvering the broom with ease. She gestures a certain way and the broom goes up up up, the weight and pull of g-forces on Hermione's skin reminding her of rollercoasters and airplanes. It pulls her away from Cho, just a little, and she finds herself overcompensating, pulling herself closer and closer, so that, when Cho switches and they go into a sharp dive, she's so pressed up against Cho that there's not an millimeter of space between them. Crushed close and tight and she shifts slightly and the broomstick is pressing up right there and Hermione's sure Cho can feel her nipples pressing into her back.
Cho pulls out of her dive scarcely a meter off the ground -- Hermione can feel the grass touch the tips of her toes -- and leisurely performs a few rounds around the field. Hermione's still clutching Cho tightly, her hips slightly moving back and forth on the broomstick, riding it and riding it. She thinks Cho doesn't notice, but then Cho pulls in closer to the ground, close enough for her feet to touch it, and she turns just enough to look at Hermione.
"What are you doing?" she asks, looking at her quizzically.
Hermione blushes and moves her arms away from Cho's waist. "N-Nothing..." she says. "Sorry..."
Cho shakes her head just a little and smiles. "No, you're not," she whispers before climbing off the broomstick. Hermione moves to climb off as well and Cho shakes her head, pushing Hermione back down onto the broom. "Stay there," she says, leaning in close. Hermione can smell the orange blossom perfume Cho likes to wear as Cho nuzzles her neck, wrapping her arms around her even as Hermione squirms on the broomstick. "Ride it," Cho whispers into her ear.
"What?"
"Ride the broomstick. For me." One of Cho's hands is wrapped around Hermione's waist, supporting her, and the other is slinking up her shirt and cupping a breast. Cho's lips flutter over Hermione's neck, her tongue tracing the pulse. "Ride it," she whispers again.
Hermione closes her eyes and moans softly as Cho licks up her neck. Cho's fingers are deftly sliding under her bra and Hermione's hips seem to have a life of their own, rocking back and forth on that well polished hardness between her legs.
It's slow, it's sultry, and Cho keeps whispering dirty things into her ear as she plays with her nipple. Hermione hasn't done anything like this since she was eleven and first trying to figure out what those strange feelings in her stomach were, but now it feels so good and feels so right and when she finally breaks into shudders against Cho's body, it's surprising, an orgasm seemingly out of nowhere, coming up so softly and slowly that she doesn't realize what's happened until it's over.
Cho holds her tightly and kisses her gently, her lips sticky with strawberry lip gloss and her tongue tasting of lemons.
Beauxbaton's
Hermione's been taught about veelas, of course. Hermione's seen veelas. Hermione's read of the thousand uses of veela hair in potions, charms, and other magical items.
Hermione didn't know that veela hair within a wand had certain magical properties when in extremely close proximity to the female body.
Fleur laughs and runs her wand up Hermione's bare back, the point barely denting the skin as it goes up but sending shockwaves up and down her spine. She moans as Fleur continues touching her skin, from her backside to her neck, then down again. Her legs spread, her back arches hungrily, and she climbs up onto her elbows, looking back at the tall blonde goddess with the thin wand.
"What would you like?" Fleur asks in that slow and sensual accent. "Would you like me to place it..." The wand traces over one hipbone, making Hermione shudder. "Against you? Between your lips? Press it against your cul? Turn you over and run it over your nipples? Slide it against your stomach?"
Hermione just moans, her back arching just a bit tighter, lifting herself up so that her breasts hang loose, nipples barely brushing the plain cotton duvet that sparks up nerves she wasn't aware existed in her breasts.
Fleur drags the wand down, pressing a little harder as she goes, creating more explosions than before. Hermione vaguely remembers seeing on the telly once a guy running his fingers over a glass of water and creating a noise, and she thinks that's exactly what's happening with her, the wand moving on her and her entire body singing an inhuman note.
The wand slips down between her cheeks and Hermione's blushing furiously, hoping that Fleur doesn't do what she thinks she's going to do, but her body is responding differently, a little more arching, pressing the wand deeper into her flesh and down and oh she wouldn't she couldn't it would be wrong and improper...
She sighs with relief when Fleur lifts up the wand and passes over her arsehole, but then tenses when she realizes where it's going next. "Oh God," she moans. "Oh God oh God oh God oh God..."
Fleur's laughter comes to her from far away, because blood is pounding in her ears too loudly and she's moaning and climbing up on her knees and pressing her face into the duvet cover because it's just getting to be too much and then Fleur ever-so- gently presses the very tip of the wand against Hermione's clit and it's like nothing she's felt before, like fireworks and suction and vibrations and she's coming so hard that she thinks she's going to kick Fleur off of the bed, she thinks she's going to lose her voice, she thinks she's never going to be able to come again because this is it.
She slumps against the bed in a heap of sweaty hair and exhausted limbs. Above her, Fleur chuckles and wipes her wand on her thigh.
"Hermione?"
Hermione blinked and looked up. "Huh?"
"Are you listening?"
Hermione blinked a bit, then blushed. "Yeah...yeah..."