Hermione’s New Tastes

Lying in bed late one night, Hermione debated over her next course of action. Professor McGonagall had specifically told her that the time-turner was not to be used for anything other than educational purposes, and that the consequences could be dire if she strayed from this law.

Hermione trembled, both at the thought of the possible consequences, and due to pleasurable pain being caused by her fingers pinching her nipples through her nightgown. She desperately needed another’s touch.

It’s not as though I’d be hurting anyone, Hermione reasoned to herself. And realistically it was true; no one would be any wiser. Not a soul was aware that she had the ability to travel a few hours back in time, so it would be ridiculous to think that someone would suspect a misuse of this power. No, what was really worrying Hermione was McGonagall’s warning against herself.

“You must be extraordinarily careful, Miss Granger,” she had said at the start of the semester, “If anyone should find out about this, your privileges will be immediately revoked. However, you must be especially wary of encountering yourself during your double hours. The few wizards who have dared to gamble with time as you are about to have often met serious mishap at their own hands. Thinking they’ve gone mad some have even killed their future selves.”

This fear was the cause of Hermione’s indecision: what if she went back in time, encountered herself and by some sort of psychological break down went off her rocker and killed herself?

But that just doesn’t make sense, Hermione kept thinking, I am fully aware of the fact that I have a time-turner and have been for some time. Should I mistakenly encounter myself, I would know perfectly well that I wasn’t imagining it, only that in the future I made a slight—or…in the future I would make a slight…error…anyhow a mistake having been made with the time-turner I wouldn’t go all daft and throttle my other self…

Holding the time turner in her hands, Hermione still hesitated. Oh bloody hell, she thought, resigning herself to another night’s lonely masturbation. But she smiled to herself all the same, imagining the look on Ron’s face every time he said “Oh bloody hell”. And in thinking about that look, and the way his shoulders shrugged brought Hermione back to the train of thought that made her consider going back in time deliberately to encounter herself.

Reaching under her own blouse she squeezed her breast hard with one hand, pinching the nipple hard, sending bolts of pain and pleasure through her body. She let her other hand wander lazily down her flat stomach, stroking her skin gently over her hips. She traced the line of her leg down to her knee, then up the side of her thigh slowly towards her pussy, all the while kneading her tits with her other hand. Finally she allowed her fingers to move lightly over her crotch, giving her goosebumps down her thighs and making her shudder with anticipation. She pressed her fingers more firmly against the lips of her pussy and she could feel the wetness spreading over her fingers, mingling with the fine growth of light brown hair between her legs. Very slowly she pushed a lubricated finger into her pussy, savoring the sensation as it slid, painfully slow, over her g-spot, and just as slowly she slid it out again, rubbing it against her clit as she did so. She brought her hand up to her face and rubbed her juices slowly over her lips, tasting her juices and imagining it was Ron’s cock as he rubbed it against her face after just having fucked her.

Pausing for a moment in this fantasy, she reached out to her nightstand where she withdrew her wand from a drawer and, pulling the curtains closed about her, whispered “Muffliato” to ensure that no one in the room would hear her. That done, she removed her clothes, enjoying the way the fabric played against her nipples. Now, sitting on her knees, her hand at her pussy, she tried to recall the spell while rubbing her soaked crotch. Eventually she pointed her wand and transfigured her night clothes into a hand brush.

A hand brush? Hermione thought dazedly, It wasn’t supposed to be a… She had to close her eyes as her fingers, seemingly of their own will thrust themselves into her pussy. She opened her eyes to see that the handle of the brush she had accidentally conjured a moment ago had become quite a bit larger. After a brief moment of surprise and confusion, she abandoned any qualms she had about miscasting such a simple spell, seized the brush and very slowly—again imagining it was Ron’s rock hard shaft—ran her tongue along its length, furiously fucking herself with her fingers as she did so. As she came to the tip she opened her eyes to look up at her fantasy Ron before swallowing his cock whole, right down to the root, pressing the tip against the back of her throat. She sucked hard at the his prick, licking it so much strings of her spit clung to her lips as she pulled away. She caught them on her lips and swallowed it whole again. She willed him to explode in her mouth, to cum straight down her throat and then fill her mouth with his thick salty load. She wanted to feel the tip jerk in her mouth as it spewed its warm spunk all over her tongue. She wanted to feel it drip over her lips and spill onto her chest as he continued to orgasm. She wanted to rub it all over her tits with his cock still in her mouth, spasming and shooting more jizz then she could her mouth could hold. And when he had finished, and she had swallowed his spunk, she could gently, lovingly, suck anything that remained out of his cock.

And then, she thought to herself, sliding the wooden handle over her lips as she did so, he could take his cock, wet and slippery from my mouth and his cum, the handle moved down her neck and over her breasts, she closed her eyes. And he could slip it right, now down her belly, along her hips and between her legs, in my pussy. She slid the handle as deep as it would go into her snatch and felt the resulting orgasm gush over her fingers and run down her thighs.