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Title: The Deepest Secret
Pansy likes the feel of an open ass beneath her tongue. She craves it like water, like air, and while Ginny resisted at first, she does so no longer. She gives it freely now, though Pansy hardly notices because she is too busy taking. It’s deeper, darker, than any pussy she has ever tasted, and she buries her tongue inside with the hope that it will never come out. But Ginny moans, leans into the fingers stroking her clit, and Pansy’s tongue slips free with a soft, wet ‘pop’. She hisses at the sudden loss of heat around her tongue, and when she opens her eyes, she sees the pink of loved and abused skin, shining with her spit. Her gaze fixes on Ginny’s puckered opening. Once tight and closed, it is now loose and open, the circle of muscle quivering, begging to be breached once more. Pansy glimpses the dark beyond the ring that every part of her cries to know, and it tugs her forward like the strings of the best-cast Imperius. Sometimes Ginny begs for fingers, pleads to feel Pansy fucking her deeper, stretching her wider, but not today. Today, she cries out as Pansy buries her face between her cheeks once again and tongues her hole as if she is starving for it, the wet tip circling her opening before plunging inside. There is only slight resistance, at first, but once Pansy’s tongue pushes beyond the muscle, Ginny sucks her in, her hole clenching and pulling Pansy in deeper. With one hand, Pansy spreads her cheeks even further, and sinks deeper between them. All she knows is Ginny: sight, sound, touch, taste, smell, her senses are overloaded, but it is still not enough. There are places still she has not touched, has not tasted, secrets she has not uncovered. As her tongue traces the walls of Ginny’s hole, she thinks of a flower, so close to full-bloom and yet still so far. One day, maybe, she will pluck the petals completely, and leave the pistil naked, exposed, for her eyes only. Pansy’s chin is slick with spit and juices, and with every thrust of her tongue, it gets slicker. She feels Ginny trembling beneath her, her opening clenching desperately, and Pansy moans, feels the vibrations echoing back at her, and drinks Ginny’s ass just as desperately. She tastes the end – it hovers so close now – and though it gnaws at her heart, she would rather lead Ginny over the edge than have her stumble. Her fingers, nestled in the wetness between Ginny’s thighs, stroke at the hardened nub of her clit in firm, quick motions, and she feels the heat around her tongue tighten, holding her immobile for a moment, and then release. Ginny’s arms give, and she sinks to the bed, burying her face in the mattress and muffling the series of whimpers, sobs, and moans that spill from her lips. Her backside remains high, pressed back even further now, and she slowly begins to rock her hips – forward, into the fingers rubbing her clit, and then back, impaling herself on Pansy’s tongue. “Coming,” she moans. “Coming.” Then Ginny is sobbing brokenly into the bed, her fingers clutching at the sheets and her entire body trembling almost violently, and Pansy feels the muscles contracting against her fingers and the slow surge of wetness beneath her chin. Pansy lets forth a groan of her own, but still she keeps moving, a little more frantically now, her tongue thrusting in and out of Ginny’s quivering hole, stroking every millimeter, mapping every secret. Pansy thinks that maybe if she tongues hard enough, she will break her way inside Ginny’s heart.
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This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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